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glitteryexhaustion · 5 years

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Sunday, Monday, or Always (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Prompt: You are at the Stark Expo with Steve and Bucky in 1943.

Warning(s): slight angst, slight fluff

Word Count: 2522

Song(s): Sunday, Monday, or Always by Bill Cosby

Author’s Note: I haven’t posted in over a year and a half. I wrote this about 10 months ago and never got around to posting it. I hope you all like it, and I have hopes of writing more soon. :)

“I don’t see what the problem is,” a voice in front of me said to his friend. “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” I recognized them instantly, and pushed through the crowd to get to them. “You know, there’s three and a half million women here?” I interjected, pushing myself between the two boys. Bucky reached up and ruffled my hair, and I shoved his hand away, laughing. “Well, I’d settle for just one,” Steve replied while hugging me. I smiled back, then noticed the pain in his eyes. I reached around and squeezed his shoulder, and he gave me a weak smile. It was easy to see he attempted, and failed, to enlist again. He wanted to fight, but I was glad he hadn’t been accepted. His health would get him killed quickly. “Good thing I took care of that,” Bucky said, drawing me out of my thoughts. He waved up ahead to two girls standing near a statue. I rolled my eyes, wondering who Bucky’s latest girl was. He always chose dimwitted girls, who were pretty and naive. “What’d you tell her about me?” Steve asked, sounding agitated. “Only the good stuff.” He smirked. Moving in front of us, he wrapped his arm around the brunette girl’s waist. My stomach dropped, but I pulled myself together and kept going. The blonde girl clung to her friend’s side as they walked ahead of us to the main stage. Steve moved forward to get next to her, but she didn’t pay any attention to him. I sighed, knowing it was going to be a long night. “Hey Steve, what do you say we treat these girls...” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he realized Steve was gone. I’d been so fascinated by the flying car, I hadn’t noticed either. He looked over at me, irritated. “Where did he go?” He asked me. “Weren’t you paying attention?” “Um, it’s not my job to watch him,” I retorted. “Besides, he can do what he wants. He doesn’t have to stay around with those airheads.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. “We gotta find him,” he insisted. “He could be getting beat up again, or somethin’ else.” I nodded, and he began to come with me. The girls started to whine, and he turned back to them. After whispering something to them, they giggled and moved back to the front of the crowd. As he made his way back over, I gave him a look. He just shrugged and grinned, his eyes twinkling. We started to push through the crowd, him leading the way. People began to shove at us on every side. All I could do was focus on Bucky; the only other option was to be trampled. I kept my eyes on him, so much that I stumbled over somebody’s foot. He turned around to check that I was okay. With what happened next, I don’t really know why he did it. Maybe he saw I was nervous, maybe he just didn’t want me to get lost. Either way, I was surprised when he reached back and grabbed my hand. He squeezed it as we kept walking. I felt my heart speed up for a split second, but I shook my head and continued to move. We finally made it out of the crowd, and I relaxed some. I looked around for Steve, for anywhere he could have gone. Then it hit me. “Is there something here about enlisting, or any promotion area?” I asked Bucky. He nodded, and began to lead me to a building in the middle of the expo. It wasn’t until we got there that he let go of my hand. He opened the door for me, and I saw Steve up ahead. I pushed away all the thoughts about Bucky for a second, and hurried over to Steve. He was stepping on a pedestal, which activated a light that showed the person’s face on a soldier’s body. He was so short, only half of his face showed. “Steve,” I said softly, touching his arm. There wasn’t much to say. I knew what he was going to do, and I couldn’t stop him. Turning to me, the look on his face just made me feel so afraid. He wants this more than anything, and it’s how he’s always been: doing whatever it takes to help others. I can’t change his mind. Stepping off the pedestal, he pulled my hand off. “Come on,” Bucky groaned, appearing behind us. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing.” “You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” Steve countered, moving further toward the enlistment area. “You’re really going to do this again?” I asked shakily. Bucky reached over and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He knew how scared I was of Steve getting hurt. I leaned into him, trying to ignore my stomach flipping. Steve is my focus. “Well it’s a fair,” he told us, straightening his posture. “I’m gonna try my luck.” “As who, Steve from Ohio?” Bucky fired back, his voiced laced with fear. “They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.” “Look, I know you don’t think I can do this,” Steve pleaded, trying to make us understand. “This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war.” “I know it’s a war.” “Why are you so keen to fight anyways? There are so many other important jobs.” “Well, what do you want him to do?” I interjected. “Collect scrap metal in his little red wagon?” Bucky looked over at me, frustration and concern all over his face. “Yes, why not?” He responded. “Bucky, come on,” Steve said desperately. “There are men laying down their lives.” “He has no right to do any less than them,” I added quietly. Bucky stared at me like I had betrayed him. I gave him a look, then continued. “You know as well as I do, this isn’t about him.” Bucky just looked around, helpless. I reached up and grabbed his hand that was still on my shoulder, trying to calm him down. When I looked back up at him again, something passed between us. As I was about to say something, a shrill voice behind us cut into our moment. “Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?” Bucky turned around, his arm falling off of me. Internally groaning, I looked back over at the idiotic girls, who were giggling and falling into each other. “Yes, we are,” he replied, grinning. He turned back to Steve and I. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Bucky told him, walking away. “How can I?” Steve retaliated. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky stopped, and turned back. “You’re a punk,” he said, pulling him into a hug. “Jerk,” Steve responded, wrapping his arms around Bucky. “Be careful.” When they let go, Bucky turned to me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. My arms ended up against him, and he rested his chin on top of my head. “Please be careful,” I whispered. “You too,” he whispered back. Bucky leaned down a little and kissed my forehead, then let go. He held my hand until he was too far, then headed back over to the girls. “Don’t win the war until I get there!” Steve called out after him. Bucky turned around, and saluted him. A small smile crossed his face. He winked at me, and vanished into the crowd.

Steve looked over at me as I kept staring out at everyone, looking for one last glimpse of him. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” he said softly. I whipped back around to see him grinning at me. Playfully punching his arm, I looked at the ground. “It doesn’t matter anymore, huh?” I sighed, feeling dejected. Moving to a bench, I flopped down. Steve sat next to me, and I leaned into him. He put his arm around me. My head found his shoulder, and we just stayed like that for a few minutes. “Steve?” “Yeah?” “For the love of God, if you do go-“ “I promise I’ll stay safe.” “Swear on it?” “On my mother’s grave.” “Good. I can’t lose my brother.” “Geez, how would you treat me if we actually were related?” “You’re more important than my actual brother.” He laughed, and I sat up straight. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him in for a real hug. I held him as tight as I could, so scared to let go. “Steve,” I spoke, my voice quivering. “I know you don’t want me to, but-“ Steve said, pulling me closer. “But I know you got to.” “I love you, y/n/n.” “I love you too, Steve. And I’ll be here, whether you’re shipped off for a few years or you come back in half an hour.” I felt him nod, then he pulled away. He got up, and walked to the enlistment room. When he got to the doorway, Steve turned and waved. I waved back, and watched him disappear into the room for another attempt at enlistment. Now, I was all by myself. Talk about fun. Even though it’s late, the party has only just begun. With people shipping out tomorrow, nobody wants to leave. Lots of people are dancing. The music is loud, the lights are bright, and the people are happy. It’s kind of nice to watch. I’m on the side, near one of the booths. The owner of this invention must be out dancing, since their section was empty. Laughter was everywhere, as people sang and celebrated the night. “Hey, y/n/n, what are you doing?” A voice asked. I nearly fell out of my chair. On my left, Bucky was now sitting in the chair next to me, laughing. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me!” I yelled, shoving him. “I can tell,” he said. His eyes were twinkling again, crinkled up as his mouth stretched across his face in a huge smile. “But really, y/n,” he continued, “what are you doing over here? Why aren’t you dancing?” “Is that really a question you have to ask?” I retorted, playing with my fingers. I could feel his eyes on me, and my face was warming up. “There are plenty of people here who would kill to dance with you.” “Maybe I don’t want to dance with them.” “Well, why don’t you dance with me?” My head shot up and I looked at him. He smirked, stood up, and held out his hand. “What about those other girls?” I questioned. “I don’t want to dance with them,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. “I wanna dance with you.” My heart was racing. I slipped my hand into his, and stood up. Bucky looked at me and smiled softly. He lead me into the crowd, just as Bill Cosby’s Sunday Monday or Always began to play.

Oh, won't you tell me when We will meet again Sunday, Monday or always

Bucky pulled me close to him. I brought my left hand up onto his shoulder, and his right arm wrapped around my waist. With his other hand, he laced his fingers into mine. We moved slowly to the music.

If you're satisfied I'll be at your side Sunday, Monday or always

He began to sing along softly as we danced. I had never really heard him sing, but he had a nice voice. I rested my head on his chest.

No need to tell me now What makes the world go 'round When at the sight of you My heart begins to pound and pound And what am I to do Can't I be with you Sunday, Monday or always

He let go of my waist and twirled me. I laughed as Bucky pulled me back to him. His arms went to my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We moved closer, so close I had to make sure I didn’t step on his feet.

Oh, won't you tell me when We will meet again Sunday, Monday or always

As we danced, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat depressed. This would be the last time I would see him for a while, possibly forever. Our feet stopped moving, and we just swayed to the music. I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It was fast, almost as fast as my own heart.

If you're satisfied I'll be at your side Sunday, Monday or always

Bucky touched the side of my face, and I looked up at him. He looked troubled, almost distressed. “Y/n, tell me what you’re thinking,” he said. I swallowed, and quietly answered: “I don’t want you to leave me.”

No need to tell me now What makes the world go 'round When at the sight of you My heart begins to pound, pound, pound

“I wish I could stay,” he murmured. “You know I don’t want to leave you behind.” “Bucky,” I sighed, slightly frustrated. “You don’t understand how hard it’s going to be without you.”

“You’ll never get how much I’ll miss you,” he replied. Looking up at him, I realized this may be my last chance. The song was almost over. It was now or never.

What am I to do Can't I be with you Sunday, Monday or always

I pulled him toward me me and kissed him. My hands went to his hair, down to his arms, then up to his neck. His hand that had been on my check had moved slightly back, holding me in place. His other arm had wrapped around my back, pulling me up against him. He didn’t want to let go, and I didn’t want this to end.

I tried to memorize his lips, the feeling, the sparks lighting up between us. Instead, I got lost in the moment. Everything around us had gone silent, and all that mattered was him. The way his lips moved, the way he tasted, the feeling of his hands, the passion exploding between us, it was all so much to handle. When we finally broke apart, our foreheads connected. We were both breathing hard, trying to collect ourselves. Finally, Bucky spoke.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, panting still, “how long I’ve waited for that.” “You’d think that the soldier would’ve been brave enough to make the first move,” I laughed. He grinned, then pulled me in for another hug. “You know I still have to go,” he reminded me. “It’s still Sunday, though,” I replied, my voice slightly muffled from the position I was in. “Do I have to start singing, or will you stay with me tonight?” He chuckled, then let go. Taking my hand, we headed out of the expo. All the while, Bucky sang:

No need to tell me now What makes the world go 'round When at the sight of you My heart begins to pound and pound And what am I to do Can't I be with you Sunday, Monday or always

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dubsdeedubs · 5 years

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An Outreached Hand [7/?]

Summary: On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

[AO3]

Notes: I actually posted this like two days ago but didn’t make the Tumblr post for it till now. Probably says a whole lot about how distanced I’ve been asojioda

There's someone staring at him from across the diner. A waitress, to be more precise, squinting at him suspiciously under heavy purple eyeshadow, a sharp twist to her expression that even his tired mind can read immediately as 'trouble.'

Ford's fairly certain that he has never met her in his life. But then again, his life hasn't been entirely his for several months now.

Lady over there's giving ya a real stinker of a look.

He can't help but start at the echo of Stan's voice in his head. It's... not something he's used to, hearing his brother in what used to be the domain of someone - something entirely different.

He thinks maybe it's something he will ever get used to.

You stiffed her on tips before or what?

Now that Ford thinks about it... no, yes, he had made a visit to this establishment once before. He's sure of it. It had been shortly after Fiddleford had left him, and around when Bill had decided to up the ante where psychological torment was involved. The memory of being surrounded by a dozen pairs of yellow-slitted eyes flashes before his mind's eye, and he grimaces despite himself.

Had this woman been there for that disaster of an attempted breakfast? Did she remember him from his frantic escape?

Not for the first time, he's thankful that for all of his brother's abilities, he either could not - or did not at all want to - read Ford's thoughts.

His left hand lifts itself up and flicks his nose, hard.

Ford flinches, more out of surprise and confusion than any real pain. It takes him a moment to make sense of what had just happened.

"Stanley -"

'Stanley' yourself, his brother says flatly, entirely unamused. You've been sitting for a full ten minutes in this place without moving a muscle. Have ya ever heard of ordering food when you're in a restaurant? Or is that something hermit scientists don't do?

Ford bristles. "I know perfectly well how to order food, I just haven't done it yet because the waitress has been staring at me for the past -"

He blinks, looks again.

In the span of this extremely distracting exchange, said waitress had disappeared entirely from his view.

Ford's mental alarm bells go off almost immediately.

He had long held suspicions about the local townspeople, which were only exacerbated by the recent appearance of mysterious hooded figures around town. And, considering that Bill was perfectly able and entirely willing to manipulate other people to get to him, being around anyone at all was a security breach of the highest magnitude..

The waitress had seen and recognized him. She must have noted that he was here, vulnerable and out in the open without any of the defensive measures he had set up around his home.

There is just one reason he can think of for her disappearing so immediately, and that was to share that information with others.

He knew this was a terrible idea, Ford thinks, heart racing.

He knew, but his brother just wouldn't listen to logic and sense (but why would he, when for all Stanley must have thought, Ford was just being paranoid? Because he couldn't know, not about the extent of Bill's powers, not about what had happened to Fiddleford, not about everything that Ford had been manipulated into being a part of -)

Ford needed to leave, the sooner the better. There was no telling how much time he had left before they - whoever they was, whether the hooded figures or a pawn of Bill or something he had not even anticipated - used his vulnerability to their advantage. He had to -

"Are those wild animals in your coat, mister?" Says a voice right behind him, far too close for comfort.

Ford jolts forward with a sharp noise of surprise that he refuses to call a squeak.

When he twists his head back, eyes wide, the waitress is staring back with a scrunched Look of deep disapproval. He thinks somewhat stupidly that the heavy magenta eyeshadow added magnitudes more to its power.

For a moment, his brain just doesn't process the words.

"Wild - wild animals?" He repeats.

She points down at the two furry heads poking out from the neck of his old trenchcoat.

Mabel - he thinks, it's not nearly as easy to tell the two apart as cats than as children - offers a single cheerful meow.

Ford stares down at them, speechless. He... had entirely forgotten they were there. How had he forgotten about two live animals tucked inches away from his own body?

"We don't allow animals in here," the waitress says with a frown. "Got a sign on the door and everything."

She points at it for emphasis. He stares after her finger for a moment too long, expression slack.

The waitress squints at him. "You alright there, mister?"

Ford, Stanley says flatly, you're useless.

Just like that, his mouth stretches into an entirely unfamiliar kind of grin, slow and flirtatious, the kind of expression Ford doesn't think he has ever made in his life.

"Sure I am, sugar," Stan says smoothly. There's an easy confidence to his words that's enough to make Ford feel just a twinge of envy. "I would ask ya the same thing, uh -" He squints at the messy scrawl on the woman's name tag. "- Susan. But I gotta say, it looks to me like you're doing just fine."

He winks. Ford cringes.

The waitress - Susan, he reminds himself - stares at them for a long moment, looking very flustered. Understandably, Ford thinks to himself, considering that from all appearances, he had switched gears from 'confused' to 'Casanova' at the drop of a hat.

"See, I think there's a little bit of a misunderstandin' here."

"How so, mister?"

"This is a family diner, yeah?" Stanley says. He gestures at the door. "Says it right there. 'Greasy's, for the whole family.' Right above that sign about wild animals."

He squints. "Why - why do you have that sign about wild animals anyways?"

Susan blinks. "Well," she says after a moment, "whaddaya know, it sure does!"

"So thing is. These two here, they ain't 'wild animals.'" His brother pauses, for what Ford highly suspects is just for dramatic emphasis. "They're family."

Her eyes widen. Her jaw drops.

Stan leans in closer slyly, going for the kill. "And this can't be a family diner if the whole family can't eat, right?"

In the privacy of his own mind, Ford lets out a deep sigh. This... was entirely ridiculous. It spoke magnitudes about Stanley that he had thought it would actually work. Everything else aside, they had snuck two full-grown cats into a dining establishment in their coat. There were - there were rules against these things, he was sure, rules that he doubted a waitress would -

"Oh hon," Susan chirps, and slaps them on the back hard enough that they choke on their own spit. "Ya should have said somethin' earlier!"

In the span of what feels like a second, the woman's demeanor had transformed entirely. Easy understanding had replaced suspicion on her broad face, and there was a new friendliness to the way she held herself.

"For a moment there, I figured you were one of those characters that come in marrying woodpeckers and kissing raccoons -"

"One of those -" Ford chokes. "Marrying what?"

"- but I can tell now, you're nothin' like 'em. Heck, I can already tell what you are!"

A chill goes down their back, and he doesn't know if it's from him or Stan. Maybe it doesn't matter.

"And," Ford says slowly, with a tone of vague concern, "what is - that?"

"A kindred spirit, handsome!" Susan winks like she doesn't know how to.

"...Oh."

Aaaaaalright, Stan announces, I did the heavy lifting. You're on your own now, Sixer.

Wait -

Somehow, he can tell that his brother is studiously ignoring him. Ford sighs.

"Family! What a perfect way of puttin' it!" Susan gushes. "You're right, why keep 'em cooped up in there? Let your kitties stretch their legs!"

"Are - are you sure that's alright?" He starts to ask, an eyebrow raised. "The sign -"

"Oh hun, this is Gravity Falls," She scoffs. "Just about everyone around here has seen much, much worse in this diner, I bet ya."

That... did absolutely nothing to ease his worries. Ford nods dumbly, more than slightly alarmed by the casual revelation.

The cats stretch out on the diner table, low and lazy. Which... probably wasn't hygienic, but considering the stains and flecks of unknown substance already present when he had sat down, he supposed a few animal hairs wouldn't do much worse to the establishment's bacterial ecosystem.

Mabel, or at least he thinks it's her, looks between him and Susan. She gives him the feline version of a wink. Ford looks at her in horror.

"What are their names?" Susan asks, drawing close, a soft expression on her face. "Your sweet little fur babies."

"They're my niece and nephew, actually," he corrects quickly, edging away, and realizes too late how odd that statement came out without the benefit of context. "But, ah. Dipper and Mabel."

Susan doesn't seem to mind the slip-up, however. In fact, judging by the extra sparkle in her eyes, that only seemed to endear him to her even more.

"Well, my oldest is Mr. Snookums," she says conspiratorially. "He's getting up there in years, maybe just a year or two older than your kitties here. And then there's Mittens, except she's the kind of lady that likes ta put a twist on things, so lately she's been trying out something new. Look, I've got pictures!"

Ford blanches.

It's after noon when Ford peers through the window of the local grocery store with an air of dawning apprehension. No one inside but a lanky teenager with a stunningly large cranium, manning the cash register with an almost physical air of general rebelliousness.

Ford swallows. "Stanley, are you sure it's fine to, ah -"

Relax, poindexter, his brother groans. I take the kids everywhere I go, and I've never run into any trouble.

Very carefully, Ford wonders if that was less about the actual regulations in place and much, much more about nobody wanting to tell a certain casually terrifying individual that he needed to leave his pets outside.

Besides, bringing the cats worked out fine in the diner, right?

"That doesn't count," he retorts immediately. "That woman was - she was obsessed with cats, Stanley, I didn't even know half the things she was talking about., and we talked for two hours."

Hey, I'm not seeing how that's a bad thing.

"Two. Hours."

Hell, I didn't even know the 'not having a collarbone' thing. I mean, it's not like the kids would have known about that. Though, Stan says thoughtfully, that definitely explains some of the crazy places they've gotten into over the ears.

"If you enjoyed it so much," Ford snips, "perhaps you should have spoken to her instead."

Nah. By the looks of you, Sixer, you haven't talked to another human being for a loooong time. Better a nice lady with a whole lot to say about cats than, uh. Mr. Potato Head inside there.

"Stanley."

What? I call it when I see it. Guy's head is disproportional.

Ford lets out a long sigh, and carefully does not admit that his brother was right about Susan. The social interaction had been overwhelming and occasionally bewildering, but it had been - a comforting sort of normal, in a way that nothing in his world had been for a very long time now.

Just chatting with a waitress in a diner about the best way to brush a cat. Nothing like his angry confrontation with Fiddleford, or the conversations he had with Bill that just thinking about made him reel with self-disgust. Nothing like everything that had happened since his brother had shown up at his door, just yesterday.

He walks into the store with his back straight, carefully ignoring the furry ears rubbing against his chin.

Then just as Ford steps over the doorway, there's a loud welcome chime.

He flinches, and jerks back with so much force that he knocks over the store display right next to him.

The cardboard figure hits the ground with a too loud thwap. The teenaged cashier glances up at him, a strangely intense look in his eyes.

"Apologies," Ford says stiffly, and awkwardly moves to stand it back up.

What the hell was that?

"I didn't expect the sound," he admits reluctantly.

"Who are you talking to?" The teenager asks, an odd look on his face. His voice is an entirely unexpected baritone, one that fits his craggy face but is strange with his frame.

"No one," Ford says, a bit too quickly. "Just - ah, just wanted to hear the sound of my own voice -"

Ford, shut up and just keep walking.

He does clumsily, and almost trips over his own feet. The cashier's stare feels heavy on his back all the way.

So. Grocery shopping. You want some of uh. Eggs, or something? Cheese? People buy cheese, right?

"...Stanley?"

You're on your own for this, pal. Look, I'm dead. I haven't had to eat for a long, long time. Thank God, because from what I remember hunger was uh.

A long, telling pause.

Not fun at all.

Ford looks up, and then even further up at the cans and boxes that line the shelves and seem almost to reach up to the ceiling. There's oats, then organic oats, then something about added sugar or reduced sodium and -

"I'm a bit rusty with grocery shopping myself," he confesses.

What, Stan says skeptically, you would rather eat out, now that you've got a college degree and big science money?

"Stanley, I told you, that's not how research funding works. I can't just spend that money on anything I want - "

Ford cuts himself off before he can go on the whole rant. He has a sneaking suspicion that telling his undead brother about the intricacies of research grants and scientific stipends was pointless.

"No," he says instead, voice clipped. "I just didn't eat."

His brother goes quiet at that. ...Well, all I know how to buy is food for the kids, and as horrible as I'm guessing your eating habits are I doubt you wanna get cat food -

Ford coughs. "Yes, not cat food would be good."

...You want stuff that doesn't go bad quickly, right? Canned stuff would be good for that, you can probably figure out how to fry bacon or something for the extra protein. Hell, you know what, eggs aren't a bad idea. And maybe some uh, green stuff. Vegetables. Spinach, kale, whatever.

"Stanley -"

Eh, what do responsible adults eat? Hell if I know.

"Stanley, that's - a great deal of food," he says carefully.

That's the point, Sixer.

"The issue is, ah. I can't afford all of that."

There's a long silence.

You can't - afford all of that, Stan says blankly. Like, you don't got enough money for it?

"Y-Yes, that's usually what it means to not be able to afford something -"

But you have money, his brother argues uncomprehendingly. You went to college, didn't ya? Isn't that what going to college is for?

Ford blinks, entirely thrown off-guard. "No, that's -" He starts off weakly, and then goes quiet with sudden realization.

He had been away from his family for years now, keeping the bare minimum of contact. So it had been easy to forget, surrounded by other college students and even more educated professors, that his household had always held a very fundamental misunderstanding of what higher education entailed.

Filbrick Pines had lived his entire life working for a living, and the idea of putting effort into studying something with no direct financial reward was entirely disjointed from his reality. Ford had smiled (grimaced, if he had to be entirely truthful) along with his father's loud boasts about how his boy was going to make the whole family rich, that his college admission meant they were all set for life.

It had been easier then to just stay quiet. Though, of course, that just meant the inevitable fallout was just that much more explosive.

But Stanley hadn't been there. He had left home long before Filbrick realized that Ford's research grants weren't free money, before the big argument that had ended with Ford admitting that no, his studies weren't going to make them rich, not any time soon, and no, that was never what college was for. Not for him, and he had gotten his degree for himself, not anyone else.

Which meant, this whole time, his brother had thought -

"Going to college didn't make me rich," Ford says at last. "It was... almost the opposite, really. Backupsmore gave me a full scholarship, but I had to take out loans and work on the side to eat and pay for textbooks. I got money to come out here for my research, and I suppose it's a large enough amount as a lump sum. But I need to justify all of my expenditures to the committee that approved me, and..."

He smiles wryly. "As it turns out, research scientists don't prioritize 'quality of life' too highly."

...Huh.

The words had come out almost terrifyingly easy, and it hits Ford suddenly that it's the most he's told his brother about his life in their years apart in... well. Very possibly ever. It's an odd feeling, one that comes with something like regret and slightly more like panic.

But mostly like relief.

Geez, Stan says suddenly, you could've just said so earlier. And here I thought you were stuck on an actual problem.

"An actual problem," Ford repeats blankly. "So you're saying this isn't an actual problem."

Sure. We can just steal.

A beat.

"You," Ford says, horrified, "want to do what?"

His voice cuts off suddenly, entirely out of his control.

You wanna say that any louder? Stan groans. Trust me, Mr. Potato Head doesn't want to care, but keep shouting about robbing this place and he's gonna have to.

"Don't call him tha - Stanley, I refuse to steal," Ford hisses under his breath, entirely scandalized.

Eh, suit yourself, his brother mutters casually, too casually. There's a loaf of bread down your shirt, by the way. And half a dozen oranges up your sleeve.

He freezes. "How did you - when did you -"

Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, pal.

"Stanley."

Stan hesitates, then sighs.

Look, I didn't have to eat, but I had to feed the kids somehow. And it wasn't like I was getting any kind of real job, with how I look. You figured out a way to make the system work for you, and guess what? So did I. Maybe it isn't as pretty. Or as legal.

He's quiet, for a moment.

...But it works. So shut it, alright?

Hearing that makes Ford's mouth goes dry. For the second that day, it hits him just how thankful he is that Stan can't hear his thoughts.

"Alright," he says hoarsely. "Do what you have to do."

"There's something wrong," Ford says quietly, about thirty minutes after they leave the store with something like a week's groceries stuffed in various pockets and folds.

Not about the stealing. The cashier - 'Ivan', as his name-tag introduced him as with an unfitting cheerfulness - hadn't looked twice at him when he paid for a single carton of eggs to keep up appearances. He hadn't seemed at all thrown off by his meager purchase, or even the two cats peeking out from the neck of his coat.

But there was a strange intensity in the way he had stared after him as he left, It reminded him of the looks the townspeople had given him on the streets that morning, how some of the other diner customers had turned to glance at his table as he talked to Susan and ate an uncomfortably filling breakfast.

"I'm being watched."

What, like right now? Stan says skeptically.

"No, this - this whole day. People have been staring at me. Following my movements."

Ford, you haven't showered in a week, you've got two full-grown cats hitching a ride in your coat, and as far as everyone's concerned you've been talkin' to yourself this whole time, Stan says flatly, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"Still -"

Honestly, Sixer, I would be shocked if people weren't staring at you.

That... was true.

But...

For just a moment, Ford hesitates, ready to argue -

- and doesn't.

He lets out a sigh. He's tired, the bone-deep exhaustion and general stress of the past several months hitting him all at once.

Ford... doesn't want to think, can't think. Not right now.

"You're right," he says at last. "Let's go home."

They do, but it's Stan who pilots their body for most of it.

He's the one who gets the groceries put away and cooks an omelette that turns into scrambled eggs somewhere along the way, on a range that sputters and dies before the liquid gets all the way solid (Ford scarfs it down anyways - he's facing a host of much more immediate dangers than salmonella.) He piles firewood that Ford had completely forgot he still had into the fireplace, and struggles to light the flames with a box of soggy, year-old matches.

It ends with him curled up on the least destroyed armchair he has, moth-bitten blanket clumsily draped over himself, two warm bodies snuggled in and purring on his lap.

Somewhere distantly, he wonders if, just maybe, he had forgotten something.

With the fireplace roaring just a few feet away and the feeling of soft fur under his hands, Ford doesn't even notice when he falls asleep.

#gf #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #an outreached hand #next time on super miscommunication bros: ultimate #mindscape shenanigans!!#and the long-awaited return of bill #(but which one?)#my fics

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