#besides the fact that fiddleford is going through it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gravityflops · 3 years

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Parent Guidance Recommended

word count: 3,281

focus characters: Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford H. McGucket

warnings: child neglect, implications of alcoholism, implications of infidelity, mugging, knives, threatening, generally awful people

summary: On the worst birthday she’s ever had, Pacifica finds herself seeking support from a source she’d least expect; the new owner of the once-Northwest Manor, her own former home.

Pacifica was turning fourteen on the Fourth of July. A perfect birthday. Perfect girl. Perfect family.

Her parents would throw a party. Like any Northwest party, with gorgeous, itchy lace ball gowns and impeccable etiquette, each word in every conversation spoken with flawless flow, with purposeful posture and respect-demanding mannerisms. A perfect party for perfect people, with perfect food prepared.

After claiming her designated ruby-studded chair at the dinner table, she would be shocked when her plate was revealed to her. Deep-fried Roareos. Stacked in a small sweet-powdered delicious heap in front of her, chocolately, cream-filled cookies, dipped in batter and deep-fried to perfection. Sugary. Messy. Pacifica had never had it before. How did her parents know she wanted to try it?

She turned her head to cast a quizzical look to her parents, who’d been watching her, holding each other with loving smiles directed at her. A warm feeling spread inside her like warm butter. She reached for a fork.. but hesitated, and hovered her hand over the plate instead. She casted another glance at her parents to see their reaction. No cold response was elicited so far. In fact, she could have sworn her father nodded in approval.

She delicately picked one of the cookies up with her thumb and forefinger, and raised it to her lips to nibble at it. Her senses were flooded with warm, sweet goodness. Just as amazing as she imagined. She stuffed the rest in her mouth, going so far as to lick her fingers. Her lips were coated with melted cream. She neglected the napkins beside her plate to instead lick the sugar mixture from her lips. Barbaric. But her parents didn’t seem to mind either of the actions. She thought she even heard an amused giggle from her mother.

“Sweetie, would you like your presents now or after you’re finished?” Priscilla— no, this was Mom— asked. Pacifica paused. She had a say? Were they not on a schedule? She supposed if she was given the option, she would love to open gifts while she snacked on the rest of the Roareos.

“Now, please,” the young blond girl responded. On cue, one of the butlers was beside her, placing a neatly-packaged gift box on her lap. A beautiful purple silk ribbon sat on top, holding it together. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so eager to reveal its contents.

What was inside? Some comfy clothes? Paint, perhaps? A cute animal plush that would contrast the creepy porcelain dolls in her room? The possibilities were endless.

Delightfully, she tugged at it. The box opened. As she peered inside, her excitement dissolved. The warm feeling turned to ice.

The bell. The one her father carried on his person at all times. The one that willed his command in the mansion. The one Pacifica hated. Suddenly Preston was standing over her, slowly picking the bronze item up.

Loving smile gone, replaced with a disapproving, even disgusted scowl. She shrank in her seat.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he boomed. “So it’s true. You’re mingling with the common, ignoble crowds these days.”

“No!” she found herself crying out. “It’s not like that! I have to!”

“Have to what? Work a lowly job as a waitress in that slobbish cesspit? At that- that disgusting, sorry excuse for a dining destination? THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE EVER. How can you call yourself a Northwest? How can you call yourself our daughter?”

The very first thought she woke up to was that it was too good to be real.

Tangled in her sheets, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away before slipping out of bed.

The house was dark. Silent. The clock on the wall read 7:52. Her parents’ bedroom was empty as she passed. It smelled of wine. They would not be back for a while. Pacifica found herself releasing a sigh, her tension easing a little, even if that meant she’d be spending her birthday alone for the very first time. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, trying to recall the good part of the dream, trying to revive the taste of the sugary treat, but it was gone. Soured by the unreality of it. All it was doing was making her hungry belly ache.

When checking the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry and coming to the realization that all that was left was a loaf of bread, a half-empty tube of Bringles and a couple dinner kits. No breakfast food. Not even a single egg. Not even leftovers. Something like despair and disappointment blossomed inside her. She would have to eat at the diner again…

She snagged her wallet from the counter only to find her twenty had disappeared, leaving only a couple measly ones and fives and whatever coins were loose inside. She felt the tears building a little again and slapped the wallet shut to try to stifle them. There was a time she had nearly everything, but now after Weirdmaggedon, she couldn’t even trust that her own hard-earned cash wouldn’t be snagged if left around her own greedy birthgivers. Her strength was being sapped by the will not to burst into a sobbing fit. There was enough in there to cover breakfast at work when she got to Greasy’s, at least.

With her belly still growling, she changed out of her nightwear, threw on her apron and a pair of aviators and began the walk to work.

The day was a bright one, sunny and a little breezy. A pleasant temperature. It did not reflect how Pacifica felt. Despite the summer weather, she pulled her scarf over her head, casting shade over her face. The neighborhood streets were mostly void of people, every house gated off. Just because they lost the mansion did not mean the Northwests were living in squalor, but her spending money was strictly monitored. Her parents now enforced that any money she spent, she’d have to earn. A fourteen year old. A child. Just so her birthgivers could ensure a few extra dollars in their account.

Pacifica couldn’t help but feel the fanciness of the neighborhood was almost deceitful. Her own household was a prime example. Her own rumbling tummy was a prime example. She wondered if there were others who lived in these houses that had similar problems as hers. Unlikely here.. however there were definitely others, people who’d been pushed to extremes just to get by.

Whether that was the reason behind why Pacifica soon found herself being followed halfway through the trip, she didn’t know. The feeling of being watched intensified by the minute, and glances into the reflections of shop windows told her there was a person. They refused to let up for at least a couple of blocks, the likelihood that they were just going the same direction by chance was steadily decreasing. They probably saw her leaving the wealthier neighborhood. The young girl picked up her pace. It did her no good.

The next moments were a blur. Her arm was snatched. When she struggled, a slice put a stop to it. Her arm began to bleed. Something sharp pressed to her throat, stiffening every muscle in her body. Vulgar language was hurled at her, demanding cooperation before her purse was yanked from her shoulder, and she was thrown to the curb. She was left winded, bruised, panicked and hyperventilating. She struggled for her breath back.

Mugged. She’d been mugged for the few measly dollars she had on her. And the fact that her first thought after all that was concern for what her parents would think that she let those precious dollars be nicked in the first place.. it only increased her distraught. Her breaths hastened more and more, and she didn’t realize her tears had finally started to flow until she was already sprinting down the street, her vision muddled. Every step felt like thunder to her ears. Home. She just wanted to go home. Maybe she couldn’t be herself as much, and maybe she was always busy, under constant supervision. But at least there was stability. At least there was certainty of the future. At least it was comfortable, at least there was always food on the table, breakfast, lunch and dinner. At least her father never stumbled around reeking of alcohol while only Lord knew where her mother was. Maybe her parents weren’t the best to other people but at least she could be certain they were true to each other. At least she could pretend everything was fine.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how far she’d gone. She was sweaty, she felt gross and sticky. Her legs were sore, threatening to give out if she went any further. She was still bleeding. She ached everywhere. But she’d reached her destination. She stood at the bottom of a familiar, long driveway, and at the top, sitting on a large hill, towering over the town stood the proud family mansion. Waves of nostalgia and sorrow crashed over her. Everything felt so gross. Every memory tainted by the knowledge of her parents’ true nature. She couldn’t even speak to anyone, not even her parents. Who would listen to a rich brat whine about how she used to be richer? Certainly not any of the townsfolk.

She found herself staring at the manor for a while, not entirely sure what to do.

“...What am I doing here…?” Pacifica whispered, sniffling and reaching for the tissues she kept in her purse, only to be hit with the whirlwind of events that had just happened again. Her arm stung. She could barely hold herself upright. She felt so… so tired. She meekly wiped her nose on her sleeve, and started to turn around when suddenly she bumped into someone.

“Wo-ah there, kiddo, careful, better watch where ya—” a cheerful voice piped, before cutting itself off when the sight of Pacifica in her disheveled state registered. “Huh? Hey.. Ah’ know you.”

Color drained from Pacifica’s cheeks. This guy again.. Why was he here? She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried a witty remark, but — “Y-y-ea-h, well-, wh-o w-ou-uldn’-t-” — ultimately failing when her quivering body wouldn’t stop heaving sobs. Again she sniffled. Disgusting. In front of the hillbilly too.

McGucket’s face morphed into something like sympathy. He kneeled down to her height. “Ah- hey, what’s goin’ on kiddo? Are ya alright?”

Pacifica parted her lips. She wanted to say yes. Her instincts screamed at her to say yes. She could practically hear her birthgivers demanding her to say yes. She had to be perfect. She had to be flawless. She had to be stoic, proud, happy, for her family.

But that’s not what came out.

“n-NO!” she cried, her knees finally buckling as if the years of abuse weighing down on her shoulders finally came crashing down on top of her. Her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently into them. She wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay. Wails and cries escaped. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She was in so much pain, she was so alone. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The raging storm of emotion only continued to demolish her walls, clawing at her pride and self esteem. Everything she pretended to be crashed and burned at that moment.

Fiddleford had been a little stunned by the sudden breakdown, but he started to piece the situation together from the bits and pieces the poor girl was babbling. He didn’t get up and walk away like Pacifica was expecting him to. He stayed put, even placed his hand on her shoulder to try to console her. When she didn’t flinch away from him, the old man started rubbing circles on her back as she cried and cried. Fiddleford never was the best at comfort.. though he could only imagine how long this outburst had been bottled up, and he thought it best that Pacifica let it all out before trying to say anything.

It was a while before Pacifica’s sobs began to calm enough to allow her to speak in more coherent sentences. The story became clearer. She spoke about how her parents had mistreated her, like she was an accessory rather than a human being, a literal child. How things had been getting worse this past year since they were forced to move due to her father’s irresponsible stock market decisions during Weirdmaggedon, to preserve what fortune they had left. How she felt more at home at the diner than she ever did at her own residence. How she hardly saw her parents anymore. How everything had changed for the worst. The way her parents had become about money, even how they scolded her for ‘nagging’ about her birthday the previous day, when it had been the first time she brought it up in half a year. It all hurt terribly to speak of but Pacifica couldn’t help but notice the sudden weightless feeling after getting everything out. She was surprised to find Old Man McGucket was still listening.

“Y’know,” he spoke finally, “Ah knew a fella once who thought ‘e had everythin’ before ‘e lost it all too. ‘Should’a been there for ‘im like he needed.”

Pacifica was quiet for a moment. “..W..ho was he?”

Fiddleford only waved his hand. “Ol’ college buddy. Doin’ mighty fine these days. Now whaddya say we get off’a the street an’ patch up that lil’ ol’ scratch a’ yours inside?”

It tooka moment to register the question through his southern accent, but when she did, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “..I- inside..?”

Inside the mansion. Pacifica almost couldn’t believe it. Old Man McGucket was the one that bought the Northwest Manor. She wondered how on earth a former homeless man was possibly able to afford such a grand purchase, until peeks into a couple rooms along the hallway that had been filled with computers and strange machinery told her she didn’t know nearly as much about McGucket as she previously thought.

It was so strange walking through the hallways again. Everything was the same, but different. Was the grand rustic architecture and furniture always so beautiful? And… were those.. raccoons she was spotting out of the corner of her eyes?

McGucket led her to a room with a couch- a familiar silver-themed room with a certain carpet pattern. It looked nearly the same, except for the banjo leaning against the couch’s armrest, and maybe a few more stains than its previous flawless condition “for guests- that is, for guests to look at”. Despite her emotional state, she found herself smiling at the memory of her adventures with Dipper Pines, trying to bust that ghost… until she recalled the punishment her parents had made for her after that was all over. She began to feel a little sick. Her gaze dropped to the floor as McGucket trudged into the room, plopped onto the couch and patted the cushions beside him. Hesitantly, she followed him and did as gestured. It was.. weird to be back. She wiped her eyes again.

“How’d that’a happen?”

“..What?” the question hit her like a slap.

“The cut.” He gestured to the bleeding injury with a bandaged hand.

“...Oh.” Again, her gaze dropped. Her eyes began to mist again before she shut them. “..I-I.. I was.. um.. mugged on the way here… They stole my favorite purse…” Shame burned at her belly. She didn’t see any sign of judgement in McGucket’s reaction, though. He didn’t ask why she let that happen, or why she wasn’t responsible enough to bring someone with her. There was only concern for her.

“Oh.. ‘Ahm sorry that’a happened. Gravity Falls’s usually safe.. er- ah..” The old man scratched the back of his head. “‘least, it’s not the people ya gotta usually worry ‘bout.”

“Heh.. yeah..” Shrugging, the old man pulled out a full-blown first aid kid, temporarily baffling Pacifica for a moment. “Wai- were you just carrying that—?”

The question went without a response as McGucket went straight to disinfecting the cut. “‘Doesn’t look terri-bubly deep,” he piped. “Should’a stopped bleeding by now but we’ll patch it up ta’ keep it safe while it’s a-healin’.”

“Wait.. how do you know how to do this..?” Pacifica asked, furrowing her eyebrows a little. The old man gave her a cheery grin.

“Well, ‘gotta pick up somethin’ ‘bout it after livin’ in the dump buildin’ evil whatsits and thingamajigs outta rusty metal for a couple’a decades.”

..Oh. Well, that would make sense, she supposed.. Briefly, the question as to why he was being so nice to her after the way she and her family treated him crossed her mind. She wondered if that friend he mentioned had something to do with it… Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d paid closer attention to the details of the relationships between the other people involved in the zodiac. She guessed it could be that hotter Mr. Pines (or.. Dr. Pines?), she recalled seeing some kind of emotional exchange between him and McGucket during Weirdmaggedon.

Occupied with her thoughts, she hardly realized McGucket had completely finished with the bandage until he announced it.

“Done!” he cheered, stuffing the first aid kit back into the oblivion from which it came. Weird. More Gravity Falls weirdness. “...Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Y’always got’a listenin’ ear right here if ya’ need it.”

Pacifica gave him a small, grateful smile. The old man would never know what that meant to her.

“I.. I don’t know..” she sighed softly. “Today was just… awful… It’s the first birthday I’ll be spending alone, and I guess it’s… getting to me…”

“Yer birthday’s today?? Ah, Ah’m sorry, sugerbun,” McGucket spoke. “Awful break, goin’ through somethin’ like a’this on’a birthday mornin’. Say, ya always got a place right ‘ere if ya need. Plenty a’ empty bedrooms.”

Pacifica raised her head. “...R...Really..?”

McGucket beamed. “Why sure! Ya remind me a’ my lil’ Tator Tot, Ah’ miss ‘em somethin’ terrible. It gets a lil’ lonely in this ‘ere big ol’ mansion sometimes and ah wouldn’t mind a visit from some young folk from a’time ta’ time.”

She could… she could visit. Whenever she wanted? Her old home, without her parents around. McGucket was that okay with her? Even going so far as to compare her to (presumably) his own kid? That was… incredible. Before thinking it through, she threw her arms around the old man, chorusing her ‘thank you’s with a bubble of laughter. Though startled, Fiddleford slowly returned the hug with a warm smile.

He stank quite a bit. Pacifica recoiled a little at the realization of what she was doing. Ew. What would people think of her if they caught her doing something so unthinkable? Willingly embracing this stinky old man who…. gave incredible hugs.. Her concern suddenly dissolved. In its stead, a certain safety appeared, and she melted into it a little more. It was the same feeling she craved in her dreams. Dirt didn’t matter at all anymore. The feeling of a parental embrace shielding her from the unpleasantness of the world was all she could bring herself to care about at that moment. It felt so warm… Before she knew it, she was tearing up again.

“...Thank you, McGucket..”

“Heheh, anytime, sugarbun. Say, since it is yer birthday, whaddya say we hit th’ town an’ find somethin’ ta’ cheer ya up?”

Pacifica wiped her eyes with her palm. What an offer... To think a year ago she would never had even considered walking around with the old kook as a possible option, but.. She found herself looking forward to it. “I… I would love that.”

[Part 1 of ??? possibly 2??]

#this totally isn’t a vent piece for the nightmares i keep waking up from skdhkdbd #i’ll prolly write the second part. soon #my writing #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fic #pacifica northwest #gravity falls pacifica #fiddleford mcgucket #gravity falls mcgucket #found family #angst with a happy ending #comfort

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

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A Turning Point

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8 : Part 9 : Part 10

The morning broke clear and bright. Stan had plenty of experience sleeping on the ground, so he was actually well-rested. When the first piercing birdsongs woke him, he sat up, stretched, and looked around at his compatriots. Of course, they were both still sound asleep. That wasn't surprising. McGucket had really worn himself out yesterday, and Ford had apparently learned to appreciate sleep over the past decade or so, given how grumpy he was every time Stan woke him.

Actually, this was probably Stan's best opportunity to talk to McGucket about what had happened to Ford yesterday. He hated to wake the guy after he'd obviously been working so hard, but it wasn't like they'd be able to talk about it in the car later, and frankly, Stan wanted to have this conversation sooner rather than later. He leaned over and poked the inventor's sleeping bag.

"Hey, hey Fidds, wake up!" He whispered.

Fiddleford poked his head out and blinked awake blearily.

"Whoa! What happened to your face!?" Stan yelped in surprise, forgetting to keep his voice down.

"Wha? What's wrong wi'my face!?" McGucket panicked into full wakefulness and started patting his cheeks.

"You grew a full beard overnight!"

"Oh." The inventor calmed down immediately. "That's normal. I got a genetic condition, makes my facial hair grow three times faster'n average. Is that all you woke me up for?"

"No, the beard just caught me off-guard. I wanted to talk about what happened with Ford yesterday in the UFO."

Fiddleford glanced over at Stanford. Luckily Stanley's outburst hadn't woken him. "Alright. Lemme grab my shaving kit, we'll talk outside of camp."

They found a low-hanging branch a few meters outside of camp where McGucket could hang his mirror and a small bucket of water.

"It jus' didn't seem like the sorta thing Ford would do." He explained as he lathered up some shaving cream. "When we was in University together, he never put much stock in that metaphysical, in-tune-with-the-universe type stuff, despite the fact that he was subscribed to every cryptid publication in the country."

"Yeah, he didn't believe in that stuff when we were kids either. I mean, our mom was a phony psychic, we knew all that stuff was crap."

"Well, apparently not. Somethin' led him to that engine room, and given what all I've seen here, I ain't even that surprised anymore."

"Oh, something led him there alright, but I don't think it was the universe or whatever. I think he was actually communicating with something."

Fiddleford turned pale and almost nicked himself with his razor. "Ford mentioned ghosts. Y'don't reckon those aliens are still… y'know, still around?"

"What? No." Stan explained how a strange new version of his spider-sense had been bothering him since he first arrived in Gravity Falls. How it always seemed to be centered around Ford. How he'd used the light filtration goggles to try and figure out what it was, and seen the little one-eyed yellow triangle depicted all over the house come out of Ford's head.

"So you think Ford's been in contact with that creepy cryptid?"

"Yeah, isn't it obvious? I've seen the thing twice now!"

"Hmm, it'd certainly explain a few things… but any two points make a line."

"You can't seriously think it's just a coincidence!"

"Now calm down, I ain't saying I don't believe ya. There's certainly some kinda correlation. I'm just sayin' we need more data."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tried to ask Ford about it while you were gone. All I got outta him was that it's some sorta knowledge-giver. Then that twingey sense came back and he clammed up. I think that thing showed up and told him not to spill the beans."

"I'm afraid I don't know much about it myself." Fiddleford frowned, carefully shaving all the hairs off his upper lip. "It's a symbol that's been found all over the world. I do know it's been found on a lotta Native American artefacts here in the valley. Maybe if you spoke to an expert like a tribal elder or historian, they'd be able to tell you what it is."

"Yeah, well, whatever it is, I don't think it's a new development. You remember what he said back there about a little help from a friend? He said the same thing before about getting around a roadblock in his studies after he first found the UFO. And while you were on vacation, he kinda implied he wasn't up here alone before you moved in. I think this has been going on for a while. Maybe even years. Did you ever notice anything weird right after you moved in?"

"Other than that creepy triangle symbol everywhere? Not really…"

"What are you two doing out here?" Ford asked behind them. They both jumped; they'd been so deep in their conversation, they hadn't noticed him coming their way.

"Jehosaphat, Ford!" McGucket pressed his thumb over where he'd nicked his cheek. "Don't sneak up on us like that!"

"Well maybe you two shouldn't sneak off without telling me!" Ford shot back.

"What? Heh, we didn't sneak off." Stan assured him with a nervous chuckle. "I was just, uh, watching Fidds here shave. Wow, you really have to shave that much every day?"

"Heh, yep, either that or I'll have a beard as long as a necktie by the end of the month."

Ford looked at them both skeptically. "You're sure you weren't discussing anything behind my back?"

"PCH, no!" Stan scoffed forcefully.

Ford didn't look convinced. "Stan, I need your help gathering all our equipment back up. Fiddleford, once you're done, I expect you to come help too."

* * *

Once they were all packed up, Ford suggested taking a short-cut back to the truck, following some sort of game trail. The others went along with him, if only because they felt bad about talking behind his back earlier.

It was a peaceful morning, until Stan heard a strange rumbling sound coming from further down the trail. He halted in his tracks.

"What is it?" Ford asked.

"Sounds like something's on the trail that way." Stan explained. "Maybe we should go around."

"I'll go check it out." Ford took another step forward.

"Uh, Ford, maybe you should let the guy with super strength go check it out." McGucket suggested.

"You really think I'm going to let Stanley have all the fun just because he has super powers?" Ford scoffed and forged ahead.

The two of them waited about five minutes before Ford returned, an eager grin on his face and his Journal out, ready to take notes.

“You two have to see this! Come on!” He whispered excitedly, waving them down the path.

A few meters down the path, around a clump of trees, Ford stopped, pointing at what first appeared to be a pile of fungus-encrusted boulders. When it moved up and down slowly, they realized it was a sleeping creature, and a closer look revealed long tusks, sharp claws, and huge pointed ears.

“I can’t believe we actually found a Gremloblin!” The scientist continued giddily. “This is one of the most rare creatures in all of Gravity Falls, I’ve only ever heard tales of them from the gnomes, it’s much uglier than I expected! Supposedly, if you look into its eyes, you’ll see your worst fear.”

Fiddleford gulped. “How about we leave it be, then.”

Ford scoffed. “Don’t worry, it’s fast asleep. I may never get another opportunity to study this creature up close!” He sat down and began sketching.

“Hey, y’know what’d be faster? Just take a picture and let’s get out of here.” Stan suggested.

“I didn’t bring a camera.” Ford said simply.

“Are you kidding me? We practically packed everything but the kitchen sink, and you didn’t bring a camera!?” Stan hissed.

“I don’t want any photographic record of Crash Site Omega. And besides, I like to sketch.”

“Well I like to not be attacked by a hulking beast that’ll show your worst fear. Let’s go before it wakes up!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to wake up! They’re supposed to be very heavy sleepers, it should be fine as long as none of us disturb it.”

“P-please, Ford, let’s just move along and not tempt fate.” Fiddleford pleaded, cowering behind a large tree.

“We can go as soon as I finish this sketch.” Ford assured them.

And so they sat there for a few minutes; the only sounds were the scratching of Ford’s pen and the Gremloblin’s rumbling snores. Just as the researcher was taking note of the grooved claws, and theorizing about their function, a high-pitched whistle pierced the air. Fiddleford, who had been carrying the hyperdrive, had been clutching the device so tightly in his anxiety, that he'd set off some sort of alarm. He banged his fist against the machine, trying to stop the noise, but it was too late.

The Gremloblin awoke with a snarl and pounced at McGucket, immediately scooping him up in its claws and staring into his eyes. Both the monster and the inventor's eyes took on a pale yellow glow.

"I told you. I told you this would happen!" Stan yelled at his brother.

"Not the time, Stanley!" Ford snapped back. The first thing he could think to do was throw the nearest object at the beast to distract it. The nearest object just so happened to be his canteen, as he'd just been drinking from it. The lid hadn't been screwed on tight, and water splashed all over the creature as the container bonked off its head.

The Gremloblin was distracted enough that it looked away from McGucket, but it didn't let him go. Instead, the creature flexed as it grew enormous spines, quills, and wings out of its back. With a mighty flap, it was airborne, a still whimpering McGucket in its claws.

"Way to go, genius." Stan snarked, strapping on his web shooters and swinging after the monster through the trees.

"Stan, wait, you don't know what this thing is capable of!" Ford shouted after him.

"Obviously you don't either!" Stan shouted over his shoulder.

Ford grit his teeth as he sprinted after them, branches and thorns tearing at his clothes and skin. Stan couldn't wait just thirty seconds for him to explain that the monster's claws were probably poisonous, or that its head was relatively unprotected. He couldn't even slow down to let his brother explain these things as they ran. No. He had to swing ahead with no plan and no idea of what he was up against.

Ford was about to lose sight of the Gremloblin, when Stan webbed up the monster's wings. It plummeted to the ground with a screech, crashing to the ground at the top of a nearby cliff. The researcher picked up the pace as he watched his brother tackle the creature. In the scuffle, it dropped McGucket and the hyperdrive, but the two combatants also careened over the edge.

"Stanley!!" Ford cried, rushing through the trees to the foot of the cliff. When he finally broke through the underbrush, he found his brother fighting hand-to-hand with the Gremloblin. Stan had already sustained a few scrapes across his forearms, and it looked like he was trying to box the creature into submission. It wasn't going well.

Stan's movements and superhuman reflexes seemed to be slowing, and the monster got another swing in at him, raking its claws across his chest.

Ford cast his eyes about frantically, searching for some way he could help. A glint of light at the top of the cliff caught his eye. It was the hyperdrive! It was sitting just near the edge of the cliff, right above the Gremloblin's head. He pulled out his magnet gun and took aim.

"Stanley, step back!" Ford warned his brother as he pulled the trigger. The hyperdrive zipped off the cliff face and collided with the Gremloblin's head, narrowly avoiding Stan. The Gremloblin fell to the ground with a thud, knocked out-cold.

"Are you ok?" The researcher asked as he rushed up to his brother in concern.

"Fine, fine." Stan waved him off with one hand, holding the other arm to the scrape across his chest.

"Good." Ford smacked him upside the head. "What were you thinking, knucklehead? You could've gotten yourself or Fiddleford killed!"

"There wasn't time to think, genius, I had to do something before that monster flew off with Fidds!"

"Yes, the fact that you weren't thinking is obvious." Ford growled. "Come on, we need to make sure Fiddleford is alright."

They were able to scale the cliff in a matter of seconds with the web shooters. McGucket was curled up in the fetal position, quivering with fear and babbling frantically to no one in particular.

"Fiddleford!" Stanford rushed to his friend's side.

"D-don't take 'em away, I ain't h-hurt n-nobody… I ain't… I ain't like that… n-no don't! ... he's jus' a boy… n-needs his daddy…"

"It's ok, you're safe now." Ford tried to hold his friend's hand reassuringly, but McGucket didn't seem able to grasp it. He didn't even seem to notice his friends were there. He just continued muttering like he was in the midst of a nightmare.

Ford frowned and gently took his friend's arm, carefully feeling for injuries.

"It's broken." He shot a glare over his shoulder at Stan.

"What's that look for!?" Stan asked.

"He wouldn't have been injured if you hadn't forced the Gremloblin to crash land!"

Stan gave an exasperated snort. "Look, I had to act fast or that thing was gonna get away with Fidds, so I took a risk. I'd like to see you do any better in the same position!"

"Well I didn't get a chance to do any better because you rushed off without me!"

"Again, no time! And news flash, genius, this wouldn't've happened if you had just moved on and left the giant monster alone like we told you to!"

Ford scoffed and carefully lifted McGucket off the ground. "How was I supposed to know the alarm was still active? It would have been fine, otherwise."

"You're unbelievable." Stan rolled his eyes and leaned down to pick up the hyperdrive, but instead he… missed.

"...Huh…" Stan rubbed his eyes and tried to pick up the machine again. Once again, he just grabbed the air beside it.

"Stanley, did you hit your head in the fight?"

"No, mom, I didn't hit my head! I just got a headache, it's makin' my vision a little blurry is all."

Ford looked him over in concern, noting that many of the claw marks the Gremloblin had given Stan had broken the skin.

"I believe the Gremloblin's claws may be poisonous. You're probably suffering the side effects of some sort of toxin. Come on, we need to get you both back to the lab for treatment as soon as possible. Here, hold out your arms."

Stan held out his arms uncertainly. Ford carefully transferred McGucket into them. "I'll carry the hyperdrive for now. Let me know if you feel like you're going to drop him."

"What about the rest of our gear?" Stan asked. "We left it back in the clearing where you found that thing."

"We'll have to come back for it later." Ford assured him. "It'll only slow us down now, and besides, the hyperdrive is the only thing I'd be really worried about leaving out in the open."

As they made their way down the mountain, Ford found he needed to steer Stanley out of the way of trees or rocks with increasing frequency. At least he could still walk. Fiddleford remained catatonic, and the researcher doubted he could carry both his brother and his friend.

* * *

In the end, they managed to get home before Stan passed out. After doing his best to treat McGucket for shock, Ford took a blood sample to try and determine what kind of toxin the Gremloblin had in its claws. It was a neurotoxin, but thankfully, it seemed that Stan's spider powers had already developed an antitoxin to combat it. He'd be fine after a good night's rest.

It took another hour or so to treat both their wounds, and by the time he finished they were both fast asleep. He was quite eager to join them. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"SHEESH, WHAT A DAY, AM I RIGHT?" Ford was too tired to even be surprised by Bill's visit. “ALL THE WORK TO GET THE HYPERDRIVE, AND THEN YOU HAVE TO DROP THE THING ON A GREMLOBLIN’S HEAD.”

"An unqualified disaster, yes." Ford agreed. "But at least no lasting damage was done, and we got the hyperdrive back in one piece."

"TRUE, BUT ALL OF THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED."

Ford felt his temper flare. It was bad enough that Stanley was blaming him for all of this, now Bill had to lay on the guilt too?

"It is my job to study the anomalies in this valley! Excuse me for trying to do it!"

"OH, THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Bill laughed. "YOU WERE RIGHT EARLIER. YOU COULD HAVE DONE BETTER, IF YOU'D HAD THE CHANCE. IT'S LIKE I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU, STANFORD. YOU'D MAKE A MUCH BETTER HERO THAN YOUR BROTHER. YOU WOULD HAVE STOPPED AND THOUGHT ABOUT YOUR OPTIONS. YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN TO LOOK OUT FOR THE GREMLOBLIN'S CLAWS. YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO ATTACK ITS WINGS WHILE IT WAS FLYING. YOU WOULDN'T HAVE GOTTEN YOUR ASSISTANT'S ARM BROKEN."

"Well, maybe so." Ford nodded in agreement. "But I'm still not sure if I want that kind of responsibility…. I'm not sure I want to change like that."

"I GET IT, YOU DON'T WANT TO BE EVEN MORE OF A FREAK THAN YOU ALREADY ARE. UNDERSTANDABLE." Bill patted him on the head like someone might pet a dog. "DON'T WORRY, I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THAT. IT SHOULD BE ARRIVING IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS."

"You… ordered something for me in the mail?" Ford asked in confusion.

"HAHAH, NOT EXACTLY, BUT I GUESS THAT'S THE CLOSEST APPROXIMATION YOU FLESH BAGS HAVE."

“Bill, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I really don’t know--”

“OH COME ON, SIXER, AFTER I WENT THROUGH THE TROUBLE TO FIND THIS THING AND SEND IT YOUR WAY, THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS TRY IT OUT! AND YOU’VE GOT THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS TO DECIDE IF YOU REALLY WANT IT.”

“Well, I suppose that’s alright… and if it’s something that doesn’t cause a physical change in me, I don’t see why I couldn’t at least give it a try.”

"THAT'S THE SPIRIT, SIXER! TRUST ME, YOU'RE GONNA WANT IT! YOU'LL BE THE KIND OF HERO THIS WORLD DESERVES!"

GI GUGFOVUC PPNTZY, SHB V’BX BVNZQ OM WRA PNBX MFZM JKBLU CALIAICBOVITF JVLR KYZVPBF. SHLV NOTXXMJVDR HXBRIQBX, EYJF ARRY WFABEUE, U KRVQKGWP GW QU ZIFSG QGGWVF QA VNVCVK… V’S LOIR QG’Y GIKUQAM LNRANBXW HVRLF ZH EEBE NHHOK.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford Mcgucket #Bill Cipher #My Writing #Spider Stan AU #SpiderStan AU

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rhodochrosite-love · 4 years

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WOW everyone who commented on my Wirt birthday post are amazing!

Here’s the au I’ve been working on where it started off as just a Ford Pines self insert, but turned into very interesting idea!

Stanley is kicked out and Ford goes to Backupsmore, while Penny stays in Jersey to help pay off her childhood home’s mortgage. All in the early 1970s.

Ford is awarded a doctorate 3 years ahead of schedule, and prepares to move to Gravity Falls, Oregon in 1973.

In the same instant, Ford gets a call from his parents and after he tells them he’s moving to the northwest, they inform him of Penny living with them. Shocked, Ford is conflicted. Should he go to his sweetheart? He couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened that made her stay in his parents home… After consulting with Fiddleford, he quickly travelled back to Jersey to confront Penny.

Penny explains that she couldn’t take care of the house like she thought she could, what with her book-keeping job as well as her secretary position AND the pressure from it all really weighing her down. She couldn’t help her home anymore so she turned to the only people she knew left in Glass Shard-- Filbrick and Caryn Pines. She had been pulling her weight with buying food, despite Caryn’s pleas to rest whenever she could and her job offers.

Ford listened and took her side. He said he was moving out West to Oregon and had wanted her to come with him. He missed her dearly and could clearly see she needed to get away-- Jersey is no place for a princess.

She accepts in a heartbeat at the thought of living out there, alone with her sweetheart amongst the wood.

1972-1979 Penny and Ford start a life of adventure in Gravity Falls up in their cabin in the woods, catalouging new anomalies every day! After such a hard time, Penny adores the relaxing atmosphere and spending time with her boyfriend after 3(ish) years.

C. 1976 Penny can’t help but begin to think about the future with Ford, and tries to decide whether or not they should marry. In her heart she knows she wants to, but in her mind she feels as though Ford wouldn’t be as on board for whatever reason. After speaking with Susan (Lazy Susan) and Lana (Wendy’s mom), her newfound friends, she decides she has to speak with Ford!

After being avoided most of the day by her beloved (due to him being very distracted by the mystery of the Hide-Behind, and eventually their unavoidable run-in with it. emotional scenes with Penny’s annoyed tone) At the end of the day, Ford admits over dinner that he was avoiding her for the whole day due to his nervousness. After being asked why, he tells her that… “I’ve been fascinated by anomalies my whole life-- the Hide-Behind, the Gnomes, the Eyebats, that UFO theory I’ve still got stuck in my head--” “Stanford, please.” “--Even I, as normal as I may seem, my six fingers made me who I am today! … But… “ Ford reaches in his coat’s pocket, and pulls something from it and places it on the dinner table. “You, Penelope Wright, have been the one thing that’s done both for me-- Fascinated me, baffled me, cherished me, twirled me ‘round and ‘round again ‘til I was dizzy with delight.” “Ford, what’re ya sayin’?” “Penny, dearest... “ He reveals the item, it being a ring with the sweetest red gem in its center shaped like a rounded heart. Penny sniffled, “The apple… Stanford, you’re such a prince!” Before he could utter those four simple words, Penny kissed him breathless. When she pulled away, he was flushed from his ears to his nose and asked her then, whispered against her lips. She said yes, and then many times that night.

C. 1977 Bill realizes his plan is being challenged by this engagment! He had never thought of Penny to be a true problem until now, what with the now foretold probability of the wedding and children as a distraction! Bill makes a deal with Lana to guide Ford to the cave in which Bill was scribed by the natives in exchange for a long life. Ford summons Bill and to no avail, nothing happens until Ford falls asleep.

It was then Ford dreams about Bill and begins to work with him to open his dimension to study the weirdness of Gravity Falls and beyond.

With the new development in the mysteries, the wedding is delayed and Ford and Penny become very busy in their new findings with Bill’s help.

C. 1978 Fiddleford McGucket is employed as the head engineer in building the Portal to the other dimension. Upon hearing the news of Stanford’s engagment, he hoorah’d and congradulated his old roommate.

C. 1978-1979 The portal has been built, as well as the bunker and the second level of the basement. Fiddleford begins to despise his creation and begs Ford not to follow through with his plans and instead publish his findings and settle down properly with Penny. Ford declines and they move to test the portal the next day, Jan 18th 1979.

Jan 19th 1979. Fiddleford gets sucked into the portal, but then gets rescued by Penny and quits the whole she-bang.

Jan 20th, 1979. Bill sees that he has to manipulate Penny, too. She’d been taking Fidds’ side, and since she’s very close with Ford, it’s necessary. He enters her dreams and states that if she make a deal with him, he can make him see reality again. To Penny’s knowledge, Ford’s been driven to madness with his paranoia and struggles to see the light. Bill says that he can fix everything. If he ensconced a baby in Penny’s womb, one that’s both her’s and Ford’s completely, he will see the light again. In return, she has to take a hike. She makes the deal, and he ultimately sends her away. Confused, she cries. But when Bill explains that he basically makes her pregnant with a baby of a man that ‘doesn’t love her anymore’, and literally told her to ‘take a hike’. Embarrassed and humiliated, she flees into town and stays there, leaving Bill to torment Ford to his isoceles heart’s delight.

Sometime in October, before the 22nd, 1979. Penny gives birth to little Walter in Sacred Hirsch Community Hospital. At this point in time, Ford has been thrown into the portal by accident and Stanley has taken his place, in the process of making money for the new Murder Hut.

1980. Penny interrogates this new so-called Mr. Mystery, thinking he’s Ford. She rips at him, accusing him of neglecting her and hurting her. A lot of anger comes out, as well as sadness and despair and raw misery when she says that he no longer cared about her, and she doubted he ever had in the first place. When Stan pulls her to the side and finally looks her in the face clearly (before he was frantically looking around the room, his hut full of customers), he recognizes her faintly as Penelope Wright, the girl Sixer was in kahoots with back in Jersey. He sees her and the now crying baby she’s holding and connects the dots, and is flabbergasted that he’s an uncle! Well, he was already an uncle but that was for Shermie! Penny argues that it was a mistake. Little Walter was the making of a demon named Bill Cipher, and she never should have trusted him. Stan then takes her down to the basement and shows her what he’s done.

1981. Penny gets a job as a waitress at Greasy’s Diner with a little help from Lazy Susan.

1982. Penny needs to start fresh. Despite the fact that she’s got a job and is living with Stanley with a 3 year old Wirt (despite being named Walter, his first word was an attempt at ‘squirt’, which was a nickname given to him by Stanley. Everyone simply calls him Wirt now), she misses all the adventure from when she had Ford. Realizing she’s missing Ford, that son of a bitch that fell into a hole so deep he couldn’t climb out, she needs to get away. She saves up money from her Greasy’s job and now the Mystery Shack (unofficially hired. Stan just says that she’s always rearranging and flipping stuff over and it happens to look nice so he gives her some funds. She’s tried to refuse the money before, but he intensly insisted that she take it.) and moves to Arizona. Teary goodbyes are made and she hugs Stan the tightest of all, telling him to keep in touch.

1983-1994. Walter “Wirt” Wright is living in Arizona with his mother, Penelope Wright.

C. 1985. Greg Universe visits town and performs a live gig and seduces Penny. After a couple of succesful dates, they end up having unprotected sex. Not long after, he leaves town for another gig in Delmarva, doing gigs along the way. She ends up falling pregnant and struggles to comprehend the consequences.

C. 1986. Gregory Wright is born.

C. 1994. Halloween night, Wirt and Greg experience an adventure in The Unknown.

1999. Mason and Mabel Pines are born from Randy Pines and Kathy Pines

(2003. Steven Universe is born from Gregory “Universe” DeMayo and Pink “Rose Quartz” Diamond. Everything that happens with Steven is seperate from Dipper, Mabel, Wirt, and Greg.)

Update - Summer 2012. Penny takes a vacation to Gravity Falls and visits the Mystery Shack. She marvels at Dipper and Mabel and exclaims their cuteness. Mabel likes her when she’s given a butterscotch, but Dipper can’t help but question her motives. She seems awfully close with Stan and gets along well with everyone! Is she hiding something?

All is well until Dipper catches Penny trying to steal Journal #3, and he fights with her over it in his bedroom. Penny falls down and cracks something, making her scream. Stan rushes upstairs and takes Penny away, giving Dipper a nasty stinkeye. He tries to argue that she was trying to take his Journal, and Stan reacts by taking it himself.

Stan and Penny argue in the basement, saying that Dipper should have the Journal back. Stan tries to argue that he shouldn’t, but gives in. After making photocopies, Penny gives it back to Dipper. At first Dipper is skeptical, but awes when she tears up in front of him about it.

“Wow… You really care about the author, don’t you?” “Yeah, we were close…” She sits down beside him, opening the Journal to the Gnomes. “I remember the first time we saw the gnomes together… They tried to take me as queen!” “No way! They took Mabel as queen two weeks ago!” DIpper interjected, to which Penny laughed. “That explains this, then!” She pointed her crooked finger to the words; “Weakness: LEAFBLOWERS!” They both laughed.

At the end of it all, Dipper trusted Penny infineitly more. He was also more curious, as she knew the author. She wouldn’t give him a straight answer, however. Just saying he reminded her of her own son, Walter.

Penny stays in Gravity Falls until the Twins’ Birthday is over and they’re heading off to California.

August 22-25 2012. Weirdmageddon takes place. Penny serves as a scavenger and is found by McGucket and taken back to the Mystery Shack to be protected. She joins in the fight to defeat Bill Cipher, and when everyone’s in the Fearamid, it’s the first time Penny’s seen Stanford in nearly 33 years. He begins by saying hello, and saying he missed her. Before he can say anything further, she hugs him tightly, saying that he can apologize later. He prepares to retort, but when seeing Fidds’ face in response, he quietly hushes and hugs her back.

August 28 2012. Ford apologizes for how he acted and what he had done to her, like he always should have. She tells him about their son Wirt and he’s shocked. She tells him the deal she made and how she moved out of the state. After that conversation he hugs her tight and says she never should have gone through that. If he were a better man back then, she wouldn’t have had to make a deal to have a baby.

The same day, Mabel secretly arranges a wedding for her Grunkle Ford and new ‘Grauntie Penny’. Stan is on the sidelines for the whole occassion, but finally takes his brothers side as the Best Man. Mabel is the flower girl and Dipper bares the rings, while Susan is her maid of honor. Stanford promises to protect and cherish her for as long as he lives. Penny promises to care for him and heal him when the times arise. They smooch after some crazy heartfelt vows, thus they are married.

October 15 2012. Penny and Ford celebrate Wirt’s 33rd birthday. Wirt still isn’t used to his dad but comes around when he sees just how quizzical he is. They’re so alike it’s crazy!

November 2012. Penny joins Stan and Ford on the Stan ‘O War II.

(just to keep track-- in 2020 Wirt is 41, Dip and Mabs are 21, Greg is 34, and Steven is 17)

Mans that’s what I have! I’d love to hear anything from y’all about this!

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kingofthewilderwest · 5 years

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So I’m speaking from my own personal spin, but I love how Fiddleford McGucket can feel like such a musician.

Characters are often incidentally musicians. Writers throw it in there without thought to how music interplays with their life. You could blink and miss it. It doesn’t frame the character’s interests or personality, and if not for one minor scene, you wouldn’t think they had musical background.

But irl, I often meet people who have (as I affectionately call it) “Musician Brain.”

For some diehard musicians, music is embedded in our personality. You can’t take the musician out of us. We’re constantly thinking and acting out music even when there isn’t an instrument near us. Music gets entangled in quirks, subconscious behaviors, habits, actions, life choices, thought processes, and more. I feel like most fictional musician characters lack that “vibe” or “quirk”. But one thing that entertains me about McGucket is that he can be read as a That Dork With Musician Brain.

I mean like...

The two things Ford buys when McGucket arrives in Gravity Falls are microchips and banjo strings. Sure, Fiddleford might’ve said he needed them. But Ford’s charging to the store because he’s excited and grateful Fiddleford is here, and wants to purchase gifts to make him feel at home. Apparently, the comforts of home aren’t complete without music. That banjo came to the dorms back in the day, didn’t it? Ford probably saw that banjo in the dorms.

It was Important Enough(TM) to be mentioned in Journal #3: Ford set up the ground rule “no banjo playing after eight.” Why? Because otherwise, there would be banjo after eight. Wonderful, beautiful, skilled banjo music. Late at night. When Ford wanted to fucking sleep. There’d be that musician. Still playing. The fucking banjo. After eight. The fact Ford mentions this information early in his journals also means... this was dealt with right away. It had to be dealt with right away. Either because Ford had already experienced this phenomenon ahead of time (college), or because they’d already run into this problem in Gravity Falls... of banjo being played... after eight.

Have you noticed that at all of McGucket’s work stations, the banjo is there? He sets it up beside him during the journal research period. He has it by him in his Palo Alto garage. He’s even got the freaking banjo with him inside the gobblewonker. The banjo is literally part of his work environment. If Fiddleford wanted a real break from work, he could store his musical instruments anywhere. He’d leave the work station, play music, come back. But the instrument needs to be IN EASY REACH. That’s no accident. It’s there to fiddle with while he’s working, while he’s mulling over a problem, while he’s taking a one minute break... etc.

Fiddleford, while idly thinking, automatically starts doing MUSIC THINGS. For instance: hamboning on his knees while doing math calculations. (I know GF made hamboning quasi-linguistic, but if we wanted, we could suggest that before shit hit the fan, Fiddleford used hamboning as the musical thing it is.) No wonder Ford commented in the journal he could “put up with” Fiddleford’s eccentricities. It would be something that needed... tolerance. I’m imagining a quiet day in the lab, and then... whack-a-whack-a-whack-whack-a-whakkk. Try concentrating on your mind-grueling advanced research while the guy next to you is smacking up a rhythmically complicated groove using himself as a drum! Did Fiddleford get glares for that? I’m betting Fiddleford got glares for that.

Granted, flashbacks with Fiddleford don’t cover his happiest life period. He’s tense, on edge, anxious, not smiling. But maybe there’s something to be said that the one and only time we see young McGucket at ease smiling... is when he’s playing his instrument.

By the way. It’s not just one banjo. In Palo Alto, McGucket didn’t have one instrument he could play in his “home office.” He had two, set up, right there. Two instruments. One garage. I can tell you for a fact, once the instruments start multiplying, you’re usually a lost cause.

SPEAKING OF BANJOS MULTIPLYING. When you open the front cover of Journal #3, you get blueprints labeled “From the Desk of Fiddleford H. McGucket.” Most is professional. The raccoons are eyebrow-raising. But most is professional. And then we get to the Gideon Bot, which, for NO REASON AT ALL, has a storage chamber dedicated to a “prize banjo collection.” What. What is that doing there, Fiddleford. I know that wasn’t Gideon’s idea. Why are you amassing banjos in a giant tyrant robot?

Need to keep this guy awake through a long night? Drown him in coffee and blast those bluegrass records.

The science bros plan a serious expedition to an alien spaceship crash site. This will be an aweing experience, especially for Fiddleford, who’ll be seeing it his first time. The expedition is serious work, key to their endeavored scientific breakthroughs. It’ll be a several day rigorous hiking trip through uncivilized wilds, through forests and caves and more, through dangerous paranormal areas. They’ll only be able to carry bare essential supplies with them. There’s no room for anything besides bare essentials. What’s a bare essential? That Fiddleford can’t live two and a half days without? That he absolutely needs to bring? Apparently? His fucking banjo. He brought his fucking banjo.

Speaking of bringing banjos where no banjo should go... let’s try “parachuting through the air into the evil layer of a dream demon for a last stand apocalyptic rescue mission.” Yeah, McGucket uses the instrument like a weapon. That hurts my soul - musical instruments aren’t weapons. You could suggest it’s for self-defense that the instrument came. But... there would’ve been three hundred other things in the Mystery Shack better equipped for self-defense. And yet you parachuted hundreds of feet through the air with a banjo on your back.

No apocalypse shelter is complete without your musical instrument!

Can’t move into the new home without the banjo, either! Basically the only thing he brought, too.

Ever thought about how, post-memory loss and life collapse, the one quality possession he manages to keep with him... is his banjo?

And he still plays and practices music consistently! He mentions in “Land Before Swine” he has an “hourly hootenanny.” It’s a self-scheduled time for music that he’s presumably repeating most days.

Speaking of “Land Before Swine”, McGucket says he loses musical spoons to a dinosaur. It’s to note that spoons are sometimes used as percussion, including in American folk music. This isn’t McGucket speaking nonsense. This is him knowing stringed instruments and percussion.

Mental health struggles, self-inflicted memory loss, and a poor living situation have taken their toll on McGucket through the decades. But that can’t destroy how music sings through his soul. When he plays, “the age lift[s] off his face,” and Ford can see “the Fiddleford who had been [his] friend so many years ago.” McGucket is relaxed, happy, and at peace with his instrument, so much that his identity sings together with the strings. Ford recognizes his friend of old - his friend back before shit hit the fan - because that man playing banjo is who Fiddleford is.

In a way, music is what demonstrates resolution to Fiddleford’s character arc - both his growth arc, and his relationship with Ford. He starts the story as a man smiling on his instrument, playing music contently. He goes through many issues once he starts research in Gravity Falls. And then he ends the story as a man again smiling on his instrument, playing music contently. Smiling on the banjo is the bookmark start and the bookmark end, showing he’s grown back emotionally after all the struggles. Not to mention... music’s sorta the resolving moment where two old, close friends find peace. Ford and Fiddleford have had decades of guilt, pain, and consequences from their mistakes. A key symbolic moment of their relationship being mended - fully mended - is when the two can listen to the banjo together.

Again, this is my own spin, but I live for how Fiddleford McGucket comes off as so musicianny to me. As a composer who’s constantly carting a pennywhistle in my satchel... who hums with my electric toothbrush because it vibrates on middle C... who curses the fact I have apartment neighbors because otherwise I’d have my viola out at 4 AM... I’m damn charmed to encounter a fictional character who I feel emanates musician vibes, musician quirks... Musician Brain.

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detectivejigsawpines · 4 years

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In the jungle you must wait

...Maybe “Jumanji” wasn’t the best choice for movie night.

"Flippin' through the movies, doodly-doo, lookin' for somethin' good to watch, doodly-doo…"

Stan Pines thumbed lazily through the pile of movies he'd scrounged up for the evening, singing to himself under his breath. It was a habit he knew annoyed the heck out of Ford, but he was still in the kitchen getting snacks with the kids, so he could get away with it a little longer.

And then a title finally caught his interest, and he put it into the player, quickly using the remote to skip through the previews to the name of the film appearing on the screen in ominous letters.

Just then Dipper entered the living room, and saw it too. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw the boy freeze up, and his hand twitch nervously.

"Um, Grunkle Stan," he said softly, "you might not want to pick this one."

Stan turned so he was looking at him full-on, gave him a quizzical stare. "Why not?"

Dipper struggled for a moment for the right words, before asking, "Have you ever watched Jumanji before?"

"Nope, but I know what happens. Some dumb kids play with a board game that turns out to be magical." As Mabel and Ford entered the living room, bearing popcorn and drinks, he accepted a Pitt and his own bowl. "Doesn't sound like anything to worry about. Besides, it's PG-you little gremlins are old enough for that, right?"

The kids rolled their eyes at him and made themselves comfortable against his legs, while Ford sat down in the chair next to Stan.

"I've actually visited a dimension with something like that," he began, before Stan shushed him because something interesting was finally happening.

********

This might have been a mistake.

It wasn't too bad at first; sure, the main kid's problems with bullies and his father brought back a few bad memories, but Stan thought he was handling it okay.

Then the boy and his father got in a fight, the argument ending with the boy saying that he was never talking to him again. The front door slammed, and for a second a different door was floating in front of him and he was on the sidewalk in front of the pawnshop-but then he tightened his grip on the soda can in his hand, grounding him back in reality.

Deep breath, Stan. Deep breath. Everything's fine.

Nobody seemed to have noticed, so he focused his attention back on the movie.

********

When the kids started playing the game, Ford's stomach started churning. Especially when he heard the stupid little rhyme: "In the jungle you must wait/Till the dice read five or eight." And then he saw the consequences of the boy's roll.

"Stanley! Help me!"

Floating up up up out of all control into the hellhole he'd built no no NO

"SHE JUST LET HIM GO?!"

Ford jumped almost a foot in the air at his brother's enraged exclamation, jerked out of the horrid memory at once. He whipped his head around to see Stanley pointing an accusing finger at the screen, still ranting, oblivious to the alarmed looks the rest of his family were giving him. "She didn't even try to grab him, she just watched him get sucked in-didn't she care about him at all?!"

"Stanley." Ford managed to reach over and grab his arm. "Hey, ssh, it's okay."

His twin blinked a few times, and then lowered his hand. "Sorry."

"...Do you want us to turn it off?" Mabel asked, twisting around and reaching for the remote-but Stan brought his hand down on it hard, pulling it out of reach.

"I'm fine."

I'm not, Ford thought, but he couldn't get the words out. He just squeezed Stan's arm once before releasing it. And both children gave them slightly worried looks, but turned back to the screen.

********

The movie got a little better again, until the boy-a man now, played by Robin Williams (Ford had not been very invested in the world of film in the years pre-portal, but Fiddleford had enjoyed them, and he'd been a big fan of the comedian), returned to this world to find out that everything he'd known and loved was gone.

Ford felt a lump rising in his throat, and his vision started to blur; it took him a few rapid blinks to clear it, and he discreetly wiped his eyes on his sweater sleeve. And then he heard a loud sniffle-coming from right next to him, instead of from him.

Ford glanced over at his brother, and blinked in surprise. As bad as he probably looked, Stan was a mess. I mean, he was being quiet about it, but his eyes were running like a faucet, and his shoulders and mouth trembled with pent-up emotion.

Ford cleared his throat, but still sounded hoarse when he whispered, "Stanley, let's just watch something else."

"You don't have to watch if it's bugging you," Stan growled, voice sounding even gruffer than usual.

Ford decided it was time to pull the 'authoritative older twin' card. "Stanley-"

"I'm not gonna spend the rest of my life avoiding everything that gives me bad memories!" Stan snarled, whirling to glare at him through angry, tearful eyes. "I do that, I'll never do anything again!"

For a moment, despite the show still playing, the room felt hushed, as everyone (even Waddles, who was lying next to Mabel) turned to stare at him. He glared defiantly back. Then, quick as a wink, Ford grabbed the remote-and hit the pause button.

"Ford!" Stan lunged for the remote, but Ford held it out of reach.

"There's no shame in at least taking a break from the thing that gives you bad memories!" he said quickly.

Stan lowered his arms after a second, and began to rub his face on a corner of his undershirt before Dipper preemptively pushed some tissues into his hand. Mabel, looking far less than her usual exuberant self, climbed up into her grunkle's lap, hugging him around the middle. After a hesitant moment, since he probably thought the fact that they were both teenagers now meant they were maybe getting a little old/big to do this, Dipper followed suit except with Ford.

After a few minutes of just being comforted by their niece and nephew, Stan looked over at Ford.

"Sorry, I shoulda thought about what this is like for you. You wanna watch something else?"

Ford was tempted to say yes...but finally shook his head.

"No, you're right. It's not healthy to just avoid triggering things, because that will make them all the worse when they do show up."

Stan wiped his eyes again. "Whatever, smarty-pants." Since neither kid seemed inclined to move, he just picked up the remote again and hit play.

********

Quite a few moments still stung-namely the part where Robin Williams found out his careless action had cost his former friend his job at the shoe factory (Ford had to squeeze Stan's shoulder during most of the scene), the part where the two original players claimed that the game had ruined their lives, and even the happy ending where father and son were able to reconcile their differences (because both older Pines twins knew such things were not as simple in real life). By the end when the game washed up on an obscure shore, they were almost out of tissues, and Stan was sure he and Ford looked like they'd just been at a funeral (and possibly the kids looked a little like that too). But even though he felt raw inside from all the old pain and hurt that had been dredged up, he also felt oddly cleansed. And a little triumphant inside for not letting his memories control his decision to watch this thing. Of course, he couldn't say he'd enjoyed the movie, exactly...but he told himself stubbornly that it had been worth it.

"Next time," Ford said aloud, "I get to pick the movie." He pulled off his tear-stained glasses and began cleaning them on his sweater.

"...Yeah, that's fair," Stan agreed.

If only Ford had thought to look into the actual plot of Secondhand Lions...

********

If you haven’t seen Secondhand Lions, starring Michael Caine, Robert Duvall and Haley Joel Osmont, you have my pity and you should watch it. It’s a healthy blend of humor and ruthlessly tearing at your heartstrings-my favorite.

#Gravity Falls #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #jumanji #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family bonding #watching movies #PTSD #sad memories #platonic Pines cuddles

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minijenn · 5 years

Text

In Too Deep Preview 2

blahahhhhh still speed writing this chapter lol oh well here’s more of it enjoy:

***

“Actually, we have two more hours until we reach the Cluster,” Peridot pointed out as the whirling of the drill became uniform and quiet. “Approximately.”

“Whaaaaa?” Mabel asked, dumbfounded. “But I thought this thing was supposed to… ya know, boom! Bam! Take us right down to the Cluster so we knock it right out of the park and save everything!”

“And it will,” Ford assured, nodding to one of the drill’s tiny monitors, which showed a representation of the drill’s descent. “But we’ve only just barely breached the Earth’s crust. We’ll have to go through both the lithosphere and the asthenosphere, not to mention the mantle and the outer core before getting to the Cluster at the inner core.”

“That… sure does sound like a lot…” Steven said worriedly.

“It is a lot,” Peridot agreed. “But our drill is more than equipped to handle such an intense journey thanks to its titan’s ore outfitting and my expertly engineered design.”

“I think you mean Fiddleford’s expertly engineered design considering the fact that he was the one who engineered this,” Ford pointed out, sending the green Gem a critical look.

“Ugh, fine,” Peridot groaned begrudgingly. “Thanks to the Fiddleford’s design. Though my technological know-how certainly helped in at least 85% of the drill’s construction!”

“And the same goes for myself and Pearl as well,” the author remarked. “But you already knew that considering just how many times we’ve had to remind you of our contributions so far.”

“Augh! And you insist on going on about those contributions even still!” Peridot huffed, slightly annoyed. “T-though… I suppose I would have been… pretty hard pressed to put a machine of this caliber together all on my own so… I’m… grateful for the assistance.”

“Hmph,” Ford was unable to hold back a satisfied smirk at this. “And here I was thinking you’d never say it.”

“So, uh… does this thing have any windows we can open?” Mabel asked, tugging at the collar of her sweater a bit. “It’s getting super stuffy in here.”

“If we opened up any interior port in here, you three humans would suffocate almost instantly due to the intense pressure of the densely solidified rock all around us,” Peridot explained matter-of-factly. “So now. No windows.”

“Oh…” Mabel frowned, disappointed.

“So… two hours, huh?” Steven asked, already starting to get bored, a sentiment Mabel clearly shared with nothing but dark, endless earth to stare out at. “Wish we’d brought some tunes.” Peridot quickly complied with this request, pressing a button to play some surprisingly calming, but rather mundane music. “Uh… thanks,” the young Gem said, halfheartedly at this.

“What is this?” Ford frowned as he looked to the drill’s console. “Peridot, what did you do with the ‘Beethoven’s Best Hits’ disk I had loaded up in here?”

“Oh, that noisy tripe?” the green Gem scoffed. “I tossed it out. This music I found on the ‘interweb’ is much more pleasing to listen to.”

“Peridot, this is elevator music,” the author deadpanned. “And that was the best collection of classical music I’ve been able to find for quite some time now! Its scientifically proven to help stimulate mental facilities, improve focus, and-”

“And drive someone up the wall with all those whiny stringed instruments!” Peridot exclaimed in clear distaste. “Besides, this so-called ‘elevator music’ is much more fitting for the current situation.”

“Ohhhh yeah!” Mabel chimed in. “We could always just pass the time pretending we’re on a real elevator! Gooooing up!” She brightly raised her hand, only to realize that none of the others were playing along. “Or… I guess, going down, heh.”

A long beat of silence followed after this, largely as the result of everyone more or less running out of things to say. The elevator music continued to drone on just as much as the seemingly unchanging scenery of the crust’s uniform rocky layers, giving them no indication as to how far down they had gone or how close they were to their destination. The full weight of the task that awaited them at the distant core, as well as the very real possibility that they could indeed fail if things didn’t go off without a hitch, was only starting to hit them all amidst the lingering silence. And it was such a dreadful, horrific thought that Steven was quick to be the first of them to push his mind away from it in order to help the others do the same.

“It’s… kinda freaky down here, huh?” he asked the others generally.

“Why’s that?” Peridot asked.

“Its just dark and cramped and-” the young Gem groaned as he attempted to get comfortable without disrupting Ford or Mabel. “Augh, I can’t even stretch out.”

“See? See? That’s what I’m sayin’!” Mabel readily agreed. “Its so stuffy and tight in here! How were all of us and the rest of the Gems and Dipper supposed to all fit in here anyway?”

“I don’t know, they’d shrink or something!” Peridot huffed defensively. “We didn’t have a lot of time to plan.”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t think the original plan was for all of us to go anyway,” Ford mused.

“So… what is the plan then?” Steven asked curiously.

Ford and Peridot both exchanged a serious glance at this, knowing that in the absence of the others, they were largely the ones left in charge of this mission. And rightly so too, given just how close to the development and construction of the very drill they were now piloting they had been from the very beginning. “We have a drill,” Peridot concluded succinctly. “We’re going to drill.”

“…Good plan!” Mabel remarked after a prolonged beat of silence. “Short and simple. I like it!”

“Oh! Everyone, get ready!” Ford announced as he happened to spot something of note on one of the console’s monitors. “We’re about to penetrate the asthenosphere!”

“The aesthetic-who now?” Mabel asked, confused, though she quickly got her answer. The entire drill jolted violently, rattling the small group aboard it as it finally broke free from the dense layer’s of the earth’s crust to breach into another layer altogether. One that offered a completely different view from the seemingly endless rounds of rock and soil they had been drilling through before.

“Whoa! It’s all lava!” Steven gasped, amazed at the bright orange magma now surrounding them on all sides as they continued plunging through it.

“Aha! The hull is holding up after all!” Ford exclaimed, satisfied by their relative safety. “Turns out that coating of titan’s ore would have been well worth the cost. That is, if we had actually ended up paying for it.”

“So, uh… just asking for a friend,” Mabel interjected casually. “If someone were to uh, get a whole bunch of titan’s ore from the local rich girl that said someone’s brother may or may not be totally crushing on and make really fancy sparkly suit outta all that, then… would that someone, oh, I dunno, be able to swim in lava?”

“…Hypothetically, yes,” Ford adjusted his glasses. “Though I doubt such a suit would be very buoyant, especially in lava.”

#jen writes #universe falls #uf preview #in too deep

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aceofstars16 · 5 years

Text

Trapped in the Past (Chapter 2)

Second chapter of my Timetrapped fic inspired by @artsycrapfromsai!

When Mabel and Dipper fight over a time machine, they find themselves sent back thirty years in the past. Now it’s up to the younger versions of their great uncles to get them home.

Chapter 2 - A Fruitless Search

Dipper searches for Mabel in the snow. Mabel tries to find Dipper in Dead End Flats. Discouragement abounds, but at least they both have someone looking out for them.

1 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

AO3

“Mabel!”

The wind blew Dipper’s hair back as he called out, chilling his face and making him shiver despite the coat and socks. He didn’t know when he had lost his hat, all he knew was that it was nowhere to be seen. Which was unfortunate because right now it would help his head say warmer, and of course there was the fact that it hid his birthmark.

Narrowing his eyes against the cold, Dipper caught sight of Stanford looking back at him and out of pure instinct he reached up and flattened his bangs against his forehead. For a moment, the author just looked at him, a frown on his face, but then he turned and kept walking. After taking a few steps, however, Dipper realized they were going down the wrong trail.

“Uh, Mr. uh…Stanford, er…”

Stopping in his tracks, Stanford looked back at him, eyes narrowed slightly. “Just call me Ford.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what Dipper was expecting. He always imagined the author as this larger than life person, not someone he could just call…a nickname? “Ummm, I think I actually came from that trail.” Pointing to the path that he was pretty sure would lead to the carnival clearing, Dipper found his hand once again pressing down his bangs.

Ford glanced at the trail for a moment, as if lost in thought. Then he shook his head before walking forward, but as he passed Dipper he spoke. “You don’t need to keep covering your birthmark. No one is going to see it out here.”

Dipper’s hand fell to his side as he watched Ford continue to walk in the snow. Of course someone with six fingers would be used to rude comments, in fact, that was just one of the things that Dipper had connected with while reading the journal. However, he still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his hero, now that he was actually meeting him. The suspicious behavior and disheveled look wasn’t exactly what he had been imagining, but surely there was an explanation for that?

“Hurry up, this weather can change in an instant and I don’t want to be stuck in a blizzard.”

Ford’s voice interrupted Dipper’s thoughts and he shook his head before trotting forward, going as fast as he could in the snow. “Sorry, coming!”

Stumbling after the author, Dipper kept his eyes out for any sign of Mabel, calling out her name every few feet. But as they reached the clearing, the only sign of life were his own footprints from earlier.

“MABEL!” Dipper called out, his voice already getting sore from shouting so much. Her name rang through the clearing but there was no response, just the whistling of wind.

“There are a few caves we can check, this way.” Ford waved his hand and kept walking, though Dipper couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to keep glancing around quickly, as if he was being watched. Each time he did, Dipper would cast a worried glance behind him. There didn’t seem to be anything around, but Ford’s unease was contagious. That, plus there being no sign of his sister anywhere, resulted in a heaviness settling on his chest that was impossible to ignore.

“Mabel! Mabel please, I’m sorry for everything, please answer!”

Wind was the only response. Again, and again, at each nook and cave that Ford lead them to, and with each empty response, Dipper grew more and more worried.

“No signs here either.”

Dipper barely heard Ford’s voice through the exhaustion of his body and the anxiety clouding his mind. “S-she has to be around h-here somewhere.” As he spoke, Dipper’s teeth chattered. The coat that had barely been keeping him warm was now drenched at the bottom. He wasn’t even sure it was keeping any warmth in now.

Hugging himself Dipper started walking forward again, not even sure where else Mabel could be, but not wanting to give up either. Then Ford’s arm appeared in front of him, blocking his way. Glancing up at him, Dipper could see a frown on his face. However, he wasn’t looking at Dipper, but the sky.

“It’s getting dark.” Ford’s frown grew as he spoke, as if not liking what he was about to say. “We need to head back before the sun goes down. Or else we are going to freeze.”

“But, w-what about M-Mabel?!?” Despite the shivers that were shaking his entire body, Dipper knew he couldn’t just go back to the Shack without finding her.

“There is no telling where she is. Maybe she found someone to take her in for the night, but we can’t stay out here any longer.”

It was the last thing Dipper wanted to do, but as Ford started making his way back down the trail, Dipper followed. Exhaustion and despair weighing him down.

Then, as he was stumbling after Ford, his foot caught on a rock and he couldn’t catch himself - his body was too exhausted from trekking around in the snow for over an hour. Landing face first in the snow, Dipper’s incessant shivering, which had overtaken his body, grew even worse.

“What are you-?”

Dipper heard Ford’s voice cut off, but he was so tired that he couldn’t even respond. His whole body felt like a block of ice. He wasn’t even sure he could get up again. He was so drained, both emotionally and physically. All he wanted to do was lie down and wake up back in the Mystery Shack he knew with Mabel safe next to him.

“Come on, we need to hurry.” A hand rested on his shoulder and as Dipper forced himself to look up, he saw Ford crouching next to him. A moment later the author stood and offered him a hand. Closing his eyes for a moment, Dipper tried to gather his strength and remind himself that he couldn’t do Mabel any good if he froze out here. Then he reached up, accepting Ford’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up.

The whole walk back, Dipper was barely aware of the hand that rested on his shoulder, guiding him at each turn in the trail, or how he was pulled up and steadied every time he stumbled. All he could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. But in the back of his mind, worry nagged at him and he couldn’t help but be weighed down by the fact that Mabel might be out in the cold, all alone. All because of a stupid fight over a machine. He’d gladly give up his day with Wendy just to know that Mabel was okay.

Ford was exhausted. Though that was normal for him lately. However, now his body felt even more drained. It took most of his concentration to keep standing, though he constantly reminded himself to keep on eye on Dipper. Of course Bill would send someone who had an oddity as well, trying to get Ford to feel pity so he would let down his guard. And it had worked. Ford found himself helping the kid take off the soaked clothes he was wearing and wrap him up in a few blankets that he could find. He had even turned on the heater despite knowing warmth might lull him to sleep again.

It was a ploy, he kept telling himself that. But part of him also realized that Dipper might not know Bill was using him. After all, Ford himself had been a pawn for the demon. And if that was the case, then, well…Dipper was just a kid. Plus, his fingers had been turning blue by the time they had made it back to the house. Ford might not trust the kid, but he wasn’t just going to let someone freeze.

Besides, he doubted Dipper had any energy to do anything for Bill at the moment. As soon as he had sat on the couch, the kid hadn’t moved and even as Ford checked again, he was in the same spot, still shivering a little despite the blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

A beeping interrupted Ford’s observation and he made his way back to the kitchen, sighing as he noted that his coffee wasn’t finished brewing yet. He really needed something to give him some energy or he was liable to fall asleep on his feet. Shaking his head - both clear it and to wake himself up - Ford pulled the mug out of the microwave before pouring an old package of hot chocolate mix into the water. He didn’t drink much of the stuff, but Fiddleford had kept some around and apparently he had left a few packages behind.

Once he had mixed the powder as well as he could, Ford made his way back to the living room, trying not to pay attention to how his legs felt like they were full of led.

“Here, drink this.”

Dipper looked up slowly, and for a second he looked confused, but then he focused on the mug and reached out to accept it, his fingers tightly wrapping around the warm cup before taking a sip. A small shiver ran through his body, but then he took another sip and his shoulders relaxed a little.

“Aren’t you cold?”

The question took Ford by surprise and he stared at Dipper for a moment. Yes, he was cold, but he was used to being cold - it had become normal for him. Though he supposed, he was a little colder than he would like. “I’m fine, I have coffee brewing.”

A quiet “oh” was the only response as Dipper continued to drink his cocoa, his eyes drooping more with each sip. Well at least it seemed to be warming him up, though Ford felt a knot of unease forming in his gut as Dipper seemed about a second away from falling asleep. Bill loved using people while they slept…

However, a few minutes later – after Ford had put Dipper’s mug in the sink and watched as the kid slept – he had to admit his worry seemed to be unwarranted. Dipper was out cold and there was no sign of Bill anywhere. Well, aside from the quiet whispers that continued to follow Ford wherever he went. He had even heard them out in the snow, despite being far away from the portal. Occasionally they fell into the background, but then he would hear them again and the paranoia in his chest would return – though he was starting to think that maybe that it had never actually left.

Taking a sip of coffee, Ford forced himself to move again – even standing still for too long resulted in him almost falling over from exhaustion. He needed to move, and despite not wanting to turn his back on Dipper, he found himself making his way to the basement. The portal had been shut off for a while now, but Ford had to check it multiple times a day or else he would go crazy. There was no telling what Bill would do to turn it on. So, he constantly checked on it, making sure everything was in place, turned off and harmless. It was a necessary precaution, just until Stan got there…that is, if Stan even came at all.

Unease settled in Ford’s chest at the thought, but he tried to push it aside. If Stanley didn’t come, he would…he would figure something out. Probably.

“Are you her father?”

Stan stared at the man who he had pulled aside a moment ago to ask about seeing Mabel’s brother. They had been going at it for at least an hour with no luck whatsoever – which weighed down on Stan’s chest. Not just because of his looming deadline but because he could see Mabel slowly losing heart.

Opening his mouth, Stan was about to reply that he was in no way anything close to a father - just someone trying to help - when Mabel’s words cut him off.

“No, he’s my gr-uh…uncle! Well sometimes I call him grunkle but that’s cause he’s a great uncle, not like an actual great uncle but an awesome uncle, you know?”

The words tumbled out of her mouth so quickly that Stan found himself simply staring at her for a second, trying to process exactly what she had just said.

“Huh…is that so?” The man looked at Stan, who forced a quick smile and put an arm around Mabel.

“Yup, sure is!” Okay, so it wasn’t the truth, but if he disagreed with Mabel there was no telling what kind of complications might arise and he was just trying to help her. If people assumed they were related, it would get rid of any of the awkwardness surrounding the fact that he was walking around with a child he had just met. Even if he had no ill intentions toward her.

For a moment the man just looked at them then shrugged. “Sorry I haven’t seen anyone like you described, hope you find him.”

As the man walked away, Mabel sighed, slumping against Stan’s leg. “Why hasn’t anyone seen him?”

Stan patted her head, frowning as he looked around the street. “I don’t know kiddo, maybe he’s hanging out in one spot? What does he like to do?”

She opened her mouth, only to close it, a shadow of sadness passing over her face. “He likes video games, but also weird things like conspiracy theories and stuff. And reading, he likes to read too.”

As she spoke, Stan felt a small knot of emotion grow in his chest. Weird things and books? Of course he ran into the one kid who’s brother sounded just like Ford…or at least, what Ford had been like as a kid. Trying to shake off the thought, Stan looked around. “Well, we can try the library. And there might be an arcade somewhere around here?”

Despite being in this town for a few weeks, Stan hadn’t really been to the…regular spots, but he figured there would at least be a library. And seeing as arcades were getting more popular, there might be one somewhere, or at least a restaurant that had a machine or two.

“Okay…” Something about Mabel’s demeanor had changed, but Stan had no clue what had caused it, so he tried for smile.

“I’m sure we’ll find him soon.” It was a lie. Stan had no idea if they would find her brother, there was no telling what could happen, especially in a place like this. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it away. No, Dipper was fine and they were going to find him. End of story.

Determination settling in his chest, Stan patted Mabel’s back in assurance before setting off to find the nearest arcade.

“Here you are darling.”

Mabel looked up from the café counter at the basket of chicken strips and fries. Despite the worry weighing her down, she felt her stomach rumble and she hesitantly grabbed a strip, nibbling on it as she watched some kids playing Pac Man a few tables away. Dipper wasn’t one of them.

A hand grabbed some fries from the basket and Mabel turned to look at Stan, who was stuffing the food into his mouth. He hadn’t said anything since they ordered but from the way he kept sticking his hand in his pocket, she couldn’t help but wonder if he could actually afford the food. She sure hoped so, not only because she didn’t have any money either, but also because she didn’t like the thought of her great uncle being broke. It just wasn’t right.

“Hey, chin up kiddo, I’m sure we’ll find him soon.”

Stan gave her a smile, though she couldn’t help but wonder if it was real or forced. They had been searching for hours and there wasn’t even a sign of Dipper. She didn’t want to stop, but her knees – which hadn’t felt too bad at first - were starting to sting and ache. Also, her sweater and skirt combo wasn’t exactly the best for staying outside for long periods of time, at least, not when it was cold out.

“Find who.”

The waitress that had taken their order was back, filling up their glasses with water. Mabel opened her mouth, but found she couldn’t get the words out. That her brother was missing without a trace, that she was stuck in the past with no way home, that she didn’t even have a clue as to what she should do now. All because of a stupid fight. Sure, she loved Waddles, and she didn’t want to give him up but...she would gladly do so if it meant she could be home with Dipper right now.

“Uh, her brother. He ran off and we’ve been looking for him for a few hours now.” Stan answered the question - the half lie rolling off his tongue with well-practiced ease. At least this Stan was the same in that regard, despite being about thirty years younger than Mabel was used to.

“You check the police station? They might be able to help.”

“That’s our next stop.” Stan said it so fast, Mabel almost didn’t catch the way his hand twitched a little. She had to admit the idea of going to the police wasn’t really ideal to her either. Not only because of that night in the Gravity Falls jail during a ‘family bonding’ day, but also because she really didn’t know if they could help. Dipper might be in an entirely different year for all she knew.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mabel saw the waitress – Pam, if she was remembering the nametag right – leave only to come back a moment later and set a plate down in front of her.

“Here darling, it’s on the house.”

Sitting up, Mabel could feel her sweet tooth acting up as she took in the huge slice of apple pie that was now sitting in front of her. She looked at Stan and the unfinished chicken nuggets, but he just waved at the pie. Oh yeah, this was the Stan she knew, who let her have ice cream for breakfast on a regular basis.

The next few minutes passes by in silence – Mabel eating every crumb of the pie while Stan finished off the rest of the chicken and fries.

“So…I can take you to the police if you want…”

Mabel, who had been licking her plate to savor any last traces of ice cream, froze and lowered the plate to the table, not sure how to respond. She wanted to find Dipper but from Stan’s hesitance, and her own uncertainties about consulting the police, she was reluctant to say anything. But after a moment, she asked quietly, “Do…you think they would actually be able to help?”

“Eh,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Probably. Even if they can’t find him right away, they could ask other cites and maybe even put up fliers and stuff. And they could probably get you home too.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, anxiety jumped up in Mabel’s chest. Home. The police couldn’t get her home. Heck, she didn’t even think home existed right now. Her parents might not even be born for all she knew. Stan was the only family she had right now and the thought of trusting strangers to get her to a home that wasn’t even created yet was…She shook her head.

“I don’t…” Her voice died in her throat. She couldn’t explain all of that to Stan, or at least, she wasn’t sure if she should. Or if he would even believe her if she did. And if Dipper was here, she knew he would argue that it could ruin the future if she said anything about it.

“Hey, don’t worry they uh…they’ll know what to do.”

A hand rested on Mabel’s shoulder and in any other circumstance, she would’ve agreed. But this wasn’t a normal situation. No one would believe that she was from the future, and even if they did, she doubted they could help her get home.

“Can’t I just stay with you?” It was the only option that didn’t totally terrify her. If she really was stuck in the past, she’d rather be stuck with Stan.

Stan laughed, though it was forced. “Trust me kid, you don’t want to.”

Running a hand through her hair, Mabel couldn’t look at him, because from everything she’d seen of his life that might be true, but she knew she would be safe with Stan. Even though he didn’t know her, she knew him and she knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. “I really do…”

Shaking his head, Stan sighed. “Come on, the car isn’t too far away. I can take you to the police station. It... it’ll be for the best.”

Stan got up before she could answer and Mabel tried to force down the panic that was rising in her chest. What could she say to convince Stan to let her stay with him? Fear and desperation raced through her as she stumbled after Stan, out of the diner and onto the street. Her chest grew tighter and tighter as emotion overwhelmed her until she couldn’t hold back a sob. If only Dipper was here, he’d know what to do, probably…at least they’d at least be together.

“Oh gosh…hey, it’s okay, kiddo.”

Mabel looked up at Stan, her eyes blurry from tears as another sob escaped her mouth. “N-no it’s not I, Dipper is g-gone and I can’t go h-home and I-I don’t know how t-to- and I just want to s-stay with y-you and-“ Her voice cut off as sobs overwhelmed her completely and she flung herself at Stan, wanting to hide away from every terrifying and overwhelming thought and just pretend she was back in Gravity Falls crying over a movie or a stupid crush.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then a sigh and arms wrapping around her. “It’s okay, I…you can stay with me for…for tonight at least, okay?”

Snuggling closer to him, Mabel managed to whisper out a thank you. It wasn’t perfect. She still didn’t know what to do, but at least she didn’t have to leave the only family she had right now.

This was a mess. Stan didn’t know what the heck he was doing. He should not have caved; he should’ve driven Mabel straight to the police. It would be for the best. But her absolute trust in him – despite being totally unwarranted – was touching, if not a little worrisome. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kid, it was just…he wasn’t even equipped to take care of himself. How could care for someone else’s needs too? He couldn’t just say no though, not when she had started crying, looking so scared and helpless. Gosh, he wished he knew what was going on so he could actually help her, but whenever he tried to bring it up, she just got quiet, so he left it.

“There, that should do it.” Tucking the bandage in itself so it wouldn’t come undone, Stan reached up and ruffled Mabel’s hair. Not long after he agreed to let her stay, he had noticed how scrapped up her knees were, and thankfully the hotel had let him have some things to patch her up. Okay maybe they hadn’t given them to him, but they didn’t exactly guard the stuff very well either…

“Thanks grun-uh, Stan…” Her voice was quiet, and her gaze was transfixed on her knees, her hands brushing over the bandages. It was such a contrast from how she had been talking his ear off a few hours ago and it worried him. But he tried not to think about it. Tomorrow she would be out of his life. It was for the best, she’d realized that. She just needed some sleep and time to think about it, that’s all.

“Uh, yeah, no prob. You should probably get some sleep now though.”

Mabel looked at the bed then up at Stan for a moment. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Ah…” Stan rubbed his neck, sleep was just about the furthest thing from his mind right now. “Don’t worry about me kiddo, I’m not really tired anyway.”

For a moment, Mabel frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry about me, kiddo.” Stan tried for a smile, which Mabel returned, though it was only a half-smile.

“Okay…” She looked at her knees one more time then slowly lied down on the bed, but her eyes stayed open. “What is a Stan Vac?”

A real laugh escaped Stan’s mouth as he looked at the boxes piled up behind him. “Ah, just a business idea. Didn’t really fly.”

“Can… can you tell me about it?”

Well that would be the strangest bedtime story ever, but if that’s what she wanted… “Sure…it all started in Virginia…” Stan recounted the story from his past – thankfully it was one of the most child friendly ones he had. Mainly just a lot of door to door campaigns and trying to fix broken machines because they were pretty poorly made. But it seemed to do the trick. Slowly Mabel’s eyes closed and as he concluded the tale, he could see her chest rising and falling slowly.

“Sweet dreams kiddo.” Stan pulled a blanket over her shoulders and glanced at the clock. Crap, he was going to be late.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to refocus himself. It was time to talk himself out of a debt. And he knew if he wanted to stand a chance at that, he needed to be on his A game, especially with Rico. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from double checking the lock on the door before he left. As long as Mabel was in his life, he was going to make sure she was safe. No matter what.

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Text

Stanuary ‘19 - Week Four: Comfort

Here I am, on the last day of January, posting my last Stanuary ficlet. I went with the same AU as I did for Week Three - my own version of the Reverse Portal AU. So here’s Ford and Stan talking about Things. Enjoy.

Ford brought two glasses over to the table. One was a mug patterned with frogs, and the other was a glass tumbler with amber-colored liquid. Stan picked the mug up and sniffed it.

“Chamomile tea?” he asked, setting the mug down. Ford took a seat across from him.

“You recognize it?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.

“Smelled it enough times.” Stan nudged the mug away from him. “Angie likes it. But I don’t drink that crap.” He eyed Ford. “Thought you knew that.”

“I did.” Ford nodded at the glass tumbler. “I brought you whiskey as well.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stan said. He picked the glass up and took a swig. “Smooth.” He set the glass down. “Why’d you bring the chamomile, if you knew I wouldn’t drink it?”

“So that I could tell Angie I offered it to you before I offered you alcohol.”

“Yeah, she keeps tryin’ to get me to drink it. Somethin’ about it helpin’ with anxiety.”

“Yes. She instructed me to offer you herbal remedies before alcoholic ones.”

“Why not lie? You’re halfway decent at that.”

“She’s gotten remarkably good at telling when I’m lying.”

“Heh. Good fer her.” Stan took another swig. “Anyways, you can hit the road, Sixer. I’m fine now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Ford said firmly. Stan scowled. “That was one of the worst flashbacks you’ve had.”

“That you’ve seen,” Stan muttered under his breath. Ford frowned. “I’m not helping my case, am I?”

“Not one whit.”

“Great. Now I’m never gonna get you to leave.”

“Not until I feel you’ve calmed down enough,” Ford said. He looked around. “Where’s the dog?”

“I’m not gonna hug the therapy dog, Ford. I don’t need it,” Stan said grumpily, staring down at the ring of moisture left by his glass. Ford steepled his fingers. “…Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

“You and Angie really are quite the match.”

“Thanks?”

“She said the exact same thing when Lute first brought the dog home,” Ford said. Stan looked up from his whiskey, surprised. “Whenever anyone tried to help her, she fought it. Every step of the way.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Ford sighed. “It was quite aggravating. Her pride was keeping her from getting better.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’,” Stan said in a warning tone. He glanced away. “But, uh, how’d you get her to accept help, then?”

“By reminding her that if she wouldn’t get better for herself, she should at least do so for her children. Particularly her young sons.”

“…Right,” Stan mumbled. “The young sons.” He scratched his nose. “You’re not gonna try to pull that sort of thing on me, too, are ya? Say that the boys need me to stop havin’ flashbacks or whatever?” Ford opened his mouth. “‘Cause it wouldn’t work. The boys don’t need me at all. They’ve made that very clear.”

“What about the girls?” Ford asked. Stan looked down guiltily. “Danny and Daisy want to reconnect with you, but it’s difficult for them to do so if they’re simultaneously worried you’ll fall apart in front of them.”

“I won’t fall apart in front of ‘em.”

“That’s easier to say than do. Or do you not recall anything that’s happened since you came back?”

“No. I remember,” Stan mumbled reluctantly. He sighed. “Fine. What’s yer big answer then?”

“Answer to what?”

“How I stop my daughters from bein’ worried about me.”

“I…” Ford chewed on his lip. “I don’t have an answer to that question, Stanley.”

“Then why’d you stop by while everyone else was outta the house?”

“To talk to you. I haven’t gotten much of an opportunity to spend time alone with you since your return.”

“I’m still good at sniffin’ out lies,” Stan said flatly. “That’s not the only reason.”

“…No, it’s not.” Ford clasped his hands around the mug of chamomile tea. “Look, you’ve refused to talk to anyone about your problems or even admit they exist! Your own wife has only heard bits and pieces.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Lemme guess. Angie sent out the Bat Signal, when she couldn’t get me to drink the weird plant water she got into while I was gone?” Stan asked. Ford silently raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I see you continue to have the habit of attempting to make a situation seem less serious than it is,” Ford said. “It’s harmful, you know. And not just to yourself.” Stan squinted at him.

“When Angie went to a shrink, did she drag you there, too?”

“That’s beside the point,” Ford said shortly. “The point is that you’re trying to ameliorate the situation by merely phrasing it differently. Stop it.”

“Which one of the McGuckets got to ya? Fidds?”

“I’m not joking,” Ford said, his voice firm. After a moment, Stan’s shoulders slumped.

“Shit’s bad, Sixer. Real bad. I went through hell and back. And so did the family that I left behind when I went through that damn portal. So, no, I haven’t been drinkin’ the plant water that Angie says will help me sleep, and I haven’t been tellin’ my kids what happened to my arm. They’ve got their own problems. Problems that I caused by bein’ gone for so long. I can’t dump more on ‘em.” Stan roughly brushed away the tears threatening to fall. “That what you wanted to hear?” he asked. His voice broke.

“No, it’s not,” Ford said after a moment.

“Dick.”

“No, it’s-” Ford rubbed his forehead. “It’s not what I wanted to hear, because you blamed yourself for my actions.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t choose to go through the portal. You were trying to talk me down, but I refused to listen, and-” Ford cut himself off. “Don’t blame yourself. I was the one who got involved with a demon, I was the one who built the portal, I was the one who pushed you. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“Jesus, Ford, don’t take all the blame,” Stan said. He cracked a wry grin. “Even if you’ve got a point. Speakin’ from experience, it’s not fun.”

“I-” Ford managed a small smile himself. “Fair enough.”

“I don’t hold what happened against you. You brought me back.”

“I had to. Your wife and children needed you,” Ford said. Stan nodded silently. “Speaking of them…I know for a fact that keeping your problems bottled up is hurting them more than if you were open.”

“You know that for a fact, huh?”

“Given that Angie told me as such, yes, I do. You should talk to them.”

“You really did go to therapy, if yer actually in favor of talkin’ to people about feelin’s and shit like that,” Stan muttered. Ford chuckled softly.

“No, it was the repeated scolding sessions from Fiddleford and Angie that eventually got through to me in that regard.” Stan snorted.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” He rubbed his neck uncertainly. “Look. I don’t wanna talk to my kids about any of the shit I went through. I won’t do it. But I- if Angie’s frustrated enough with my radio silence that she’s recruiting help, I’ll- I’ll start answerin’ some of her questions.” A relieved expression broke across Ford’s face.

“Good.”

“I’m not gonna drink herbal tea, though. I mean it. That stuff’s nasty.”

“I’m not fond of it, either.” Ford drummed the table with his fingers. “I know that I only just got you to agree to talk to Angie, someone with whom you have an uncomplicated relationship, free of blowout arguments, but-”

“You wanna talk to me,” Stan interrupted. Ford nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Wonderful. I have a lot of questions.”

“Are they about the shit I went through or the aliens I saw?”

“Both.”

“That sounds about right.”

“First, I wanted an answer to the question I asked you when you first got back.” Ford leaned a bit closer. “What happened to your arm?” Stan downed the rest of his drink.

“I’ll tell you, but only if you pour me another glass.”

#Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Reverse Portal Stanley McGucket AU #Stanuary #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

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a-mad-scientist-approaches · 5 years

Text

The Cipher Conspiracy (13)

*wheezing* *panting* *crying* *insert GIF of Squidward, with bloodshot eyes and a distressingly run-down appearance, kissing a manuscript brokenly* I’M BACK

Listen. Listen. I could talk about all the stuff that’s been going on and wave all my excuses in the air like a white flag while shouting “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” but we all know what’s really important. So without further ado :D

AO3

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

Chapter 13: The Plan

Sacramento, California (USA) ∆

The gunshots were so loud Addi and Fiddleford heard them through two floors. Without another word, Addi sprinted for the door, drawing her weapon. With a brief gesture she signalled to Fiddleford to remain where he was. Anyone trying to get to Ivan would meet a drawn-taut Southerner who was grimly determined to survive whatever the world threw at him for the next three months he was still employed as a spy.

She took the stairs.

The corridor to the SAIC’s office was jam-packed with FBI agents. Addi barged through, the fact that the shots had stopped doing nothing but increasing the number of worst-case scenarios parading through her head. There was no silence. People were on the phone, people were demanding answers as to what the hell was going on, and no one was stupid enough to go near the danger zone.

Except me of course, Addi reflected.

“Wait, you can’t go in there-!”

She shoved the last person out of her way, her speed not slowing in the slightest, slid around the tiled floor of the corner on her knees, head ducked, gun up, shoulders and body crouched small to minimise the target she was presenting herself as. Her eyes flicked from point to point, analysing the windowless scene, well-lit, receptionist’s door open, room clear, office beyond, closed door, bullet-holes, no Carla-

BANG.

Another – solitary - gunshot burst the lock, making a brief spark against the metal, propelling the door open and Carla dived out of the dust-filled, shadowy room beyond. She rolled when she hit the floor, sprang up, and shoved the door closed again, coughing, and moved out of the reception so fast she blurred-

“Oof!”

- and suddenly Addi was flat on her back, ribs and chest aching, staring at the ceiling while Carla groaned from wherever she was sprawled.

“Ouch,” said Addi. Then-

“You’re alive!” She burst out, scrambling up. Carla hacked out a dusty cough.

“What happened? Those were gunshots!”

“Rea- eally? I didn’t notice,” wheezed Carla, rolling onto her side and pushing herself up. Addi allowed her a second to breathe – she wasn’t unreasonable – and then got all up in her business.

“Were you hit? Where does it hurt? Did you see who was shooting? Are they still in there? Did you get them? What-”

“Can you – wait – a – second-” Managing to fend off Addi’s frantic check that she still had all her major body parts, Carla straightened up, inhaled steadily, and answered briskly, “I sustained a gunshot wound to the nowhere, I hurt everywhere you crashed into me, whoever it was was in the building opposite – I couldn’t see them, and-” an expression of distaste – “no, I didn’t get them. Okay?” She looked back at the office she’d just burst out of. “Looks like the secretary took off as soon as he heard me laying down cover fire, so he shouldn’t be hurt. The assassination was like your assignment, right? So the Special Agent-in-Charge was the only target and now that he’s been seen to no one else should be in danger-”

“He’s dead?”

“As a doornail.” Carla answered shortly and then steamrolled on as if there had been no interruption. “Whoever it was is probably long gone by now, if they’re smart.”

“Actually-”

“The secretary must have alerted the building to what was happening, so we should expect an influx of agents soon, which on the upside means that people are finally going to start listening to me about the Cipher Conspiracy and we can get all that – that – stuff sorted out – by the way, what did Wexler say after I left? Addi? Addi, hellooo, are you okay?”

Addi surveyed her. Carla raised her eyebrows defiantly back, looking for all the world like she was utterly unmoved by someone being killed right in front of her. That is, if the shaking hands, or the pupils blown a little to wide to be normal, or the way her mouth was motoring away but her voice was monotonous like she wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying all weren’t taken into account.

Addi’s silence propagated.

Carla slowly closed her mouth, but almost immediately began tapping her foot, clearly still needing an outlet to burn off adrenaline. She broke the locked gaze she’d been holding with Addi.

“Carla, if you need to take a moment-” she began gently.

“No.” Carla shook her head immediately. “What I need is to stop the Cipher Wheel. Now. Before any more people . . . or Stan, or Ford . . .”

“Or you,”

“What?”

Addi took a breath. She would love to allow Carla a moment to process, to calm down, but at the moment that wasn’t possible. Carla was right. Their first concern was to stop the Cipher Wheel.

“That assassin hasn’t gone anywhere. Wexler said that Cipher’s still trying to stop your Cipher Wheel investigation, which means he takes out the SAIC to frame Oracle Division . . . and you, to stop the investigation. You’re being targeted.”

Carla was frozen to the spot. Addi started forward to reassure her that there was no way she was going to allow anything to happen, when instead Carla’s dark eyes narrowed and she started pacing.

“That’s a stupid plan.” She degraded. “Assassinating me when I’ve been claiming for so long that there’s a conspiracy out to get us all? That’s the perfect way to convince everyone I’m right! At least try to make it look like an accident. Come on, Cipher, you can do better than that!” She said in vicious triumph.

“Uh . . . well, I don’t think you should be so happy about this, but alright. Whatever gets this guy caught. But actually . . .” Something clicked in Addi’s head. “But I don’t think it matters at this point whether people know about the Cipher Conspiracy – he has the memory gun, he can do what he likes.”

“Which means he wants me dead because I’ve been a pain in the ass,”

“Basically,” agreed Addi.

Carla laughed victoriously. “He’s getting cocky. He thinks he can’t be touched now – which means he’s coming after all of us now, not just me.” She looked at Addi, a spark of a plan in her eyes. “Those agents who attacked you – and Stan!”

“And Ford!” Addi realised suddenly. “Cipher wanted to take out Ford himself – and Oracle Division’s been after Cipher so long that I bet that’s the case for Fiddleford and me as well.”

Carla was nodding, and Addi felt a grin grow on her face to match hers.

“We can set a trap,” They said together.

And that’s when the crowd of FBI agents around the corner managed to gather their courage and flood the corridor with chaos.

“FREEZE!” Yelled approximately fifty people, weapons drawn (which would make for an interesting firefight, given that half of them were pointing guns at the backs of the other half, Addi noted).

She faced them with a disapproving expression, feeling Carla step up authoritatively beside her.

A whistle so piercing it could have cleaned glass sliced through the noise. Carla held up her badge and spoke rapidly.

“Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle. I just witnessed the successful assassination of the SAIC, which was brought on by events connected to my current major investigation into the Cipher Wheel. The gunshots you heard were mine, fired from my Bureau-issued regulation weapon to cover my own escape from the assassin, and you can be assured the assassin was not me – inspection of the body will show the murder weapon as a high-calibre sniper-rifle, of which my associate here will be able to give a far more detailed account of.”

The agents stood silently, open-mouthed and staring as a good percentage of their questions were systematically answered.

She must have some kind of super-hearing, to decipher all that yelling, Addi decided.

Carla waited expectantly. When no one moved, she said pointedly, “Maybe you’d like to inspect the body to make sure I’m not lying?”

Five agents hurriedly peeled off to do their jobs, then stopped outside the door to the office, one opening his mouth.

“Yes, it’s safe. The assassin will have relocated to another vantage point to wait for me, their next target, and NO, I did not see what they looked like!” Carla raised her voice to drown out the rising hubbub that greeted that statement. “Questions one at a time, please!”

One person actually raised a hand in response to that school-teacherly statement.

“The- the Cipher Wheel investigation? But that’s not a real-”

“At this point I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Next!”

“Who the heck is she?” A man pointed at Addi.

“Adeline Marks, Oracle Division,” Addi answered, the sheer Federal-ness of the situation having her halfway through reaching for a badge that wasn’t there before she stopped herself.

“What the heck is Oracle Division?”

“All you need to know is that we didn’t black out Manhattan, which we may or may not be in the midst of being framed for - it's a little unclear,” Adeline told him.

“So who the heck blacked out Manhattan?!”

“The Cipher Wheel! Haven’t you been listening?” said Carla impatiently. “Now, I have a lot of things on my to-do list today, including but not limited to: an agent of the Bill Cipher himself in a holding cell who I need to finish interrogating; an assassin after me who I need to stop from killing me; a fiancé I need to find; and an anarchist organisation of spies to take down. So, now that the man in charge of this field office is dead: who’s in command?”

Everyone went back to staring at Carla open-mouthed.

She clapped her hands sharply, the sound cracking in everyone’s ears.

“Come on, come on, we’ve got to get a move on! Who’s in charge?”

The agents looked at the dust-covered, blood-speckled, tense and fiery-eyed apparition of a woman in front of them, of whom many even outranked.

“Um . . . you?” someone ventured.

And she replied, after a moment, “That’s right,”

∆

“You see, no matter how hard you try, Agent McGucket, nothing you do will ever be enough to stop us,”

Fiddleford stared absently into the distance, ruminating.

Jheselbraum’s been outta contact for over twenty-four hours now. Granted, the whole a’ Manhattan bein’ pretty effectively taken to ground was not something we ever counted on happening, but even still . . .

“-the Cipher Wheel will not be stopped. We will tear down your-”

She’s the head of one a’ the most secret organisations in the world. She wouldn’t let a little th- a thing like an island bein’ blacked out stop her from doin’ her job.

“-about it. Even if you multiply every iota of your power exponentially, it would not come close-”

If she’s out of contact, it’s because she wants to be. She’s setting something up. And with any luck, her absence is foolin’ Cipher into disregarding the threat of Oracle Division. So all we need to do is be prepared for when she surfaces. What do I need? Phone on, obviously, ready to leave at any moment . . .

He frowned. For some reason, he was finding it hard to think.

“-burn to the gr-"

“Would ya shut up?” He snapped at Wexler. “Some of us are still workin’!”

The enemy agent, still cuffed to the interrogation room’s table, looked startled.

“But . . . this field office is in ruins! Multiple assassinations have been carried out, your agency is in shambles, McCorkle is dea-”

“Negative on all o’ that. It’s been done and sorted for twenty minutes now,” Fiddleford said impatiently.

“Wha- but no one’s come in to tell you that!”

Fiddleford huffed out a sigh, pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on, and dug his phone out of his pocket, waggling it at Wexler. “The text function is mighty useful,” he said dryly.

Before Wexler could respond, his triumphant monologue having been severely derailed, Fiddleford rapped his knuckles sharply on the two-way mirror.

“Done in there yet?”

A muffled “Yes!” answered.

Nodding to Wexler, Fiddleford finally left the room, turned right, waited for the stream of slightly baffled-looking senior federal agents to exit the monitoring station next door, and rejoined Addi and Carla inside. A junior agent replaced him in the duty of standing guard over Wexler.

“All sorted?” asked Fiddleford.

Carla nodded, stretching out some of the tension in her arms. “Everyone’s up to date on the situation and, for now at least, listening to me. Is it bad that I want them to stay unbalanced so I can stay in charge?” she added with a reckless grin.

“Eh. I think you’re doing good,” shrugged Addi. At some point she’d seated herself cross-legged on top of a table. In the interrogation room, apparently not wanting to waste a perfectly good evil monologue and keen to take advantage of a new listener, Wexler was continuing with his misplaced dramatic gloating to the junior agent: a listener who did not appear to be as inconsiderately inattentive as Fiddleford.

“What about the assassin?” he said.

“At the moment the general consensus is that I should stay away from windows. Anyway! Let’s figure out our next move,”

Not missing the sudden subject-change, Fiddleford didn’t press it. There were more urgent things at hand, after all, and if his friend thought she was fine for now, he was going to trust her.

“We’ve thought of something,” said Addi, glancing at Carla.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yep. We think Cipher might be after us personally,” she gestured between him and herself. “Although not Carla, evidently. Ford, however, got his own special visit from the guy, and after the way Stan interrupted it, I’ll bet it’s the same case for him. When I think back to the way those agents cornered me in the elevator, their tactics weren’t lethal, and since you’re Oracle Division as well . . .”

Fiddleford nodded his understanding, feeling more upbeat with every word. “So we’ve got a line-a’-sight right to Cipher. We can get close to him-”

“-somehow-”

“-and we can be sure he’s not goin’ ta off us immediately,”

“The bad news is that Stan and Ford are still out of contact,” Carla said soberly, tapping her fingers on her folded arms. “That’s three hours and thirty-eight minutes since Stan left for the forest, and he still hasn’t come back with Ford. And it’s not like we can just send out a search party; that area is huge, and just about the whole field office is busy notifying every branch and division that will listen about the Cipher Conspiracy,” she seemed to cut herself off, but she didn’t need to say anything more anyway.

Cipher couldn’t have gotten to them already, could he?

No one wanted to say it.

“Fer now let’s just focus on Wexler,” Fiddleford said eventually. “When he cracks, he should get us some more Cipher Wheel operatives, and we can start pushing back for real,”

“Right,” Addi said quietly. Carla nodded shortly, twisting her shirt sleeves.

If Cipher does have them . . . what must they be goin’ through?

The manically cheerful and heady jangle of a banjo cut through the sombre silence.

“Sorry, tha’s me,” muttered Fiddleford, pulling his phone out of his pocket again. And stared in disbelief at the screen.

“What is it?” asked Addi.

“Well . . . Jheselbraum’s back.” He grinned. “And she’s got a new mission for us,”

A string of coordinates from an unidentified number graced the screen. Below it was a photo, showing a very startled looking Stanford Pines, eyes wide open and pupils contracted to the size of pinheads, and an equally surprised Stanley Pines, who, in contrast, had his hands half raised to shield himself from something, his eyes shut tight, and his mouth open in a silent yell. An accompanying text said:

(I forgot the flash was on)

El Dorado National Forest, California (USA) ∆

“You don’t trust her, do you?”

Ford jumped a little as Stan came up to stand next to him. He glanced at the view Ford had been surveying, apparently deep enough in thought that he hadn’t noticed Stan crunching over all the leaves and twigs between the house and Ford’s position in his approach. There was nothing to see really. Just trees.

Staring at his thoughts then.

Ford frowned. “Of course I do. We went over it, didn’t we? Addi and Fiddleford work for her, they trust her, they’re well-treated, they’re happy, and you gave your personal vote of confidence. See? No reason not to trust her.” He turned back to the forest as though the matter was settled.

Yeah, not in Stan’s book.

“For a lot of people it would be,” agreed Stan with just enough emphasis on “a lot of people” to make Ford frown at him again.

“You’re insinuating that I’m not a lot of people,”

Perfect!

“Well yeah, you’re just one person. Haha!” Stan beamed broadly, hands spread apart to invite the whole forest to applaud his conversational and comedic mastery.

Ford crossed his arms. “You’re insinuating that I’m a paranoid mess who’s suspicious of anyone and everyone and who refuses to place the slightest reliance on another person in defence of the moment they don’t, won’t, or can’t, do what needs to be done, invariably bringing chaos and ruin down on whatever we had achieved, and hurting me again in the process,” he rephrased.

Stan dropped his arms and put his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s pretty . . . well . . . spot on.” Ford nodded shortly and turned back to the forest.

“Except for the part that you’re only doing that ‘cause you’ve been lied to and psychologically scarred for the better part of five years and you’re only now just realising it and you’ve got no way of dealing with it. Which means all this is pretty reasonable,”

When Ford remained motionless, he nudged him and said quietly, “Just so you know, I’ve been in similar places. Not exactly the same, because, I mean, what are the chances of that? . . . But, yeah, similar. Which means I know how to help you outta them, too,”

Ford didn’t do anything much at that either, but he did uncross his arms. And Stan wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, it was so slight, but he might have nodded as well.

“So, y’know, I’m not blaming you for not trusting her.” He waited to see if Ford would respond.

“I do trust her,” his brother muttered, a little petulantly.

After some consideration, Stan said, “No you don’t,”

“Everyone I trust trusts her. Ergo, I trust her,”

“Not really,”

“Stan, she has a plan for taking down Cipher. I’ll trust anyone who says they can do that,”

“Doubt it,”

“I trust her!”

“Ehh,”

“I do.” A pause. “But . . . alright, I may have some . . . small . . . reservations. Although they are quite persistent,”

Stan nudged him encouragingly again. “I’d be worried if you didn’t, Ford. I mean, I’m worried anyway, but I’d be checking to see if you ran on batteries and had circuitry under your skin by now if you were fine,”

Ford huffed out what may have been a weak laugh, meeting Stan’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away again.

They looked at the trees suffusing the space around them.

“Do you trust me?” Stan asked suddenly, figuring it was best just to get it over with quickly.

Ford stared at him in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, what with the whole dragging-me-around-the-world-without-telling-me-why-and-not-knowing-when-or-if-I’ll-ever-see-you-again thing. And you also drugged me rather than let me come with you out here. And I’m not blaming you if you don’t!” Stan amended quickly. “I just – I dunno, I wanted to know,”

A quizzical expression came over Ford’s face.

“Forget it,” Stan said hurriedly, backtracking as fast as he could. “Stupid question. You don’t need to say it. And don’t worry about it, either. I mean, it’s not like I’ve done anything to-”

“Of course I do, Stan,” Ford said loudly over him. “Out of everyone, you are the person who should have the least doubt about that,”

There was something really warm and buoyant in Stan’s chest, like his own personal hot air balloon, complete with cheering passengers and a bright, primary-coloured theme.

“Really?” He asked.

“Really,” And Ford actually laughed. “I trust you, Stan. No reservations.” He slung his arm around Stan’s shoulders as easy as anything. “Knucklehead,” he added.

“You’re the knucklehead,” Stan muttered. He put his own arm around Ford’s shoulders all the same, and they went back to watching the trees.

That is, until Stan noticed that he’d put his arm right across the partially-wet blood stains down Ford’s back, which was sufficient enough to ruin the warm moment.

“You need new clothes,” he said, wiping his hand on his pants.

“Well, the only ones around are yours, so unless you want to swa-”

“See anything interesting?” asked Jheselbraum, approximately two inches behind them.

“AHH!”

Stan was pretty sure every critter in a hundred metre radius must have been frightened off by his and Ford’s combined yell, but on the upside, he took the agility of Ford’s reflexive response to mean that he was recovering well.

“I’m off back to the city,” Jheselbraum continued pleasantly, as if the two of them hadn’t just made a standing leap to about six feet away from her. “Agent McGucket and Agent Marks should arrive soon, however there’s apparently a situation back in Sacramento that I should be able to provide some order to.” She rolled her eyes. “The FBI is not handling the revelation about the Cipher Conspiracy well. Good luck, Stanford, Stanley.” She shook both their hands and strode confidently off through the undergrowth towards where her car was concealed. Stan felt a brief pang that it didn’t look like he was going to get to see Carla as soon as he would’ve liked. But it wouldn’t be too much longer, he hoped – steadfastly ignoring the fact that the last time he’d thought that he’d embarked on a covert spy operation around the world for two straight weeks. He’d see her soon enough, and they had a plan to take down Cipher, and he’d make sure it hurt the guy, and all this craziness would be over, and he could go back to cooking dinner for his girlfri- fiancée (fiancée!) on weeknights. She’d be fine in the meantime. It wasn’t like an assassin was after her.

“Well. I guess we just have to wait now,” said Ford, heading back towards the safe-house.

“What’s new?” Stan shrugged, following. “Don’t know why she stuck around this long, to be honest. It’s not like we’re going to get into trouble the second we’re alone,”

He ducked down to scratch his knee, which probably saved his life.

A brief whistle heralded the passage of a dart as it flew over his head. It struck the door right beside Ford’s hand, and vibrated.

Stan stared at it.

Ford stared at it.

They looked at each other.

And then they threw themselves behind whatever could even vaguely serve as cover, just in time for the hail of darts.

“Should I just-” Stan ducked back as another passed through the leaves of the shrub he was shielding himself with – “not say anything?! Ever?!”

“Maybe! Yes!” came Ford’s muffled shout from where he was tightly sandwiched between the wall of the hut and the door.

∆

Addi wasn’t able to stop smiling, she found.

The reasons, as she listed to keep herself occupied on the drive, were thus:

1. They had a vague idea – no, a plan, definitely a plan – for how to maybe get an opportunity where they could possibly take out Cipher. Perhaps.

2. Stan had found Ford.

3. Jheselbraum had found Stan and Ford.

4. Ford was safe.

5. Didn’t the director say somethin’ about stitches? And mind-control? And trauma?

6. . . . Ford was mostly safe.

7. Jheselbraum was back in contact, and according to her, Oracle Division was still very much operational, despite Cipher’s attempt to knock them out of the game with the Manhattan blackout.

8. The FBI had been calming down by the time they had left.

9. Ah’d say they were still a little strung out, Addi.

10. Yes, well . . .

11. Carla had had a wicked grin on her face which probably meant Wexler wasn’t going to stand a chance. Agreed?

12. Agreed. Despite still havin’ an assassin after her.

13. Meh, she can take him.

14. And once Wexler’s cracked, then the rest a’ the Cipher Wheel’ll be toast too.

15. Yes.

16. And finally, they were going to meet Ford right now! And Stan as well. What? What is it? Why are you grinning at me?

17. Oh, shut up.

18. She had a good feeling about this.

Fiddleford’s car ran over a tree root, causing the whole vehicle to jolt.

“How close are we to the coordinates, anyway?” Fiddleford asked, wrestling with the steering.

Addi checked her phone, the FINDURLOSTAGENT app struggling with the weak signal in the middle of the forest, but coping.

“We should be right on top o-”

Fiddleford hit a man.

The seatbelt across her chest yanked her back into the seat and the whole world seemed to jolt as Fiddleford slammed on the brakes. She was staring at her knees and the belt was cutting into her neck, and her heart was pounding. The next course of action was obvious.

“You hit someone?!” She yelled at her partner.

“No!” He said indignantly. “He ran out in front’a me!”

“I can’t believe you hit someone!”

“Neither can I! This entire sector’s s’posed ta be closed off!”

Addi fumbled with her seatbelt and lurched out, wincing at the dent in the bonnet.

“Oh my gosh, are you oka-” She froze at the sight of the prone, groaning man on the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Fiddleford had followed her out. His face went slack. “Is he dead?”

There was another pained groan.

“Oh thank God,” Fiddleford sighed.

“He’s . . . got a tranq gun,” Addi said in puzzlement. She looked closely at the clothes he was wearing. Black was a theme. So was Kevlar.

A fourth person came onto the scene, dressed in the same tactical gear, and observed the situation. His buddy, on the ground, with two people standing over him, in front of a scraped-up car that had clearly been forcing its way through the denseness of the surrounding no-access-allowed foliage and which also had a large, person-shaped fold in the hood.

“You okay, Rob?” He asked cautiously.

“They hit me with their car, man . . .” Rob moaned.

“But he’s not dead, and that’s what counts!” Fiddleford interrupted quickly.

The newcomer didn’t seem too bothered one way or the other, which was the next red flag in Addi’s head.

“Possible hostiles have entered the area,” he said into his mike. “Two of them,”

Fiddleford tensed. Addi surreptitiously reached for the gun in her jacket.

“. . . who even drives out here . . .”

“Shut up, Rob.” The man levelled his tranquiliser at them.

“Uhhh . . . we’re with the FBI?” Fiddleford tried vainly.

Addi tackled him, rolled, came up on one knee, and heard a plink as the dart collided with the car, closely followed by the much louder explosion of her gun as she sighted at Rob's friend. He grunted and stumbled backwards.

Kevlar vest.

She re-aimed, fired, and he dropped. She whipped around for Fiddleford.

“You okay?”

He ignored her, already up and pulling back one of the unconscious Rob's sleeves, under which the edge of a tattoo was visible. It seemed that the dart had ricocheted off the metal of the car and hit Rob instead, tying things up rather nicely in Addi’s opinion.

Fiddleford looked up at her.

“Cipher Wheel.” He held up Rob's arm. A heart with an arrow through it was inked there, an exact match to one of the symbols in Oracle Division’s database. “They’re here for Stan and Ford,”

The dead agent’s mike crackled.

“. . . sending reinforcements . . .”

∆

“Two new targets incoming, sir. First strike team down,”

"Huh. Looks like Jezzy’s up and about then, and she’s sent in her mutts. Well, what are you waiting for? Send in the rest, same orders for those pesky agents from that stupidly named division (whichhasn’tevenbeenabletopredictanythingsince1981justasidenoteforya). Ha! What am I saying? You know how to do your job! DON’T YOU?”

∆

Addi rounded a thicket and found a small clearing with a decrepit old hut in the centre. There was no one in sight, but signs of conflict covered the area: tranquiliser darts were present on just about every surface.

She and Fiddleford looked at each other.

“Think they’re still here, or . . .” He muttered lowly to her.

Before she could respond, a bush groaned.

“Is it over?” It said.

“Well, they’re not firing anymore. I don’t know about over,” replied the swung-wide door of the hut. It sounded a lot like-

“Ford?”

There was silence. Then Stan’s head peeked over the top of a shrub and the door/shield swung closed as Ford released his grip on it.

“You made it!” Stan exclaimed pushing himself to his feet with obvious relief on his face. “I thought we were toast. Please tell me you parked close by,”

“Just a few minutes away,” Fiddleford reassured him. “We should hurry, though. Ah’m pretty sure we met your strike team just as they were circlin’ around to another vantage point, since this one was clearly doing nothin’. They have back-up on the way,”

“So we should get away from here as fast as possible,” nodded Stan. “Alright, let’s go. Addi?”

She registered that he’d tapped her shoulder, but she didn’t look away from Ford and he hadn’t looked away from her either. She took him in. He looked tired, and far gaunter than he should, and there was bl- there was an uncomfortable amount of blood on his shirt. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t even been a full day since she’d last seen him. She didn’t know if it was possible to feel homesickness for a time, but there wasn’t a lot she wouldn’t have given to go back to that morning and redo everything, make sure that whatever had happened to him was null and void and ensure that he was safe.

“Oh boy. Guys?”

There was a sigh and Fiddleford pushed her in the back in a manner that suggested she should hurry up. She didn’t care.

Ford seemed to find his voice.

“Adeline, I am so s-” was as far as he got before she cannoned into him and hugged him as tightly as she could.

“Don’t be,” she told him, shaking her head firmly and trying to let go of a sudden, slightly irrational surge of anxiety that was rearing its head now that she finally had him back. He’s not going to disappear again, he’s not going to disappear again.

“Ford, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault. I’m just glad you’re safe,”

She felt his fingers dig into her back a little. “I’m- I’m glad you’re safe too,” he said into her shoulder, and she definitely noticed his silence on the other things she’d said and she really wanted to hurt Bill Cipher.

Ford lost his struggle to keep quiet.

“I’ve made huge mistakes-”

“So?” She pulled back slightly from the embrace to glare fiercely at him. “Fiddleford just hit someone with a car and I killed his friend in front of him. Do I look like I care?”

His mouth dropped open a little. “Wh- you- Uh, no, but-”

“No. I am so far from bothered by the things you’ve been manipulated into, Stanford.” She took his hands, made sure she had his full attention, and said firmly and with as much determination as she’d ever possessed, “I don’t care what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that you want to fix it now.”

“I don’t care either Stanford, just so’s yer know,” came Fiddleford’s voice from behind them.

Ford blinked, looking between her and Fiddleford for a moment. And then he smiled with only a hint of hesitancy and kissed her cheek, hugging her again which she was all too willing to return.

“We really should leave before we’re assassinated, though,” he said seriously.

∆

In fairness, Stan thought, we did make it.

Reunite with Addi and Fiddleford, cue sappy stuff from the lovebirds (and more reinforcement that Ford’s not to blame). Check.

Creep through the forest on high alert so we aren’t surprised by the incoming Cipher Wheel back-up (which was just great, by the way). Check.

Get to Fiddleford’s car because it’s closer than the Stanleymobile, still on the look-out for bad guys. Check.

Get shot at anyway. Check.

But as far as Stan was concerned, they did get within spitting distance of the car, so, even if it wasn’t really a win, they hadn’t lost yet, and therefore they tied. And considering that Carla had captured one of the Cipher Wheel agents, but the Cipher Wheel agents hadn’t captured any of them, his side was still winning overall.

The positives just stacked up, and yet for some reason Stan wasn’t feeling that lucky as he dove behind a shrub and ate dirt for the second time in twenty minutes.

He really didn’t feel the love of the universe as it turned out an enemy agent was already behind it, taking potshots at the others. He punched Stan in the face.

The world rocked forwards overhead ninety degrees and suddenly the ground was flat against Stan’s back while he stared at the sky.

He wasn’t so stunned that he didn’t realise what the consequences would be if he let the guy stab him with the tranquiliser in his hand that he had been in the middle of loading into the gun.

Stan caught his wrist in both hands and shoved him back, pushing himself up to his elbows, into a sitting position, onto his knees, then flung himself forwards and brought the guy to the ground. The gun went spinning away. They landed awkwardly, Stan in a far less secure position than was good for his health and future liveliness – with his shoulder below him and one arm trapped under the guy, who immediately took the advantage and twisted, forcing Stan onto his back again, catching Stan’s suddenly free and punching arm in a tight hold, but he overbalanced, and now they were turning again, and Stan pressed as much of his weight downwards as possible, trying to get his opponent in a choke hold and then something under them shifted-

“WHOA!"

- and in Stan’s defence he was a bit busy to have realised that the tree roots they were grappling on top of had made a precipice of soil and rock, over which he was now tumbling –

The other guy was underneath Stan when they landed and with a pained choking noise all the breath went out of him and his torso seized in response. Stan took a second orient himself, sighted, and dealt a blow that knocked the man out cold. He scrambled up, breathing hard, and a dart whispered past his elbow away to his two o’clock so he turned into the trajectory and luckily the sniper wasn’t too far away, in fact, they were almost unreasonably close to be using the ranged weapon they were.

He ducked, rolled, saw the barrel training his movements, dodged the other way as it fired, leapt forwards into their agent’s space where the gun would be next to useless except as a club and shoved the shooter back into a tree. Their head cracked against it and they dropped at his feet, and a sharp knee put them out of action completely. He stayed in place for a count of two, listening for anything and everything around him, heard a distant gun go off, a proper firearm, not a tranquiliser, then turned in that direction and sped off, keeping his path as close to the trees as possible until he ran into a doubled-over Fiddleford-

They bounced off each other like billiard balls, but managed to stay on their feet.

“Stan! Y’alright?” Fiddleford said, fighting for breath. Stan nodded but made frantic shushing noises and dragged him down behind a suitably dense thicket. They had no idea where the Cipher Wheel agents were, or how many of them were in the forest with them. No need to give them a sound to pinpoint their position – like that gunshot had done.

On one hand Fiddleford had a bloody nose and looked a little out of it, but on the other there were two motionless agents on the ground from the direction he’d come running from. On the . . . third mutant hand that had probably sprung out of the metaphorical guy’s chest, Fiddleford, based on his lonesomeness, didn’t know where Addi or Ford were either.

“Please tell me you have a gun,” Stan said.

Fiddleford held one up.

“Oh thank- aaand it’s empty. Why do you have an empty gun?”

“Well it’s not like I knew it wasn’t stocked when Ah picked it up!” Fiddleford said, affronted. “It’s whoever was th’last agent to use the car’s fault! Ah used the last bullet just a’fore ya got here,”

So the shot he’d heard hadn’t been Addi or Ford. Which meant they had no direction to go in to find either of them. And finding them would be hard enough anyway, in this Cipher Wheel-infested forest.

“We need to get back to the Stanleymobile. It’s a bit far but I think me and Ford did a good enough job hiding it that they won’t have found it yet. Ford’ll be heading for it if he’s got any sense-” which was another point entirely, but Stan was going to ignore it for now – “and hopefully Addi’s with him,”

“Lead the way,” Fiddleford motioned, but he must have definitely been more dazed than he was letting on because he stood up without any thought as to what his cover would be if he did.

A dart promptly sprouted from his shoulder.

“Move!”

Stan barrelled into him, taking it as a good sign that Fiddleford was at least alert enough to pull the dart out as soon as possible, and trying to ignore the pretty bad signs of him starting to stumble and drop back after a mere forty feet of sprinting through the trees and trying desperately not to trip.

An agent appeared in front of them and they swerved around her. In opposite directions.

Doesn’t matter doesn’t matter he was still on his feet and going we’ll just regroup right after you get past this thicket –

He got past the thicket and immediately looked to his left for Fiddleford. He wasn’t there. Stan skidded to a stop and listened to the thundering of his heart and the panting of his breath and the noises all around him. The agent wasn’t following him. No footsteps came from the direction Fiddleford should have taken. No one was to be seen at all.

There was no sound but the rustle of the forest.

∆

There was someone right on the other side of the tree. Ford didn’t dare breathe. Beside him, Addi’s fingers were going white as they tightened on her gun – their only weapon, since Ford’s had been kicked out of his grip six minutes ago. Addi had only just managed to keep hers, and she had a jagged tear in her jeans with a long but thankfully shallow knife cut underneath to show for it.

Slowly, he tugged on her hand, drawing her forward and away. They took care with their steps. One snapped twig, one crunched leaf, and it would be over.

Another agent came into view ahead, and only the random chance that she happened to be looking the other way at the time saved them from discovery. Addi led them urgently to the right.

Over a small stony outcrop, zig zag through more trees, and two more agents were methodically sweeping the area.

Addi bit down on a curse and they backtracked again. Ford pulled her down behind a hillock. Ears straining, he waited for the agents to pass out of range once again, but unlike all the other times they had ducked out of view, he didn’t immediately resume their motion. This wasn’t working. The forest was too densely populated with enemy agents for their strategy so far to be feasible, and he wasn’t going to risk yet another all-to-close encounter.

As if she had read his mind, Addi whispered, “This isn’t working,”

But there was a solution. He didn’t like it at all, and he knew it wasn’t going to go down well with Addi, and knew that it wouldn’t have a good ending at all. He’d do it anyway.

“I’ll distract them while you keep going,” Addi said. His head snapped around, a fierce and hopefully also forbidding expression leaping to his aid – anything to reinforce the sheer terror that had just plummeted its way into his stomach.

“What?!” He hissed. “No. Absolutely not. That’s practically a guaranteed prelude to your capture, torture, and murder. If anyone is going out there, it’s me,”

If anything, she seemed even more motivated than before. The expression did not seem to have worked.

“Stanford, I have the only gun. I’m going,”

He snatched it swiftly out of her hand. “Not anymore,”

Her expression was outraged enough to make him regret the action. She flicked him hard on the nose and snatched it back.

“Yes, anymore. Besides, I don’t know the way back to Stan’s car. You do. Therefore,” She made a shooing motion.

“Nonsense. You’ll find it easily,” Ford said, but he was grasping at straws and she knew it.

“In this forest crawling with people who want us dead. Sure.” She stopped him before he could retaliate. “Ford.” He looked at her. She let some of her guard drop, and he was struck silent by the pleading in her eyes.

“Have you seen yourself lately? There is no way I am letting Cipher anywhere near you. Not again,”

She really wasn’t going to budge on this. He’d be frustrated as all hell with her if there wasn’t a warm, touched feeling curling its way around his chest and settling in below his heart.

This way was going to be so much harder.

“Adeline . . .” He shook his head, then gave in and kissed her. After a moment, he let his hand drop onto the knife-wound on her leg. She broke away with a pained gasp and a flinch and he apologised frantically and then reached into his pocket and drew out the tablets; one was already gone from when Stan had taken it.

Addi stared and slowly went still as he offered it to her.

“For the pain,”

She didn’t move.

“Addi, please,”

“Are you trying to drug me?” She said suspiciously.

Well. Good one, Stanford.

She was glaring at him now.

“I- well, yes, but that doesn’t mean it won’t help with the pain-” He shut up. Clearly, words weren’t going to work, so he instead he tried taking her hands - which meant she hardly had to move at all in order to sink the tranquiliser dart she’d found on the ground into his skin.

“That’s how you drug someone,” she told him and he still heard her over the roaring in his ears and the feeling of something new flowing up his arm and fear in his throat and God he loved her but he was also too panicked and angry and there were more important things at the moment so he couldn’t tell her right then-

Was the world going dark? No. Just for him.

They’d been crouched for too long for there to be any hope of adrenaline keeping him awake.

This couldn’t be happening.

He tipped over and Addi grabbed his shoulders, lowering him gently to the ground. Her voice was far away and distorted, like he was underwater, but he still heard, “You’ve been the idiot enough. Now it’s my turn. We have a plan, I hope . . .” and he was still awake enough for the note of fear in her voice to mean something. He wasn’t awake enough to do anything about it though. The next time he saw her, he would. He would see her again, and he would keep her safe. Despite her having more of a track record with that than him at the moment. He’d have to even that up. He would, when he saw her again . . .

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA) ∆

The man on the wall – Bill consulted the Journal – Fiddleford McGucket, his name was, previously referred to as “F” until sentimentality had gotten the better of Pines and his resolve to seem all secretive and clandestine had crumbled like a castle on the beach, the absolute clod. Anyway, the guy – Fidds – managed to raise his head despite how much he was shaking and sweating, blinked, and looked around, not that he was able to see much. No lights were on. Bill grinned in the dark.

He – the guy – Fiddlesticks – looked uncomprehendingly at his hands, one after the other. Bill looked too, still unnoticed where he was sitting with his feet up on one of the workbenches. Pretty basic. Not that interesting. Four fingers and a thumb. Manacles holding him to the wall. Guy was pretty distressed for such an obvious situation. It wasn’t like there was any misconceptions to be had, so that at least eliminated the element of the unknown from the situation, which Bill had gathered was one of the usual terrors people had. McGucket didn’t seem to care, becoming frantic as he tugged uselessly at the iron.

“Oh Fiddleford, Fiddleford, Fiddleford. What to do with you?” he drawled – Bill, not Fiddy McGiddy, who had frozen and finally realised he wasn’t alone. Pretty rude, since Bill’d been there for about an hour already.

“I’ve been having fun, I have to say. An actual Oracle Division agent right here in front of me! How often does that happen? A criminally low amount, Fiddleford. Criminally. And it’s especially nice this time, because you-” he gestured at him with the memory gun, grinning all the wider when McGucket’s eyes widened and he (somewhat inconceivably) stiffened even more – “Farm Boy, are a friend to one Stanf-”

“Whatever yer goin’ to do ta me, just do it,” snapped McGucket, attempting to bore holes into Bill with his suddenly rock-steady gaze. “I don’t care in the slightest what you’ve got ta say, Cipher,”

“Likewise, Widdleford. Props for the ‘brave show of defiance’,” Here Bill rolled his eyes and added air quotes with his fingers to match the hot air that that phrase was. “But I’ve seen it before, and I’m getting bored of it. Which is not good news for you, Southern Boy!”

The elevator trundled down as Bill swung to his feet in one gleeful movement, making McGucket flinch. Bill laughed.

“Well, I’d say don’t worry,” he told him, “but you’d . . . y’know.” He gave the memory gun a little shake, McGucket’s eyes following it, transfixed.

“Now where have YOU been?” He thundered in the direction of the elevator.

“She woke up in transit, sir. Had trouble putting her out again,” said Whocaredwhathisnamewas. Good guy, though. Reliable. Or maybe that was his friend? Ah, what did it matter. They both stepped into the basement, struggling a little with their package.

“Looks like she’s waking up now. Hi Blondie!” Marks shifted a little and shook her head, feet scrambling a little to try and take her weight. She was waking up more with every second, thankfully. Torturing an unconscious person? What a mood-killer. With a nod, he indicated for Whocaredwhathisnamewas and What’shisface to shackle her beside her partner.

“Any sign of Pines and Pines 2.0?”

“No sir. It’s likely they’ve escaped: half our people were taken out by the time we captured these two,”

Well that was annoying.

Although . . . he did have the perfect incentives to get them back here . . .

By the time those other two had taken the elevator up again, Marks was fully conscious and probably regretting that fact. Bill enjoyed the fear on her face for a moment, then paced sedately around back to the workbench, twirling the memory gun casually on a finger and hearing her intake of breath as he did.

“Now, I know a bit – well, I say a bit - about Mister Wacko here,” he said loudly over Marks’ frantic whispering to McGucket. “But you, little miss, I have pages about you.”

He held up Pines’ journal in the silence, the gold six-fingered hand gleaming in what light there was.

“Don’t know what this is, huh? No wonder. It’s not like you’re his girlfriend or something, right?” He laughed again, and flipped it open to show her the writing.

“It’s-”

“Encoded. How unfortunate. Why, you’d probably have to know Stanford himself really well to work this out – probably need to have at least, oh, five years of friendship with him, plus the knowledge of all his deepest darkest secrets, wouldn’t you think? What a pity that I don’t have anyone like that.” He tossed the book over his shoulder carelessly, hearing it split open to a random page as it landed on the bench, and leaned in close. “Oh wait – I do. ME. And boy, does that thing have a lot to say.” He tapped the memory gun softly against her forehead.

He heard her stop breathing for a second, but like her good ol’ buddy next to her, she was a tough one. She wouldn’t be cowed by a not-so-idle threat in the darkened basement of a place she had no idea the location of where no one was coming to save her. Nope, more than that was necessary for her.

“If you hurt us there won’t be a power on earth that will stop Oracle Division and Jheselbraum from coming down on you like a ton of bricks,” said Tough Gal, and congrats to her, for there was barely a tremor in her voice.

“Heard it all before, lovely. Mostly from your friend! What’s his name again? Nevermind, it won’t matter soon anyway. So, you sit tight and I’ll be with you in just a second.” He hummed idly and spun the dial on the memory gun, basking in the feel of it in his hand and the atmosphere of the room, and especially the way McGucket was pressing himself back into the wall in a useless attempt to escape and the way Marks was intent on throwing herself forward in a useless attempt to attack him.

“Hmm, what to type, what to type . . .” Bill looked at the open journal, and brightened. “Well, how about that! Let’s go with your wife’s name for now, Fiddsy-pie. We’ll get to the other memories of her later, but for now, how about we just drive you a little insane over the fact that you can’t even place a name to that face? Let’s see: M-A-D-E-L-I-”

“If you touch him, I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up Blondie, there’s a good victim. Besides, not much you can do at this point is there? Ha! I’ve been frying his brain for the past hour and he can’t even remember it! Alright buddy, ready for the next round? Three, two, one, GO!”

22 notes · View notes

invisibletinkerer · 6 years

Text

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 13)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

Length: ~5700 words

AO3 Link

Stanford went into the car still reeling from Dipper’s game – and as irrational as it seemed, he found that he now looked forward to something other than Bill’s demise. Two days ago he would have called that impossible, the very idea unthinkable. But if the rift was secured and he himself stayed inside the warded room for the game—

The rift was the priority, though.

He didn’t even care that Stanley insisted on driving, even though Ford was the one who knew where they were going, and the likelihood of him falling unconscious while driving was close to zero at this point. He’d slept enough for a lifetime by now, even when accounting for a few unpleasantly panicked midnight awakenings. Bill had failed to reach him, and that gave him a better ground to stand on than he’d had since he’d first discovered the demon’s true intentions. Even the various aches seemed quite negligible this morning.

Of course, it was just like Stanley to still be possessive about his car – some things never changed. But they were going on small forest roads at relatively low speeds anyway, so the unnecessary hassle of giving directions was rather minor, all things considered. Besides, the passenger seat was comfortably familiar.

As he settled in, déjà vu struck him like a heat wave to the face. This car. The smell of leather and gasoline. A bumpy road. Stanley on his left.

It had been over a decade, and they had both been mere children, but the feeling was strong enough that he had to shake his head to dislodge it. He could practically taste the toffee peanuts.

Wait a second. He glanced at the old man in the driver’s seat – grey hair, shorts, and a printed shirt gaudy enough to be Fiddleford’s – presently looking nothing at all like the wide-eyed sixteen-year-old who had once been so proud of this very vehicle. It had been more than four decades.

“I can’t believe you still have the same car,” he said, running his fingers over the glove compartment.

Stanley grimaced. “Yeah, well. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t believe it. It’s not the same car.”

Ford blinked, taking another look around. “It’s not?” Lacking photographic memory, he couldn’t be absolutely certain down to the details, but— “I do remember this car quite well from our childhood, Stanley. I know I saw the ‘Stanleymobile’ vanity plate outside, too.”

Stanley’s face might have looked pained for a moment, but then he chuckled. “That’s right. Confused the hell out of a buncha people when I got it.” He raised his voice in mock concern. “’But Stanford, why would you want the wrong name on your plate?’ Heh.”

Ford pursed his lips. The reminder that Stanley had been using Ford’s name for all these years stung, but it only made the present question more puzzling. “This is a replica, then. A copy.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment that you fell for it, Poindexter. It’s not like I’ve shown it to anyone else who remembers the original.”

“I didn’t ‘fall’ for anything,” Ford bristled. “I merely didn’t think you’d go to the trouble of making a replica of your first car, especially not when you were claiming to be me. I’m sure there has to be better cars on the market in the 21st century.”

They were interrupted by an especially bumpy stretch of the road – it was even less well maintained than last time Ford had seen it – making the car jump and come dangerously close to going off-road. Ford rolled his eyes at Stanley’s reckless driving, but assumed he could handle it like he always had.

He took the moment to take a closer look at their surroundings, looking for landmarks in the forest. There was still a bit to go, and there were no people in sight, which was expected, but also a relief. Other people meant other possible pawns of Bill, especially now that Ford himself was somewhat less available to the demon. It was fortunate that nothing required them to go into town, at least not today.

“There’s never gonna be a better car on the market than the old El Diablo,” Stanley said eventually, bringing him back to the conversation. “Got my hands on one of the same model in workable condition a few years back, so I touched her up a bit.” He patted the wheel affectionately. “She’s a good car. Feels like home, ya know?”

Of course Stanley would bring something back just because he missed it. Ford wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or scoff, so he did neither. “It is a good car,” he admitted. “And it certainly brings to mind late sixties New Jersey, if that’s what you’re going for.”

Stanley grinned. “Sixties New Jersey, the glory days.”

Ford closed his eyes briefly and tried to recall the strong sense of déjà vu he’d experienced. “I won’t argue that,” he said. “But that was a long time ago.”

“You don’t say.”

Fair enough, but Ford shrugged it off. A question danced on the tip of his tongue until he finally gave in and asked it. “What happened to the original?” It didn’t matter, especially not when Stanley had acquired such a decent facsimile, but somehow he still wanted to know. “Did you lose it when you—when you were on the road?”

Stanley smiled wryly. “No, I still had her when I got here. But, well – told ya Stanley Pines died, didn’t I? Car crash, horrible wreckage, almost nothing left of the body. The car was identifiable, though.”

“Oh.” Stanley had really destroyed his own identity thirty years ago. It was hard to wrap his mind around, to get a grip on as something that really happened. He should have been okay. He should have had twelve years not to get tangled in his own dreams and desires into dealing with demons, but instead he’d done that. As if Stanley Pines was nothing. As if Stanford Pines was nothing, as if they were interchangeable. It hurt, in more than one way, but mulling over it would only be detrimental to the current mission.

There were a few moments of awkward silence, but fortunately Ford found they were approaching their destination, or at least as close to it as they could get to it by car. They would have to hike the last few miles cross-country. He told Stanley to pull over and park where the road widened slightly.

“This is the magical part of the forest?” Stanley said doubtfully as they got out of the car and locked it. “Doesn’t seem very magical to me.”

“That’s right,” Ford replied, back in his element with navigating the Gravity Falls valley. “The most magical part of the forest is further to the west, where I sent Mabel and her friends yesterday. This part is in fact relatively mundane, but it’s got a few secrets of its own, the biggest of which is our destination.” He checked the compass that Stanley had found for him in the attic, then charged ahead through the pines.

He quickly fell into a walking rhythm. The clear forest air, the smell of pine needles and leaves, and the brisk walk towards a clear and obtainable goal was invigorating. For once since long before going through the portal, Stanford felt truly alive. Perhaps he shouldn’t be enjoying something so simple when so much was at stake, but the sunshine filtering through the trees seemed to warm him down to the marrow, and he’d been cold for so long.

Stanley grumbled a bit about his speed, but he kept up. In fact, Ford was sure he caught him smiling several times.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that the hike was more tiring than it should have been. Brief spells of dizziness was nothing to worry about. The sensation of limbs trembling with exhaustion had been such a common occurrence for the last few weeks that it hardly seemed worth acknowledging. Stanford was used to walking and even running for far longer distances with little to no trouble. This was nothing.

When Stanley pointed out that he looked winded, it was just annoying.

“I’m fine!”

“Dammit Ford, slow down!” Stanley repeated. “You’re heaving like a bellow! Your face looks like a boiled lobster!”

“We’re almost there,” Ford panted, evading Stanley’s attempt to grab his arm. And, in doing so, unbalanced himself into putting his foot down wrong on the uneven ground, falling on his face.

He caught some of his weight on his arms, but still ended up with a faceful of pine needles and a hard root smashing into the wounds on his chest, scratching something open and knocking a groan of pain from him.

He rolled over on his back.

He really did need to catch his breath.

The sky above was blue, partly concealed behind foliage and tree trunks. Right in his line of sight was a large birch. On it was – fixing him in its gaze – a large, otherworldly eye.

He could have sworn it blinked.

Trying to run from me, smart guy?

No. Panic pushed him back on his feet in an instant. Every instinct screamed that he had to get away, that Bill was doing something to him, but as soon as he found his feet he stumbled backwards, almost falling again. Blood was pounding in his ears and black spots threatened to take away his vision.

He couldn’t see. He was going to black out.

“Stanford!”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, blinking hard. A flailing hand found something to hold onto, keeping him from falling over. He was fine. There was air and he could breathe – too hard, too fast – and all he had to do was make his body catch up with him. He felt nauseous and could still hear Bill laughing in his ears, but he was fully awake and Bill couldn’t hurt him unless he fainted. Bill was watching, yes, but he couldn’t do anything. Ford was still in control. His hands were shaking independently of his struggling lungs, but he was alright.

Stanley. He’d grabbed onto Stanley, and somehow he was steadier than any tree. Ford leaned on his brother and finally the world stopped spinning.

“I’m fine,” he repeated after a moment. “It was just a headrush.”

Stanley made a non-committal noise and pushed him off so he could look at him. Meeting Ford’s eyes and confirming Bill’s absence, he relaxed visibly. “I did tell ya to rest another day,” he grumbled.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Ford managed, still panting. “I also recall—recall that I told you we have no time to lose.”

Stanley produced a plastic water bottle from his bag and handed it to Ford, who took it and drank gratefully. His lungs were starting to get back to an acceptable level of labor, but his heart was still racing, and his limbs were trembling uncontrollably. Exhaustion, still, despite eating and sleeping. Ridiculous.

“So, what just happened?” Stanley asked, before taking the bottle back and taking a swig himself.

Ford bit his lip. What just happened was weakness. He had no more excuses to succumb to that. He’d stumbled, and Bill had taken advantage of the moment to startle him. “Bill is watching us,” he said simply.

“Well.” Stanley grimaced. “He would be. But he can’t do anything to ya unless you’re unconscious, right?”

“Right. He has no means of attack, no pawns, not here.” He had to believe it. Trees were just trees, even if Bill could see through them. “I suppose— I suppose I stumbled because I overexerted myself. I had no reason to believe this particular hike would be strenuous. Considering I’ve walked it many times in the past.”

“Except in the past you weren’t recovering from being a half-dead wreck. I figured as much when your face changed color.”

Ford let go of Stanley completely and crossed his arms. “I am not a half-dead wreck!”

“No, you’re only a quarter dead now.” Stanley smirked briefly. “Seriously, are you okay? Can you tell me honestly that you won’t fall over if a deer looks at you the wrong way?”

“Deer are rarely dangerous, Stanley. Unless perhaps it’s a peryton, in which case the wings would give ample warning of its true nature.”

“That wasn’t—” Stanley sighed. “Look, are we gonna turn around and go back to the Shack, or can I really trust that this won’t happen again?” He sounded sincerely worried. Perhaps even afraid.

Ford clenched and unclenched his hands. Carelessness and weakness could lead to disaster. He might have been a hair’s width from blacking out just now, and that thought made him tense up all over again. He couldn’t stop Bill from watching, but he could make sure he was unable to do anything else. All he had to do was to get a hold of himself. He wasn’t—

He wasn’t doing this alone.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It won’t happen again,” he promised. “I’ll take it slower from here. And I’ll have one of those chocolate bars you packed.”

* * *

It was almost midday when they finally reached their destination, which turned out to be a clearing on a hill. The opening in the trees gave the place a good view of the local landmark hanging cliffs, so if it hadn’t been so out of the way, Stan figured it would have been a nice spot for sightseeing tours. Other than that, he couldn’t see anything special about it.

Ford sat down on a convenient rock with a sigh, wiped his glasses on a sleeve and motioned for Stan to come closer. His face was still a bit darker than it should have been, but it probably looked worse than it was because he was so ghostly pale in general. Alive, though. He was very much alive and would very much stay that way if Stan had anything to say on the matter. He had taken it slower on the last bit of the hike, at least.

“Are you gonna tell me what we’re locking for yet?” Stan asked. “Still don’t see any metal to use those sci-fi weapons on.”

“They’re not weapons, they’re tools. And yes.” Ford raised his chin. “Perhaps you can make a guess if I tell you we’re looking for an adhesive stronger than anything on Earth?”

Stan grimaced. “I really hope it doesn’t mean you’re gonna break the rift open and pull something out of there, because then I have to tell you that’s crazy reckless.” Not that he was always opposed to crazy reckless, but that rubbed him the wrong way.

“What? No!” Ford shook his head and got back to his feet. “No, guess again.” He pointed at the landmark. “Take a look at the shape of those cliffs – doesn’t it remind you of something?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. He had seen those cliffs thousands of times, and the unnatural-looking indentations in them were hardly news. He had no idea what Ford was going for. “It looks like Paul Bunyan took an axe to them to open up the valley,” he said. “At least that’s what I tell the tourists.”

Ford pursed his lips. “That’s an explanation I never considered,” he mused. “It is, however, wrong. Behold.” He held out a closed hand above Stan’s eyes, then dropped a small keychain charm to dangle in his field of vision.

A plastic UFO.

“Wait a minute.” Stan snatched the charm out of Ford’s hand. “Where did you get that?” Sure enough, it was the same kind that he sold in the gift shop. No keys either, just the charm.

“Seriously, Stanley?” Ford threw both hands up in exasperation. “Does that really matter?”

Stan glanced from Ford to the charm and back, feeling more confused than anything else. “Look, Sixer, I appreciate that you still have it in you to shoplift! But you could have just asked.”

“I would have used my own if I had been able to find it,” Ford said stiffly.

Stan winced with guilt. That’s right. He’d taken everything from Ford. No legs to stand on getting stingy about a keychain charm. “Nevermind.” He handed the charm back to Ford and took a deep breath before he could say anything he’d regret. “Keep it if you want it. I promise we’ll get everything straightened out as soon as—”

“It’s unimportant!” Ford interrupted with some fire, though he still took it back. “You’re looking at the trinket and fail to see the big picture. Look again. Look at the cliffs.” He dangled the charm in front of Stan’s eyes again, and this time Stan actually looked.

The shape of the UFO fit the hole in the mountain pretty well.

Stan’s eyes widened. “You’re saying a freaking UFO crashed through that mountain?”

“Exactly!” his young twin exclaimed, looking awfully smug about it. Then again, smug shoplifting nerd Sixer was a whole lot more relatable than terrified wreck Sixer, so that was a win. “According to my research,” Ford continued, “the entire valley of Gravity Falls was formed when an extraterrestrial object crashlanded here millions of years ago.”

“Not Paul Bunyan, then.” Thinking about it, he should probably have known something like that was up. It did make a few things about the portal make more sense. “The wreck is still here, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. “You’ve been there before, and that’s where we’re going now.”

“Indeed.” Ford put the keychain away and bent down to push at the rock he’d been sitting on. It slid a few feet to the side surprisingly easily, revealing a dirty metal surface underneath. “Sometimes the strangest things in the world are hidden right under our feet. Stand back.” He took out his magnet gun and aimed it at the metal, and the next moment a square slab of the stuff flew out of the ground and attached itself to the gun’s muzzle. Below was a dark shaft into the underground.

Stan was fascinated in spite of himself. Somewhere inside him a little boy was screaming excitedly about treasure hunting. Together with Ford, even. He swallowed.

“I used to raid this place for parts for years,” Ford was saying. “Some of the more exotic materials for the portal came from here, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Some of that shit just wasn’t in any literature I could get my hands on.” He was still staring down at the hole. “And your notes weren’t exactly complete, especially not when I only had that one journal.”

“You still figured it out, though. Frankly, Stanley, that’s amazing.”

The compliment caught him by surprise. “Meh,” he said, waving it away. “Took me long enough.”

There turned out to be a wire ladder made from perfectly normal aluminum already hanging from the edge of the shaft, making it possible to climb straight down into the darkness. Ford took the lead, claiming he’d been there countless times before, and besides, all the aliens had been dead for millions of years. He sounded a bit like he was trying to reassure himself, but it definitely made sense to Stan that there wouldn’t be any living aliens onboard a spaceship that crashed an eternity ago. Something else making their lair there, maybe – this was Gravity Falls – but probably not aliens.

Stan was glad he was more or less over his fear of heights, because as they climbed, the narrow shaft soon widened into a large chamber that made it extremely obvious how high above any kind of floor they were. The sunlight from the shaft caught the walls and pillars below and turned into an eerie glow, illuminating something that could almost have been a giant cavern. Stan only looked down once, then kept his eyes on the ladder until he could step out on the floor, but the sight that awaited him was more than worth it. Reflected pearlescent glow on gently curving walls and pillars faded into the distance. Cracks, rubble, stray roots and patches of half-dead moss littered the ruins between alien symbols and long-broken equipment. The air was chilly, but felt strangely clean. It was the kind of sight people would pay a fortune to see.

“Whoa.” Stan’s voice echoed slightly in the large space. He glanced at Ford, and said, straight-faced, “This is the greatest thing I ever saw, and I once saw a gnome bathing in squirrels.”

As he’d hoped, Ford cracked up. His face split into a grin that he was obviously trying to suppress, head bowed and shoulders shaking in muffled laughter. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stan couldn’t help himself. “Bad genes, I suppose.”

“You—” Ford took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “This is serious, Stanley!”

“I know.” Stan shrugged. “Let’s go get your glue.”

“This way.”

Ford led the way through the big chamber, past piles of rubble and patches of pale grass – hard to tell if it was normal plants taken root down here or alien ones. The faint patch of sky from the shaft above gave a surprising amount of light, almost like the gleaming walls and pillars were made to reflect back as much light as possible. That had to be marketable.

“Fiddleford and I used to come down here all the time, studying their technology and language,” Ford said, an odd wistful tone in his voice. “I haven’t been here since before—before he left. A couple of months, give or take thirty years.” He sighed softly and rubbed his own arms like he was cold. “It’s the kind of place that time doesn’t seem to touch.”

“Fiddleford,” Stan repeated. “Fiddleford McGucket.” Dipper had mentioned it earlier, but it was still hard to imagine that the crazy old man had once been a genius on par with Ford. Weirder things had happened, though. “He was really your assistant?”

“Yes, and my friend. We met in collage.” Ford kept going for a few more steps, then stopped. “Did you know him at all? Did he ever talk to you?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘talk’,” Stan dodged. It had very seldom been a coherent conversation, after all. Thinking back, though – “The first time I met him he ran from me screaming. That might have been a clue that you didn’t really part on the best of terms.”

“No, we didn’t.” Ford looked down at his feet. “Never mind. Of course he would have avoided you.” He kept walking, and Stan followed in silence.

Would’ve been nice if he’d known about McGucket sooner – if he’d worked on building the portal originally he might even have been able to help repair it. But hey, it would have been too much to ask for Ford to mention his friend’s name in his notes. He’d have to tell Ford at some point, but right now did not feel like the time to say ‘by the way, the guy’s completely insane, lives in the dump, and doesn’t remember you at all’.

Suddenly Ford halted by a precipice – the floor simply stopped with no warning and gave way to a pitch-black chasm. It didn’t seem like it was broken or anything either, more like the aliens just decided to have a hole there for some alien reason. It was empty except for a smooth round pillar, going straight down into the darkness some four or five feet from the edge.

“We’re going down there?” Stan asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Yes,” Ford confirmed. He was standing on the edge, one moment of lost balance away from falling to his death, which was a bit unnerving. He also seemed to seriously consider jumping, too, at least if the way he looked at the pillar in the gaping hole meant anything. Stan resisted the urge to drag him away immediately, but stayed close just in case. “This used to be some form of elevator shaft to the next level of the alien craft,” Ford explained. “The mechanism is long defunct, but there is no staircase route, so this is where we’re descending.”

“How?”

Ford looked at the magnet gun in his hand, which seemed to be trembling very slightly. “Normally I would simply jump over to the pillar and attach the magnet gun to it, holding on and allowing gravity to pull me down at a convenient speed.” Stan shuddered – there was absolutely no way he himself was doing that, fear of heights mostly cured or not, and it sounded like it could go wrong in a thousand ways for Ford, too. He was not recovered from all the shit he’d put his body through.

For once, Ford seemed to have realized that on his own. “However,” he continued, “after the minor incident on the way here, I’m no longer certain I can trust my body to hold up to that kind of stress. An accident at this point would spell disaster.”

“Yeah, I’d say.” Stan paused, since Ford still didn’t move from the edge. “Look, I really hope you’re gonna say you have an alternative.”

“Yes! Of course!” Ford nodded, hesitation gone, and finally turned to walk along the edge to their right. “Fiddleford insisted on installing a ladder here as well, just like at the entrance,” he explained, pointing at the start of another wire ladder attached to the edge close to a solid block of ancient alien who-knows-what.

Stan slapped a hand on his face. “If you had a ladder here all along, why didn’t you just say so?”

“I just did.” Ford raised his chin. “It’s not my preferred method of descent, but it will have to do.” He hurried down the ladder before Stan could argue the point. “Come on.”

The light from above didn’t reach the lower level of the spaceship, but Ford brandished a flashlight that reflected on the walls in a similar way, giving more than enough light to see their surroundings. Ford seemed to know his way around, but Stan couldn’t help dragging his feet, trying to take it all in. The urge to go back here at some point and collect as much sellable loot as was humanly possible was only increasing. There was the skeletal remains of an actual alien still slumped near a control board. Anyone would have a field day with that.

Anyone except Ford, apparently.

“So,” Stan said slowly as they walked. “I’m pretty sure this place’d be a giant breakthrough in at least a dozen academic fields. You never thought of releasing the news to the world? Becoming rich and famous?”

Ford looked back at him, a strange glint in his eyes. “No,” he said. “By the time I first found this, I was already working with Bill.” He turned away again. “The portal was the priority at that point. Nothing else seemed to—Everything else seemed insignificant compared to what he claimed the portal would do.”

“Hm. Infinite alternate universes, right?”

“Yes. Let me make this clear though – it did not lead to anything of the sort.”

Stan swallowed, feeling an accusation in those words. “Well,” he said, “the alien spaceship is still here, and no one has published it yet. It’s not too late, ya know. You could change the world with this.”

For some reason, Ford flinched visibly at that. “Perhaps,” was all he said, not sounding convinced at all.

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so for a couple of minutes the only sound to be heard was two sets of softly echoing footsteps. Eventually they reached a dead end.

“Is this a door of some kind?” Stan guessed.

“Yes, it is.” Ford pointed the magnet gun to a spot on the ceiling, causing a small lever to pull downward. At the same time, the wall before them split neatly in half, leaving a gap of less than an inch in the middle. Ford grabbed the left edge and pulled to the side, slowly widening the opening until Stan took the other side and pulled the whole thing open in one go. Muscles, he still had them.

Ford gave him a nod of acknowledgement, then carefully stepped inside. “This is the storage facility,” he explained. “Now all we have to do is find the adhesive. I believe I know where it is.” His eyes flicked nervously around the room as if half expecting an ambush, though Stan couldn’t make out either movements or sounds other than their own.

He wasn’t sure exactly what they were looking for in here, but there was a bunch of small, flat six-sided boxes scattered in heaps on the floor. All of them were the same size and shape, and any one of them could contain anything. Actually, any one of them would probably count as treasure if you looked a little closer. The thought was inspiring; pocketing a few random ones was more or less a reflex.

Ford had quickly found his way to a curved nook in the wall lined with some kind of control panels, whatever a cargo hold would use control panels for. He’d put the flashlight aside, relying on the reflected light from the walls, and was working on taking out even more of the six-sided boxes from an opening under the controls, frowning at them one at the time.

“Any idea what these are for?” Stan asked, tapping something that might have been a dead monitor screen.

Ford grunted, still going through the boxes. “I believe these compartments were meant to be a secure storage space for extra valuable or volatile substances, though many of them were broken and tossed around during the crash.” He scowled at a container as if the design on it had insulted him. “The rest are the security systems, of course.”

“Of course.” Stan idly flicked a switch back and forth. “Wait, security systems?”

“Yes, the cargo would have been heavily guarded back when the vessel was up and running.” Ford glanced at Stan and added: “Don’t worry, though. Everything’s defunct by now. Most of it has been busted for millions of years.”

“Geez, way to give me a heart attack.” Stan snickered and rummaged through a few more of the little boxes in the heap closest to the panel, not getting any wiser about what was in them. “Hey, wanna tell me exactly what it is I’m supposed to be looking for, here?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Ford showed him the nearest box. “They’re marked with these symbols, see. The symbol for the adhesive is two concentric circles flanked by two smaller circles on opposite sides, each connected to the larger circle with a straight line.” He sketched the design over the unrelated box with a finger. “It’s still unknown what the alien thought process behind the symbol was, but like a lot of their symbology, it’s easy to remember memetically! If you imagine the center as—”

Stan was viscerally reminded again that Ford was there. Not dead, not a fever dream, but right in front of him and nerding out about some alien weirdness. Still young, like the past thirty years had been nothing but a nightmare. It hadn’t sunk in yet, if it ever would. It was over, and Ford was there.

“I thought it would be right here, though,” Ford continued, a stressed edge to his voice. “The other one we found was in this very unit.” He made a frustrated grimace. “If it’s not here, this might take longer than I hoped. It could be anywhere.” He waved his arm around the room.

“You sure there’s more of it at all?” Stan couldn’t help asking. Could it be that they were down here for nothing?

“There has to be!” Ford slammed the container he was holding down on the control panel.

“What happened to the last one, anyway?”

“It was almost empty to begin with. We wasted it on useless experiments, and now that I need it, there isn’t any more?” He leaned on the panels, looking down at his hands with a frustrated grimace.

“Hey, I was just asking. Don’t give up yet. Like you said, it might take some time to look though this mess, but that’s why you brought backup, am I right?” He gave Ford a pat on the back, earning him an unreadable glare.

“You’re right. I’ll go through this pile, you start over there,” Ford directed with a gesture.

Stan sat down on the floor by the pile and started shuffling the boxes like bricks. All of the designs included circles, stupidly similar, but he’d find the one Ford had described if he put his mind to it. It couldn’t be harder than—

Ford must have heard something before Stan did. Stan’s first indication that something was wrong was Ford spinning around, back stiff and ramrod straight, staring into the darkness on the far end of the area.

For a moment there was nothing there, but then it was like a light switch was turned on. The walls didn’t just reflect the one flashlight any longer, but there was some kind of light source in the distance, bouncing off the walls and making the whole place look like the electricity bills had not been neglected for the past million years.

Two giant, floating bubbles were approaching.

In hindsight, Stan should probably not have been surprised. Then again, long-dead alien security systems had been pretty far down the list of credible threats. A stray dragon finding its way down here and hoarding the six-sided treasure boxes, or a herd of manotaurs picking the place for their man-cave – sure. But million-year-old automated systems? It was like someone who died before humanity was a thing was deliberately trying to call him out for being a burglar. He decided he hated those aliens.

“Damn,” Ford said quietly from a few feet away, clearly on the verge of hyperventilating. “It’s—it’s okay. Stay calm. They’re not with Bill. They’re just security droids. They won’t even touch us unless we—” He broke off, raising his magnet gun in a tightly clenched, trembling fist.

“You’ve met these before?” Stan got to his feet and took a protective step closer to Ford.

“Yes, once! I thought it was the last one! They work by detecting fear, so all we have to do is—all we have to do is not to—” He was struggling with himself, breathing too fast and shallow again. “Shit.”

One of the bubbles extended a small brick-like piece in Ford’s direction, and Stan had seen guns ready to fire before. He reacted on instinct, without thinking, throwing himself at Ford.

#gravity falls #fanfic #it writes #30 seconds later #stanford pines #stanley pines #in which the stans spend some time together

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inktheblot · 7 years

Text

trust and thaumaturgy

dug out a short fic about Ford coming into himself as a witch and the effect of his practice on his reemerging romance with Fiddleford -- hope y’all are into it because I sure as hell am

When Stanford first spoke of his new focus of study, he received something of a mixed reaction. Excitement and intrigue were definitely present, but his loved ones showed him a fair share of bewilderment, concern, and even mockery as well.

He found he couldn’t blame them for any of it. Anyone would think that he would be yearning for safe normality at this point in his life. But he couldn’t shake his fascination with—and attachment to—all things wonderfully weird.

On some level, magic had always been a part of Ford’s life. From the fantastic adventure novels he pored over as a child, to the defensive spells he carried with him in the darker parts of the Gravity Falls woods, or even the spectacular wonders he and his brother had encountered on the Stan o’ War II, he had been seeing it everywhere for a very long time.

Now, all he wanted was to understand the mysterious and powerful forces that surrounded him—to connect with them, to become a part of those invisible cycles and chains. He knew it well that everyone he loved had had confusing or shocking or simply unpleasant experiences with the unknown. With that in mind, he was hoping to forge his own brand of magic to protect and create, rather than to cause harm or destruction.

Soon enough, his family began to understand his reasoning and accept—even embrace!—his newfound passion. Their support lifted his spirits and made him even more motivated to learn all he could. He grew confidence in his skills and his purpose. He felt a thrill and fulfillment he never would have expected when he felt he could accurately call himself a witch.

It took Fiddleford—with whom Ford had recently reestablished a romantic connection—the longest to adjust to this shift in Ford’s habits. That, too, was understandable; he had always been a superstitious, anxious man, hard-set in the tangible and wary of what might lay beyond. To hear that his long-term partner was intending to place heavy faith and importance in casting spells and channeling mysterious powers must have been somewhat unnerving.

After all, the last time he had seen Ford decide to follow a strange and paranormal path seemingly out of the blue, it hadn’t ended well for either of them. Ford assured him repeatedly that his practice had nothing to do with any sort of evil force, nor was he planning on summoning any angry spirits or chaos demons to invade their well-deserved peace. He knew better than that now.

Fiddleford seemed to accept his word, but still, Ford recognized an air of apprehension about him. So he kept discussion of the topic to a minimum and his studies silent and solitary.

One night some months later, Ford was just sliding into bed when he heard Fiddleford mumbling frustratedly from the other side. The mattress was shaking slightly with the restless bounce of his knee.

It was unusual for Fiddleford to still be wide awake by the time Ford completed his nighttime meditation. Concerned, Ford inquired if he was feeling all right. Fiddleford sighed before turning to face him, looking at him tiredly through his striking blue eyes that Ford could make out even without the aid of the light or his glasses.

“‘M plumb tuckered out,” Fiddleford grumbled at last. “Haven’t been sleepin’ too well for a while now. There’s always somethin’ nasty-like squeezin’ its way into the ol’ noodle.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

“I know forgetting isn’t the answer,” he added after a moment, as if he had anticipated what Ford was thinking. “Really, I do. But I still want t’ relax now and again, y’know? I don’t…I don’t need to forget, but…but can’t I just get somma this junk outta my head for half a darn minute? I’m not askin’ for much. Just a wee bitta reprieve so I can get some godforsaken shuteye!”

Ford moved a hand from his side to rest on Fiddleford’s cheek, feeling the fine white hairs of his beard between his fingers. “Hey,” he murmured, almost without thinking, “I…I may have happened upon a spell recently that might be of help to you. N-not that we have to go that route, of course,” he added hastily once his mind reminded him that his partner wasn’t exactly accustomed to the idea of his use of practical magic.

But to his surprise, Fiddleford began to nod. “Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Worth a shot, ain’t it? At this point, I’d try most anything…”

Quickly Ford attempted to recompose himself. He rose into a cross-legged seated position, then requested that Fiddleford sit up as well. He heard him mutter something along the lines of “how in hell am I s’posed to getta sleep if I’m sittin’ up like a startled hare”, but nonetheless he complied.

Ford staggered himself down the length of the bed until he was facing Fiddleford’s back. He plucked his glasses from the nightstand and readjusted them on his face as he did so; he wanted all his senses about him for this.

“Do you trust me?” he asked carefully. He had his hands held out in front of him, ready to work, but he dared not begin until he knew Fiddleford felt safe and comfortable.

“Yes, darlin’,” came Fiddleford’s reply, as smooth, sweet, and sincere as raw wild honey. Ford’s heart swelled at the affirmation, and so he was ready to perform his magic…or, almost.

He was realizing that while he had learned to enchant inanimate objects, and he had practiced any number of solitary rituals, this was the first time that he, as a witch, would be casting a spell on another person directly. He tensed at the thought, but he brought himself back to calm with a deep breath and the fact that Fiddleford loved and trusted him.

If he believes that I can do this right, then surely I will succeed, Ford thought. What right do I have to doubt him?

So at last, he began. He placed his hands on Fiddleford’s thin shoulders and slowly rolled his fingertips across his skin. In a deliberate, rhythmic pattern, he worked his hands downward to massage Fiddleford’s back, all the while reciting an incantation he had memorized a week or two prior. His voice dropped to a low, soothing murmur, as his hands glowed with the sparking golden aura that had developed alongside his personal magic energy.

Before long, Fiddleford was visibly relaxing. His muscles were growing limp and his anxious heart rate had slowed. So Ford continued, guiding Fiddleford deeper until they were both lying flat again.

Now completely still, Fiddleford gazed at his partner lovingly from behind his drooping eyelids. Ford smiled back, then waved his hand in a swift, circular motion to seal the spell.

All at once, Fiddleford’s eyes fell shut. A deep, peaceful exhale, followed by a nasally snore, indicated that he had indeed sunk into slumber. Ford felt a dash of pride ignite within him: he had done it!

According one of the old grimoires Ford had collected, this spell induced in its subject a healing, restorative sleep, combating insomnia, fatigue, and nightmares. Now his beloved would rest for as long as he needed, undisturbed by any sort of interruptions or mental unpleasantness.

“Good night, love,” Ford hummed, as the last hint of shining gold faded from his fingertips. He slipped off his glasses again and settled down beside him for some rest of his own.

When they met for breakfast the next morning, Fiddleford’s eyes were bright, brimming with eager life. He enthusiastically informed Ford that his magical solution had worked wonderfully, that he had given him the best sleep he could remember.

He handed off a mug of coffee to his partner, then stood up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. When his lips brushed past Ford’s ear, he whispered, “Superstitions be damned. In a bedeviled place like this, I reckon we’re awful lucky to have ourselves a good witch.”

#my fic #gravity falls #fiddauthor #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #i wanna explore more complicated rituals and potions and shit like that but uh here's something #witchy pines au

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shadowofthelamp · 7 years

Text

Let Me Help

So, after some introspection and realizing why Ford matters to me, I decided that the self-insert fic I was planning to do anyways should work off of that. Set in the 80′s, during the time Ford had locked himself up to study more about Bill post-betrayal.

I’m going to do another one in a bit that’s a bit more huggy and comforting, but I wanted to get a base and try and get 80′s ford nailed down.

Gravity Falls in the winter is kind of peaceful.

Well, it's a small town in the middle of nowheresville, Oregon- of course it's going to be quiet. There's the occasional gnome attack, but you'd gotten used to them and the other various supernatural creatures ages ago. You'd grown up here, after all.

However, one thing was new this year- the mysterious scientist who lived in the woods. Not Fiddleford, he came into town often and was happy to chat with people, everyone knew him by now. He had an accent, he had helped Susan fix the broken oven in the diner, and he had fun stories about his farm when he was a kid.

No, his partner was the mystery. S... S something. Stanley? Samuel? Whatever it was, he only ever appeared to buy supplies then sweep back to his backwoods cabin out on Gopher Road. He wore a trench coat. You'd seen him approximately three times. Once in the diner, ordering coffee, once at the hardware store buying a blowtorch, and once in the middle of the woods with a net, chasing after pixies.

It didn't tell you much besides the fact he hadn't figured out that the pixies would come to you if you had honey.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea, but you hadn't always had the best ideas, you'd run out of books to read, and something in you itched for an adventure, but you found yourself traipsing through the December snow to that creaky house that already looked old at the end of the road. Fiddleford had always been so kind, and you'd always liked talking to the shy ones in class. S-whatever probably was the same. He didn't seem much older than you, after all. Maybe he just needed a friend.

...Those barrels out front probably were full of some kind of science goo. This was Gravity Falls, not some place that would end up on the news because somebody had toxic waste.

The floorboards of the porch creaked under your winter boots, and you knocked on the door twice. Snow plopped off the roof and unto the ground, crushing a solitary weed that had squirmed up through the frost. Footsteps clomped towards the door, but it didn't open.

"Who is it?" His voice was shaky, and you puzzled over a response for a moment.

"My name is Miranda, I'm just here to talk. Is this a bad time?"

"Who are you?" The doorknob rattled, but the door remained shut.

"Um, I'm... Miranda. I'm twenty two, I was just curious what you do out-" The door nearly slammed you in the face as he pointed a flashlight to your eyes, a snarl on his lips. The light burns, but he only leaves it on for a moment before being satisfied by whatever he did (or didn't) see.

You regret coming the moment he tugs you in by your wrist, reminders of stranger danger floating around in your head. You can still feel the wind and snow swirling at your back, but he just tugs his coat tighter around him with his free hand as he narrows his eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"I... well, I haven't seen Fiddleford in town for nearly a week, and I've always been sort of interested in science, and... are you all right?" It had taken until you'd seen him in flickering light, but he didn't look very well. There were bags under his eyes, and his skin was sallow and sagging, as if he'd lost weight.

"That's a good one. You just happened to show up when you've never wanted to be here before?" His nails dig into your wrist as he flips your hand over, tugging off your glove and shining his flashlight at your palm. He yanks it up to eye level, and you stumble forward, barely managing to avoid crashing into him. "Fingerprints look legitimate..."

"Seriously, are you okay? It's freezing in here, you don't have any heat on. Is that a dinosaur skull? Why were you looking at my-" "Shh, he's- what did you say your name was? Never mind, it's not important. You shouldn't be here, why are you here?"

His eyes are twitching, and he looks like your friend after she stayed up two days straight during a particularly strenuous final. "I was just... wondering, is all. About your fancy science stuff. I saw you chasing after pixies once, so... you like Gravity Falls for the supernatural stuff too, right? I have some stories-"

He sets his hands on your shoulders, squeezing in the fabric of your coat. "Listen. You don't want to be involved with me, with this. Leave, and don't come back. Tell everyone to stay away. This is dangerous, awful, it's a mess, it's a mess-" He's started shaking, and you set a hand on top of one of his. Something feels weird- does he have too many fingers?- but it seems to calm him down, at least a little.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I'll... I'll go."

"Yes. Yes, go, that's a good idea." He lets go, raking a hand through his hair. It's slick, but more like he hadn't washed it in a few days than the shine of hair gel.

He ushers you out the door, and it isn't until it clicks shut that you realize a piece of paper is stuck to your boot. The wet snow has made half of it indecipherable, but the parts that are are scribbles of some kind of were-cougar. It's apparently a cougar that turns into a much bigger cougar on full moons.

Huh. You'd never seen that before. _________

It was two days before you found yourself on his doorstep again. You hadn't even gotten his name yet, but... he'd looked like he needed help. Badly. You'd been in that sort of place before, that place when you didn't want to admit you felt like shit and didn't care about life anymore, and if you could help someone out of there, you damn well were going to do it.

You had macaroni and cheese in a thermos. It wasn't very classy but it would have probably melted your mom's tupperware so it was better than nothing.

You knocked twice. "It's me again!"

"Who?"

"Miranda! I came a few days ago, you shined a light in my eyes?"

Something metal jangled before the door creaked open.

"What did... did I tell you to leave?"

"Yes, but I wanted to give you this." You hold out the thermos. "It has mac and cheese. I know it's not much, but it didn't look like you'd eaten."

He stares at you like you'd grown horns.

"You can look at my hands again, if you want."

"What do you care about hands?" His tone shoots to defensive almost immediately.

"Well, you wanted to see mine last time. Something about the fingerprints. I dunno what you were looking for."

He blinks before taking a step back, and you hear a series of crashes before he's pushing the door open the rest of the way. You take that as a cue to step in, nearly tripping over a cage that only went up just past your ankle. "Woah!"

"Ah, my- my apologies, I wasn't expecting- it was- nothing."

Turning slightly to your left to the stairs shows three chairs- all different- and another cage twice the size of the one that almost made your teeth get acquainted with the wooden floorboards. Either someone had had a fit or he'd been blocking the door and needed to chuck them away to let you in.

"I know I'm probably intruding but... I noticed you didn't look so hot, last time. I know mac and cheese always makes me feel better."

You hold out the thermos again, and he takes it from you, setting it on a small table littered with printer paper.

"Oh. Um. Thank you." He stares at you for a few moments, scanning you up and down. Even in a puffy coat, you feel almost naked. "Why did you do that for me? I don't know you. Is this a trick?"

"I... I've been where you are." You swallow, about to continue, but then he suddenly smiles. It doesn't look like he's happy- his eyes are watering- but it shows off a chipped tooth and blood on his gums.

"You think you've been where I am? You know what- what I've been through? You... you couldn't possibly...!" His mouth extends to the point where you wince for his cheek muscles, but this feels like a horror movie. You take a step backwards as he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and something that's both a sob and a distorted laugh forces its way out of his throat. His body starts shaking again, and you raise a hand to your own mouth.

Whatever is wrong with him, if he doesn't get help he is going to hurt himself. You know this for certain- and you knew a panic attack when you saw one.

"Hey, it's okay. Breathe." You can't force your feet to move closer, but you can ball your hands into fists and shove them into your coat pockets. "It's all right, let it out, take a breath." He's still wide-eyed, looking at something above you and a million miles away. "With me, in one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand."

He squeezes his eyes closed, nodding his head far faster then the pace you're setting, but you try again. "In one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand. Focus on my voice. Just think of the snow falling outside. It's nice and even and slow. Focus on your hands, squeeze your fingers, focus on how it feels against your palm... okay, let them go."

He took another deep breath before opening his eyes again. The right one looks more bloodshot than the left but they're both more grounded than they were before.

"...Thank you."

You force up a smile even though your heart is pounding. "You're welcome. I've had panic attacks before, I know they majorly suck. That's part of why I came- I wanted to know if I could help."

"Help?" He wraps his arms around himself, and you notice the elbow is burnt off the left sleeve.

"Yeah, help. I don't want anybody going through that junk alone, after I did." You take a few steps forward, and your boots crinkle more paper.

He takes a few steps back as you move, so you stop.

"No, no. No, this is a trick, I can't trust you, can't trust anyone, can't-"

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." You have a sudden idea. "How about I prove it?"

"How?"

You grab the thermos of noodles. "How about we split it? You know it's not poisoned or whatever, I'll know you're eating. That's the first thing I know I stopped, anyway- eating properly."

He stares at you for a solid fifteen seconds before nodding slowly.

"Fine."

______________

Over the next week, you learn new information bit by bit. His name is Stanford. He's been in Gravity Falls for six years now. He came here because it's one of the weirdest places in the world, something you think is accurate and also really neat. You can't imagine the town without talking squirrels or the occasional wandering vampire.

He's done something bad. He refuses to specify what, or to let you past the living room, but considering every time you see him he's got a new bandage somewhere, he's still beating himself up for it.

Your suggestion that he go to the hospital for a few days nearly gets a fork in your neck so you decide to not mention it again. You're pleased that he's gained a tiny bit of color, but the bags under his eyes only continue to get deeper. There are always mugs half-filled with coffee scattered around, but if you ask how long it's been since he's slept, he simply waves it off, that he has too much work to do.

You never visit for long- he usually shoos you out within fifteen minutes, but by the third time, you've developed a routine- he gives you a code word at the end of one visit, and you'll say it the next so he knows it's you.

Unfortunately, you never really learn what he thinks some mysterious 'other you' with sinister intentions could be.

A particularly cloudy Thursday, when he answers the door he's got a creepy grin on his face and his glasses glint gold.

"Hey! Come in, come in! I'm so glad you're here, I've been dying to show you something!"

He didn't even ask for the code word, but you step inside anyways. Maybe you were just dumb that way. Maybe you'd started to like the way his hands darted about, and how he looked when he explained something, lighting up and showing you a hint of what he'd used to be.

Maybe it was something more than just trying to prevent the continuation of a spiral like your own.

"What do you want to-" you start, but Stanford shoved something that smelled rancid into your face. It took a moment for your crossed eyes to adjust, and you saw fur and blood and white squirming maggots. Upon stumbling back, you realized it was a deer head, with the antlers replaced with a crown of rabbit's ears. Knives stabbed into both eyeballs, and blood drooled down the cheeks of the animal.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to look away. "That's... interesting. Very dark."

"Oh, that's nothing! Wanna see what I did to myself?" You nearly vomit as he drops the deer head (that hits the wood with a meaty THWAUMP) and rips back his sleeve to show fresh burns, ragged cuts zigzagging across them like a sick facsimile of stitches on a baseball.

"Wh-what..."

"I'm a bit out there, see!" His grin grew wider. "It's not safe, y'know- one day I'm just curled up on a puddle of my own tears, the next I'm doing taxidermy on live animals! It's a toss-up, curly, and I think you might wanna stay away! That sound good?"

You nod mutely, stomach still turning with bile. The blood from the deer splattered unto your pants and shoes.

"Toodles!" He roughly shoves you through the door and off the porch, slamming it hard enough to make a single bird that had braved the winter fly off with an indignant 'CAW!'.

You shiver in the snow for a moment before coming to your senses and bolting.

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #shadow writes stuff #gf blogging

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apathetic-revenant · 7 years

Text

by the skin of your teeth: part seven

(AO3 Link)

HELLO

this one took a lot longer partly because of Things, but also just cause it got to that terrible middle part where the momentum kind of died and I sort of had all the rest of the pieces of the story but wasn’t sure how to put them together. buuut the good news is I’ve pretty much plotted out how things are going to go from here on (I mean there are always surprises but I think I’ve got it down pretty well) so it shoooooould be easier to keep it moving.

I think there will probably (again: always surprises) be about three or four more updates...or at least, I have three more, uh, story chunks, but some of them may be big enough that they’ll have to be split down further. or, we might just wind up with some really long chapters. who knows. we’ll see.

gotta give a shout out to @mirrorfalls for pointing out the Batman thing, and to...uh...whoever it was that came up with the theory about Ford being turned to pyrite instead of gold, sorry, I honestly can’t remember, but even though that doesn’t really have anything to do with what’s going on here that was where I got the inspiration for the use of pyrite as a mcguffin.

SO.

There were a lot of notes.

When they started creeping onto the couch, Stan got up and went out for a smoke. It was not terribly relaxing, since it was so damn cold outside it hurt to breathe, and even clenched inside his jacket pockets his fingers ached. When he came back in, the note-covered area of the couch was up to about two-thirds, Ford and Fiddleford were deep in discussion over something having to do with the elasticity of the amygdala and psycho-thaumaturgical practices of the ancient Egyptians, and he was pretty sure neither of them had noticed he was gone.

When the paper started piling up on the floor, he went out for food.

He came back with a stack of styrofoam to-go cartons, snow in his hair, and the phone number of the waitress from the local diner. He had not, in fact, been intentionally soliciting this, given that there were rather more pressing concerns on his mind and anyway he didn't even have a phone. But as soon as he'd started talking to her, he'd turned on the charm without even realizing it. It was just force of habit, at this point. He turned everything into a show, a larger-than-life act, because he didn't know how not to.

Anyway, he wasn't really used to not needing the extra help to get what he needed. Pulling out Ford's wallet to pay for the food had felt...strange. Like he was going to get called out, like someone was going to point and shout, any moment, because what was he doing with money, anyway? He must have stolen it from someone. He wasn't sure he hadn't.

He took his lukewarm waffles to the kitchen-if it could be called that; the tiny little side-room didn't even have a table, just a chair in the middle of the floor for some reason-because he knew that if he got syrup on any of those notes Ford would probably try to stab him with his own plastic fork. Besides, the constant rattle of nerd-talk was starting to irritate him. Stupid, he knew, but every stream of jargon those two spewed out felt like a pointed reminder of how smart they were, and how smart he wasn't. That, and they would periodically make high-pitched noises of excitement or disappointment at each other, which was not helping his headache any.

He did, eventually, manage to get them to take a break, once it looked like they had about come to some sort of standstill anyway. Fiddleford was looking especially glum, so Stan offered him the second box of waffles, which the man attacked with a gusto that was frankly rather astounding from someone so weedy.

Ford, unsurprisingly, expressed no appetite for cold diner waffles, but with Stan and Fiddleford flanking him, he was eventually coaxed into taking some of the cold medicine with a little of the chicken noodle soup Stan had bought. Mostly he just drank the broth, but that was still more calories than Stan suspected he'd had for a while.

“So...what's the verdict so far?” Stan asked as Ford stared at the papers and aimlessly tapped his spoon against the cheap bowl.

There was a long silence. Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other, and then looked away.

“It...should work,” Ford said. “I think...well, the theory seems sound anyway. Seems. Of course it's difficult to tell, dealing with...something like this...”

Stan rolled his eyes. “You sound so optimistic.”

“The memory gun would have to be modified to be able to effectively target Bill,” Ford said. “Which would require some additional materials, not all of which I have on hand...and...erm...the gun wouldn't be usable for its original purpose afterward.”

Those sounded like fairly surmountable problems to Stan, but the tension hanging in the air between Ford and Fiddleford seemed to say otherwise.

“It's...alright,” Fiddleford said tightly. “I can make another one.”

“I- Fidds, I, you know I don't approve of your use of this device, but-but that's not-”

“I know that's not what it's about.” Fiddleford crossed his arms tight to his chest and pressed himself back up against his chair. He didn't look entirely convinced by his own words. “I'm not...I know this is serious. I ain't that petty that I wouldn't help you get a world-endin' demon out of your head just...'cause it happens to destroy my own work along the way.”

Ford fidgeted with his bowl. Fiddleford rocked the swivel chair back and forth, making a very irritating squeaky noise.

Stan coughed loudly, eager for both the awkward silence and the squeaky noise to end. “So, uh, what kinda additional materials are we talking here? Is it stuff we can get?”

“Well...” Ford shuffled some papers around and extracted one with a list scrawled all over it. “Some of it we can get at a hardware store, but the rest of it is a bit more difficult. Let's see...I still have some moonstone, I think, and...gold...”

His face darkened for a moment, which baffled Stan; that was certainly not the look that would have been on his face if he was declaring that he had gold. Maybe Ford was just upset about having to use it for the device. That...probably made sense.

“...but we also need some pyrite, if my calculations are correct,” Ford went on. “Which I don't have any of. I don't think. Also mercury and, erm, I think I have some ectoplasm left over, I'm not sure-”

“Ectoplasm?” Stan said incredulously. He was ignored.

“I think there's some pyrite in the museum,” Fiddleford said. “In the gold rush exhibit.”

“Oh, good call.” Ford frowned. “They...probably wouldn't just give it to us if we asked nicely, would they?”

Stan perked up. “Hey, do we need something stolen? I can do stealing.”

Ford groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “I suppose we don't really have any other options...”

“Sure,” Stan said. “So, where do we steal the mercury from?”

“Don't need to,” Fiddleford said. “I've got some.”

Stan blinked. “You just have mercury laying around?”

“I do not have mercury laying around,” Fiddleford said haughtily. “I have mercury in a secure container. Which, uh, happens to be under my bed at the moment, but there's not a lot of room in this place-”

“You know what, never mind,” Stan said. “Okay, what else...you did say ectoplasm, right? Like...from ghosts?”

“Yes,” Ford said, in a distinctly underwhelmed voice.

“You're telling me ghosts are real.”

“Yes. And they're very annoying.” Ford blew out an intensely frustrated sigh. “But not as annoying as...who we need to go to for the last thing.”

“The last thing?” Stan said. “There's something else?”

Ford looked despondent.

“Oh no,” Fiddleford said. “Not-”

“Unicorn hair,” Ford said, in the sort of tone someone might use to say we need to steal plutonium with our bare hands or possibly the only way out of this is through the sewers.

Stan had to take a moment to process this one.

“Unicorn hair,” he said. “Did I hear that right? Unicorn hair?”

“Yes,” Ford said glumly.

“Okay, this is like-some kind of science joke, right? Like there's some plant or something called 'unicorn hair' that we have to find-”

“No,” Ford said. “I'm talking about real hair. From real unicorns.”

Stan sat down on the couch and stared at the wall.

“Well, that's sunk it, hasn't it?” Fiddleford said. “Are you sure we need it?”

“Believe me, I've thought very thoroughly about whether there was anything else we could use,” Ford said. “There may be some substitutions, but they're not promising at all. There's simply nothing else that can channel the thaumaturgical energy well enough to power a working of this magnitude. Without that hair the entire operation will most likely short out before it can function.”

“Unicorns,” Stan said.

“Yes, Stanley,” Ford snapped. “Try to keep up.”

“Oh, sorry,” Stan said, voice oozing with sarcasm. “Sorry I had a wee bit of trouble keeping up with the revelation that UNICORNS EXIST.”

“Why is that more unbelievable than ghosts?” Fiddleford asked.

“It...it just is!” Stan threw his hands in the air. “So what? What's the problem? Let me guess, unicorns are super rare. Or, or they all live in Canada. Or they went extinct with the dinosaurs. Or we can only contact them by journeying inside the magical land of a nine year old girl's trapper keeper-”

“Unicorns are rare, but they're not impossible to find,” Ford said tiredly. “There are some who live not too far from here, in a secluded magical glade deep in the woods. The problem isn't finding them, it's dealing with them. They're the most frustrating creatures on the planet.”

“Um, excuse me,” Stan said. “Are you saying that some dumb horse with a pointy forehead can be more frustrating than me? Because I take offense to that.”

That actually got a very small smile out of Ford. “Perhaps not...but all the same, this is no easy task we're talking of. Unicorns are extremely...selective about who they will interact with. In fact I'm not sure there's anyone that meets their standards. They will only deal with those who are pure of heart...which I evidently am not, they were very emphatic about that.”

Stan snorted. “Are you kidding me? No one's pure of heart. That's bullshit.”

“The unicorns disagree,” Ford said. “They have some degree of telepathic ability which lets them judge people, that much I know, and it doesn't seem to be swayed any by arguments about moral relativism.” He shrugged despondently. “Not that I could make much of a case for myself at the moment anyway, given that I have an ancient force for hedonistic evil camping in my head.”

“Eh, you're doing better than me,” Stan said. “Well...we could always find someone who's 'pure of heart' and shanghai 'em.”

“...I don't think kidnapping will make the unicorns more favorable to us,” Ford said, though Stan was pretty sure he'd actually considered it for a moment. “Also, that's highly unethical.”

“Just thought I'd put it out there.”

“Do you think there's any chance they'd be more amenable under the...circumstances?” Fiddleford wondered. “I mean, there's a fair difference between wanting hair and such for scientific samples, and wanting it to prevent the end of the world.”

“True,” Ford said. “I suppose there's no harm in trying, at least...but I'm disinclined to stake my hopes on it.”

“Well, let's burn that bridge when we come to it,” Stan said. “So...hardware store, museum, mystic glade. Anywhere else?”

“I believe that's it...for the moment, at least,” Ford said. He moved the notes into a loose stack and set his bowl down on the table. “We might as well get started-”

“Hold on a minute now,” Fiddleford said, looking sharply over at Ford. “You're in no shape to go adventuring.”

Ford bristled. “We don't have time for me to be coddled. I'm perfectly capable-”

“Can you finish that soup?” Stan asked.

Ford glanced down at the still half-full bowl. “Well...”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Stan said. “Fiddlesticks has a point. You can barely stand up. You can't just go charging off into the woods, it ain't gonna work. You'll just fall over in the snow and die of hypothermia or something.”

“Don't call me that,” Fiddleford said.

“We can't wait for me to recover,” Ford said, glaring sullenly at the table. “The longer this takes, the likelier it is that Bill will realize what we're up to.”

Fiddleford flinched slightly at the name. “Well, that's another reason you shouldn't be coming along. What if...if it comes with you and finds out what we're doing?”

Ford looked stricken.

“You're right,” he murmured, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “We can't risk attracting his attention that way...”

“Look, this is easy,” Stan said. “Let me go out and get this unicorn stuff while you smart guys work on the gun or whatever. I'm good at acquiring things.”

“Stan, we're not talking about robbing a convenience store,” Ford said huffily. “This venture will require dealing with powerful, dangerous supernatural creatures, and I can't guarantee that I'd be able to give you all of the information you would potentially need. Finding the unicorn glade alone will be difficult, it's deep in the woods...maybe if you and Fiddleford went together, he has some experience with the area, but-”

Fiddleford paled, an impressive feat considering the state of his complexion to begin with.

Stan shook his head. “I'm not leaving you alone. What if you fall asleep again? Or we come back and you've coughed your lungs out onto the floor-”

“Honestly, Stan, I'm not-”

“He's got a point,” Fiddleford said. Ford glared at him, but the engineer held steady. “And I ain't just saying that because I'd rather set my hair on fire than go back in those woods again. You're in a bad state, Stanford, and anyway if what you say is true it's too dangerous to leave you alone when you've got that thing in your head.”

Ford sighed and slumped back against the couch. “I don't like it.”

“Join the club,” Stan said.

“If only there was some way we could communicate long distance...” Ford mused. “So we could stay in touch-”

“Sure there is,” Fiddleford said. “You still got those radios we were using?”

Ford blinked and sat up a little straighter. “That's right!”

“Radios?” Stan said.

“We had a pair of two-way radios we were using when we were working on the portal,” Ford explained.

“Cause it was a pain in the ass to have to keep going all the way from the basement and back for every little errand,” Fiddleford added.

“...Yes, that,” Ford said. “Anyway, I still have them back at the house, so that works out perfectly.”

“Excepting that we have to go back to the house,” Fiddleford muttered.

“What? We were going to have to do that anyway,” Ford said. “That's where all my equipment is.”

Fiddleford made a face and looked away.

“Suppose it was inevitable anyway,” he muttered. “Well, if we're doing this, there's no sense dawdling, is there?”

“Quite right.” Ford stood up abruptly, and just as abruptly swayed and almost collapsed down again before Stan and Fiddleford caught him.

“Oh yeah,” Stan said, steadying Ford against him. “Off to a great start.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ford said.

They stopped by the museum first. It was on the way.

“Huh,” Stan said as he stopped the car. “This is bigger than I expected, for a town this size.”

“Gravity Falls has quite a bit of very interesting history,” Ford said. “For one thing, I believe there may be a conspiracy regarding-”

“Yeah, okay, don't wear yourself out,” Stan said, shoving the car door open. “Why don't you two nerds stay here and talk about nerd things. I'll be back in a minute.”

“But-” Ford began, but Stan was already gone. Ford huffed in annoyance and slumped back in his seat.

The two of them sat there for a while in a fidgety silence.

“So that's your brother, huh,” Fiddleford said.

“Yes.”

“He seems...uh...” Fiddleford chewed on his lip. “Well, he's not what I expected.”

“Oh?” Ford said. “What were you expecting?”

“Erm...well...well, I'm not sure, really.” Fiddleford thought for a moment. “I...suppose I wouldn't have expected him to stick around this long.”

Ford looked down at his hands.

“Yeah,” he said. “...Neither did I, really.”

The quiet stretched out a moment longer. Ford stared straight ahead at the doors to the museum. Fiddleford moved his foot back and forth across the floor of the car.

“Y'know, there's a lot of unused space in this museum,” Fiddleford said. “I've been thinking it might make, uh. A good headquarters.”

“For what?” Ford said snidely. “Your cult?”

“It's not a cult, stop calling it a cult-”

“You've got a bunch of people running around in hooded robes,” Ford said. “Red hooded robes. With an ominous symbol on them. And they chant. What were you expecting it to be called?”

“...In retrospect I can see how that might be taken the wrong way,” Fiddleford admitted. “But it's not a cult. It's, it's more like...a secret society. Like the Masons.”

“Oh, don't get me started on the Masons,” Ford said.

Thankfully the door to the museum opened and Stan came sauntering out before the conversation could disintegrate any further.

“That was remarkably quick,” Ford said as Stan got in.

“Would've been quicker if I hadn't had to wait for a school group to get out of the way,” Stan muttered, starting the car. “Never would've thought anyone could talk so long about coal.”

“Oh.” Ford frowned. “So...did you get it?”

Stan sighed and pulled a small chunk of glittering rock out of his pocket. “Here.”

Ford took the pyrite and turned it over in his hands. “You don't sound very happy-”

“There is no security in that museum at all,” Stan grumbled. “None! I didn't even have to pick the lock on the case, I just pulled on it and it came off!”

“Are you...disappointed?” Fiddleford asked.

“Hell yeah I'm disappointed!” Stan gunned the engine, making Ford wince. “I've always wanted to do a cool museum heist. But there wasn't any challenge! Not even a little bit of challenge! Honestly, that's no way to run a museum. I mean, I wasn't expecting laser grids or anything, but the least they could do is put proper locks on their display cases.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Well, I for one am happy that you got what we needed without undue risk or difficulty.”

“Oh, shut up, you're never happy,” Stan said.

Ford opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he meant to say was swallowed as Stan shot the car out of the parking lot.

Despite extensive and loud trepidation from the passengers, they made it to the hardware store without any undue vehicular mishaps. Fiddleford was made to wait in the car. Apparently he wasn't to be trusted in hardware stores.

Stan followed Ford through the aisles, keeping one eye on his slightly swaying brother and one on the old man behind the counter in case they needed to make a quick escape. He wasn't too worried; the guy looked about a hundred years old and probably couldn't see much more than a foot in front of him. Still, best to be careful.

Ford collected a small armful of things, including a packet of screws, some wire, drill bits, and a part of some kind that Stan didn't recognize. He weighed this last one in his hand for a while, looking back and forth between it and the shelf.

“What's the matter?” Stan asked. “Not what you want?”

“...17, 18...no, this will work,” Ford said absently. “I'm just not sure if I have enough money left to pay for all this...how much did that food cost?”

Stan rolled his eyes, grabbed all the little items away from Ford and, after a quick look at the proprietor-he was reading a newspaper about two inches away from his face, perfect-tucked them all into his jacket.

Ford looked aghast. “Stan-”

“Shhh, would ya keep it down, bro? Kinda defeating the purpose here.” Ford shut his mouth, but he was still glaring indignantly. Stan sighed. “Look, it's for the greater good, right?”

“Do you realize how many atrocities have been committed in the name of the greater good?” Ford snapped.

“Yeah, enough that lifting a few things from a podunk hardware store doesn't even rank,” Stan replied. “If it makes you feel better, we can...uh...come back later and pay for it. After, y'know, the fate of the world isn't at stake.”

Ford still looked unhappy, but from the look on his face Stan knew he didn't have an argument.

“Alright,” he muttered finally. “But we're paying for this, at least.” He waved the part in his hand.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Stan said evenly. “Though, you know, if you're so worried about paying for things, it might help if you didn't literally burn money.”

“I had to burn it,” Ford said as they made for the counter. “It was watching me.”

“It was...oookay. You know what, I'm not even gonna touch that one.”

Ford muttered something else under his breath that Stan didn't catch.

They paid for the part; the old man rang them up with excruciating slowness, peering uncertainly at the price tag on the part for a long time, and taking just as long to pass the bills Ford gave him. Probably they could have easily walked out with the entire inventory under their coats and gotten away with it, Stan thought with considerable annoyance. But no, Mr. Rich Guy had to pay for the part.

“You get everything?” Fiddleford asked as they got back in the car.

Stan took the things out of his coat one by one and handed them back to Fiddleford along with the controversial part. Fiddleford stared at him.

“Did you...you paid for all this, didn't you?” he said.

“Sure,” Stan said.

Ford glared out the window.

“Wh...I can't believe you two,” Fiddleford said as Stan started up the car.

“You were alright with stealing from the museum,” Stan pointed out.

“I'm not alright with stealing from a museum,” Fiddleford protested, tugging on a strand of his hair anxiously. “But that was...that was the only way, we couldn't buy pyrite anywhere. This is... you can't just go in somewhere and take what you want just because you don't want to pay for it!”

“Sure we can,” Stan said easily. “It's a lot easier than the alternative, actually.”

“But it's not right!”

Stan ground his teeth. “Well, if it bothers you that much, why don't you just erase it and you won't have to think about it anymore?”

Ford threw him a startled look. Stan could hear Fiddleford spluttering angrily from the backseat, but he kept his gaze locked on the road.

He had no memory gun to wipe out bits of himself, no demon to blame things on. He didn't even have the luxury of holding some kind of moral high ground. There was nothing lofty about his goals, nothing superior about him; he knew damn well what he was, and he didn't pretend to be anything else. Or, well, alright, he did pretend to be something else quite frequently, but to himself, to the two other people in the car, to the universe in general-on the rare occasion that he got up the nerve to look it in the face-he was a cheat and a liar and a thief, and he made no claims otherwise.

He didn't need Fiddleford's stammering recriminations, or Ford's chiding, as if he might somehow not know, as if he had spent ten years conning his way to get by without ever having the faintest spark of self-awareness until these two high and mighty geniuses came along to point it out to him. Especially not when they were happy for his criminal expertise when it came to pursuit of their goals, then turned around to sneer at him the rest of the time.

And probably that wasn't entirely fair, but then again, nothing was.

The drive back to the house was very quiet.

“Good Lord above, it's cold in here,” Fiddleford said as they stepped into the house. “What happened to your heating, Stanford?”

“Oh. Uh...” Ford looked around, as if he were only just now noticing how cold it was in his house. Which, Stan thought resignedly, was entirely possible. “I...hm. I don't really remember when it went out...I suppose they must have shut it off at some point. I haven't really been keeping up with, um. Things. Bi-payments.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “No wonder you got sick.”

“It's not that bad,” Ford said defensively, as he made his way through the clutter to what was probably a desk.

“Nah, I gotta agree with Fiddler on this one,” Stan said. “It is that bad.”

“Don't call me...ah, never mind, I've heard worse.” Fiddleford joined Ford at the desk and rifled through some of the papers. He briefly unearthed one with a lot of red stains on it, which he stared at in horror before hastily covering it up again.

Ford, meanwhile, found a notebook under the mess, flipped it open, and hastily began writing in it. “Now, Stan, there are some important things about the woods that you need to know if you're going out there. I'm going to write down directions to the glade and I want you to follow them exactly, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ford looked up at him. His eyes were shot through with red and wide with a strange urgency. “Stan. This is important.”

When they were kids, reading comics in their blanket fort on rainy days, Stan liked to point out the mad scientist characters, the ones with wild hair and wilder eyes bent on some zany evil plan. “That's you,” he'd say, elbowing Ford. “That's what you sound like when you get going.” And Ford would roll his eyes and point out some goon or monster and say, “Oh yeah, well that's you!” and they would both dissolve into helpless giggles and usually wind up slapping each other with their respective comics.

Ford looked like that now, like a caricature, like the very idea of an raving, unstable genius ripped off the page and into real life right in front of him, and it wasn't funny, it wasn't funny at all.

Stan put a hand on his brother's shoulder and felt it shaking slightly.

“Hey, okay,” he said. “I'm listening. Really. It's okay.”

Ford closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Alright. There's no time to tell you about everything that's in the woods, even if I knew for sure... you'd better take my journal. That will help. It has information about the unicorns as well...where is it?”

His head snapped to the side in a sudden panic and he started frantically digging through the mess on the desk. “Where is it? What... what did I… I don't remember. I don't...I can't have lost it, I can't, I-”

“Whoa, Ford, buddy.” Stan finally managed to get his twin’s attention. “I've got it. See?”

He pulled the journal out of his jacket pocket. Ford stared at it.

“You... you've been carrying that all this time?”

Stan shrugged. “You told me to keep it safe.”

“Oh. Um. Well...yes. Good.” Ford took the journal and began rifling through the pages. “Here. I'll...I'll mark the relevant sections.”

Stan perched on the edge of the desk and watched as Ford dogeared various pages, muttering to himself all the while. “Generally the best strategy in dealing with the denizens of these woods is to avoid confrontation. Mostly, things will leave you alone if you leave them alone-”

Fiddleford laughed.

Ford turned to glare at him. “What? I realize there are some creatures that will attack unprovoked, but the larger percentage-”

“And how would you know?” Fiddleford said. “When have you ever left anything alone?”

“...I do sometimes,” Ford mumbled.

“Uh huh,” Fiddleford said. “Name one time.”

Ford mulled over that one for a moment.

“Well, how would you know, anyway?” he said eventually. “You've forgotten-”

“Yeah, I forgot a lot of things, but not so much I don't know you, Stanford.”

“Guys,” Stan broke in, “This is very entertaining, but-”

“Right, yes, yes,” Ford said hastily. “Where was I? Yes, so, your best bet is to be non-confrontational. And polite. I realize this is a tall order for you, but-”

“Hey now. I can be non-confrontational.”

Ford gave him a look.

Stan gave him a look. “ You want non-confrontational? I put up with you for eighteen years and didn't murder you once.”

“Sounds like a good track record to me,” Fiddleford said.

“You be quiet.” Ford thrust the journal at Stan and turned back to the notebook he had been writing in. “Now, you may encounter some gnomes...”

“Gnomes?”

“Yes, gnomes. Now-”

“Like...with beards? And little red pointy hats?”

“Yes, Stan. The gnomes are very common in the forest. They're...ah...”

“Freaky,” Fiddleford muttered.

“I was going to say 'unsettling', but that also works. They have no particular weaknesses that I've found, but they don't pose a significant threat, by and large...”

Stan sat and nodded as Ford went on and on about various things that he might encounter in the woods. Most of it sounded completely unbelievable (aside from one far too causal comment about “oh yes, there are mountain lions around here”) but it felt increasingly futile to point any of that out.

“...and it would probably be best if you took a weapon,” Ford said finally.

Stan blinked and stirred out of the half-trance he tended to fall into when listening to Ford talk. “What? Oh. Don't worry about that. I have my knuckledusters and-”

Ford, as usual, wasn't listening. “I have a gun you had better take. And there's the crossbow-”

“No thanks,” Stan said.

Ford drew up short. “What?”

“I said no thanks. I don't like guns.”

Ford stared at him like he'd just started speaking in Latin-although, actually, Ford would probably understand Latin better than what he'd just said. “How do you...what do you mean, you don't like guns?”

“I mean I don't like guns,” Stan said bluntly. “Like...uh...Batman. Yeah. Batman doesn't like guns and neither do I.”

“Stan,” Ford said sternly. “This is no time to be silly-”

“You ever been shot, Ford?”

The words came out before he even knew he was saying them and he instantly regretted it because dammit, he didn't want to get into this now, he didn't want to get into this ever, but Ford just didn't know when to shut up, did he-

“...Well...no,” Ford said, staring at him with that stunned rabbit look he always got when people said things that he hadn't planned for them to say.

“Good for you,” Stan said. “Here's an interesting fact about guns. People can take them away from you. Especially if they can tell that you're not really, totally sure that you want to shoot someone...and then you have a gun pointed at you and it's really hard to talk your way out of that one...”

Fiddleford was staring at him now too and Stan hated it, hated it because dammit Ford could get mutilated by a demon and loftily wave it aside and he was supposed to just act like it was no big deal but if he brought up one thing, one thing that well in the past now and didn't even matter anyway.

“Look,” he said. “I don't like guns. I like punching things. Okay?”

Ford rallied himself the tiniest bit. “...The crossbow?”

“I have no fucking idea how to use a crossbow, Ford.” Stan sighed heavily. “Look, I'll be okay. I can handle myself, y'know. It's not like this is the first dangerous situation I've ever been in.”

He expected to be challenged, expected for Ford to say something like this is nothing like you've ever experienced Stanley, but he didn't. He just swallowed and looked away.

“Just...be careful, please,” he said.

And then, in a voice so low Stan was sure he wasn't supposed to have heard it: “...I just got you back...”

Fiddleford coughed awkwardly into the ensuing silence.

“Erm, say, Stanley, you, uh-how's about I take a look at that cut before you go out? Might, er, might wanna put something on that.”

For a moment Stan didn't even know what he was talking about. Then he realized, and his hand went up unconsciously to his face, and he saw a look flash across Ford's face that made him squirm.

“Yeah, um, that. That sounds good,” Stan said, hastily lowering his hand. “Good idea. Yeah.”

“Let's, ah...go somewhere with better light, then.”

Stan trailed after the nervous engineer, throwing a guilty glance at Ford, who was staring at the wall and twisting his fingers back and forth.

Lost in thought, he didn't realize where Fiddleford was headed until the man had a hand on the bathroom doorknob.

“Oh, you might, uh, not want-” he said hurriedly, but the door was already open.

Fiddleford stared.

“What in God's good name...” he whispered. “What happened?”

“Uh,” Stan said. “Bill, I think.”

Fiddleford flinched at the name. “You mean...using Stanford?”

“...Yeah.”

Fiddleford's shoulders tensed, and when he finally turned around, Stan was surprised to see that although his face had gone milk-white, his eyes were sharp and angry.

“To who?” he said.

Stan blinked. “Uh. What?”

“Who's the damn victim?” Fiddleford insisted. “Or is it victims? Who's he been doing this to? Are they-well, they can't be alright, but are they alive?”

It took Stan a moment to realize what he was thinking. “Wait, you mean-”

“I know Stanford ain't been himself, and I know this...B-Bill is...I know it's an evil thing, but you might have told me it had gotten this bad! What else is going on that I don't know about? What else has it done-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Stan put up his hands placatingly. “You've got the wrong idea. This isn't...I mean, there wasn't anyone else. It was...it was just Ford.”

Fiddleford stared at him, and Stan saw comprehension dawn on him slow and horrible. “It did all this...to Ford?”

“Yeah.” Stan looked away. He wished Fiddleford would close the door again. “He, uh...he said Bill thinks it's...funny.”

Fiddleford swallowed hard. He looked a bit like he might be sick. “Why didn't he say anything?”

Stan shrugged. “I don't think he really wants to talk about it. He said it wasn't important.”

Fiddleford groaned. “He would.”

His eyes slowly tracked onto Stan's face. Stan avoided his gaze.

“Stanley,” Fiddleford said slowly. “How did you get that...that cut?”

Stan sighed.

“Last night,” he said. “Uh, when I got here, Ford and I...we, well, we argued and he...he kinda passed out on me. And then I guess Bill...well, he found me and he tried to, y'know, strike a deal with me. And when I wouldn't, he...tried to get rid of me, basically. So I wouldn't get in his way.”

“...What stopped him?”

“Well, you've seen that shiner Ford has-”

“I see.” Fiddleford stared at him a moment longer before, thankfully, pulling the door shut. “If I recall, there's a bathroom off of Stanford's study. Is that one any...ah, cleaner?”

“Oh,” Stan said. “I...have no idea, actually.” He'd completely overlooked that door in the study last night. Well, that would have been nice to know about earlier.

“Well, let's see. It, uh, I think it might be best to wash that cut out a bit...”

He turned and positively scurried down the hall. Stan followed in silence.

The bathroom attached to the study was tiny but thankfully free of bloodstains. Stan sat on the couch while Fiddleford washed the cut out with warm water, then dabbed a generous amount of peroxide over it. It stung like hell, but Stan did his best to sit still.

“This ain't quite as bad as it looks, but you still oughta be keeping an eye on it,” Fiddleford said, opening one of the fresh rolls of bandages Stan had bought. “It'll be real nasty if it gets infected.”

“You're telling me,” Stan said, thinking of New Orleans.

Fiddleford measured out a length of bandage, held it up to Stan's face, and frowned. “It'd probably be easier if you could tie your hair back.”

“What, like a ponytail? Ew.”

“What's wrong with ponytails?”

Stan scowled. “People will think I'm a hippie.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Okay, one, I seriously doubt anyone would mistake you for a hippie. Two, you're going out into the middle of the woods, there ain't gonna be anyone there to see you in any case. And three, don't you think all three of us are a bit past the point of keepin' up appearances?”

Stan couldn't really argue with that one. Having a mullet, after all, didn't give him a lot of ground to stand on in the first place. “Alright...but I don't have anything to tie it back with.”

Fiddleford considered this for a moment. Then he cut out a long, thin strip of bandage, tied it in a loop, and handed it to Stan.

“Fair enough.” Stan tied his hair back awkwardly, hoping the engineer wouldn't ask how he knew how to do that in the first place. Thankfully, Fiddleford set about bandaging the cut with no further comment than, “Yeah, that helps.”

“You got some experience with this or something?” Stan asked as Fiddleford tied a firm knot behind his ear. His bandaging was a lot neater than Stan's, not to mention a lot more confident.

“Ah, well, my wife has some medical training. I suppose it's rubbed off here and there.” Fiddleford stepped back to examine his work. He seemed satisfied.

Stan raised his eyebrows, which felt strange with the bandage on. “You're married?”

“Sure am. Is that surprising?”

“Well...no...I guess not.” Stan shrugged and scratched the back of his neck where the bandage itched. “It's just-I mean it looked like you were living alone.”

“Oh, she's not here with me. I just came up for a little while to help Stanford. Maddie's back in Palo Alto with Tate-that's our son.” Fiddleford smiled fondly. “I sure do miss them. Tate was so tiny when I left...”

“Oh.” Something twisted in Stan's stomach. “That must be nice.”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford said vaguely.

“Uh. Nothing. I mean, just...having a family to go back to.” Stan flushed and looked away hurriedly. “You uh, that is, if you are going back-”

“Of course I am! I just have to...” The dreamy look on Fiddleford's face turned into something lost. “I just...I have to...do...something...”

His confused expression was rapidly shifting into one of horror and it was terrible to watch.

“There must be...there was something...” His foot started tapping frantically. “I-”

“You know what? I'd better be going,” Stan said, getting up quickly. “Gotta...gotta find those unicorns...”

“Right,” Fiddleford mumbled, still staring straight ahead. “Right. Yes.”

He followed Stan out of the room at a slow, lagging pace. Stan hunched his shoulders and didn't look at him.

They found Ford in the so-called living room, throwing various things into a satchel. “Ah, Stanley,” he said, not looking up. “I'm packing a few things for you, just in case. Here's the radio-it's very simple, just press this button to turn it on and this one to talk. And it would probably be best if you wrapped up well-it's quite cold out there.”

“Really?” Stan said. “I hadn't noticed.”

This, predictably, sailed right over Ford's head.

“Yes, well, I found an extra sweater and a sturdier coat...” He gestured at the armchair, which did indeed have a pile of clothing on top of it. Stan made a face, but at least the sweater and coat were fairly inoffensive compared to Ford's usual wardrobe. Besides, as Fiddleford had pointed out, it was a bit late to start caring about looking cool, especially when the alternative was feeling very cold.

“Ah, I've thought of one other thing,” Ford said as Stan struggled into the second sweater. “I think...you should probably retrieve my third journal.”

Stan managed to tug the collar of the sweater down over his head without dislodging the bandage-no easy task-and frowned at his brother. “Your third journal? Wait, how many are there?”

“Just three. I hid the first two here in Gravity Falls but I was concerned about them all being so close together, which is why I called you...” Ford shook his head, completely missing the look of abject exasperation on Stan's face. Because of course his brother had decided the best way to conceal highly sensitive information was with a damn scavenger hunt in his hometown. Of course he had.

“Anyway,” Ford went on. “The second journal would be...difficult to retrieve at the moment, but the third journal is hidden in the woods, not too far from here. It has some information about the Dreamscape that we may need for the modifications.”

“About the what-scape?”

Ford sighed and held out a folded piece of paper. “Just get the journal, Stan. I've written down instructions here for how to find and access it.”

“Sure,” Stan muttered, taking the paper a bit sullenly. Maybe a lot sullenly. “Not like I need to know what you're doing or anything.”

“It would take a very long time to explain-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's alright.” Stan shrugged into the coat and re-wrapped his scarf around his neck.

Ford followed him to the door, wringing his hands. “I can't think of anything else to tell you...and you do have the radio...but-”

Stan paused in front of the door. “Oh, wait. Actually, there is something I need to know.”

“Yes?” Ford said frantically.

“These unicorns, they're not the kind that only approach virgins, are they? Cause-”

“Stanley!” Ford yelped. “This is serious!”

“It was a serious question! I'm just askin'-alright, alright, geez, I'm going, I'm going.” He shoved the door open and stepped out onto the ice-slick porch. The temperature differential wasn't nearly as noticeable as it should have been. “Try not to die until I get back.”

“You try not to die until you get back,” Ford replied.

“That would be preferable. Now close the door before you get even more sick.”

Ford closed the door and watched through the little window as Stan waded out through the snow.

“You think he'll be alright?” Fiddleford said.

“I hope so.” Ford stared mournfully at his brother's retreating back. “I used to think he could survive anything. Now I'm...not so sure.”

He sighed and turned away. “Come on. We'd better get to work.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #by the skin of your teeth #scribulations #fanfic #stangst #for the record I personally have nothing against ponytails but it seemed like Stan might

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