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prettyinpwn-blog · 1 year

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Truest Reflection (Short Story for Stanuary 2023 Week One: Mystery)

Stan and Ford start off their Stan-O'-War II adventure by returning to where it all began.

Excerpt:

“Do you remember this place, Stanley?”

Stan nodded. He wasn’t sure he liked it, though. Like Ford wearing both red and blue, it confused him. Or Ford calling him a hero. It looked right at times, and it sure sparkled pretty, but then the fog came and muddied things, tattering the landscape into patchwork pieces, never one whole, coherent picture.

It got worse the closer they got to that place. Dread anchored in Stan’s chest at the sight of that faded brick building on the first paved street after the sand. It still had the yellow and white stripe awning - although sunken now - and the mezuzah by the door. But the neon ‘PHONE PSYCHIC’ sign in the window was black and dead, and the other sign that once read two full words now simply said ‘P____S P____S’, a nudging whisper of what once had been.

(Happy Stanuary 2023! This is my submission for the first week’s theme: Mystery. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. All hail the Grunkle with the world’s biggest heart. <3)

(Also, if you like listening to music while writing/reading, I had this song playing on repeat while I wrote this short story. I felt it fit well for Stan in the first days of his Stan-O’-War II adventures with Ford).

If you prefer to read on AO3, here is a link to that version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44034489

Full short story under the cut ---

Truest Reflection

Silver fog fingers twined through its bow rails, down the gunwales, then flowed back over the boat’s side. Afar, this ship had no identity; a vague shadow upon the waters. But if one got close enough, they could piece out part of a name: -----O’-War II in bold white lettering over a red line freshly painted across the hull.

The prior day’s storm had made for an imperfect first night, lightning shattering the sky with glitchy white fractures, thunder rumbling so loud it reverberated in their chests. By morning the storm had passed, leaving Stanley and Stanford Pines to wake up to a bloody dawn, the fog the last sinking clutches of a dead monster.

Stanley found himself at their breakfast nook table in the ship’s cabin, right hand wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee, left hand twirling a puzzle piece.

He’d been working on the puzzle laying before him on the table for years now. It was some musty thing from the sixties, so faded - even torn in places - that it was hard to tell what it was depicting. He’d scrounged it up from his bedroom closet back at the Mystery Shack before he and Ford had left on this adventure, having forgotten it was even there until then.

But he’d felt oddly attached to it. It’d been a puzzle from their childhood home, and it was something to do between port launch and their first expedition of “plunging headfirst into the world’s greatest anomalies”, as Ford had described it.

As if the world's greatest anomaly wasn't already on their boat. A man who had forgiven him for all he'd done. Now that was a true mystery.

Two lights carved through the cabin’s morning dark. One buzzed over Stanley’s head, trapping him in a cold, rectangular cage of gray. The other - gold - surrounded Ford as he toiled over a pan on the stove.

Pancakes and eggs, buttery and warm. A smell like that could get Stan grinning.

But Stan’s smile faded when he glanced back down to the puzzle, and a mumble scratched through his throat. There seemed to be a part or two missing. Or was there? He glanced at the piece in his hand, rotating it, then back at the wretched, patchwork thing. Then at the other pieces.

Nothing fit quite right.

“How are your memories holding up this morning, Stan?” Ford asked, deep voice piercing through the radio static tune of sizzling breakfast.

Stan put the puzzle piece down and crossed his arms, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Ever since the Bill Cipher incident and, you know, the near end of the whole damn world, his memories had been slowly returning. At first, in strong surges, going down and as dizzy as easy shots of vodka. But then the recollection had slowed to sips.

The worst part was not even that, but the futile attempts he’d made at trying to fit those fire-bitten scraps back together into one whole story.

“I dunno,” Stan finally replied with a shrug. “They’re there. They don’t always make the most sense, though.”

Ford’s brows furrowed. When he noticed Stan had caught his sour expression, he quickly switched it to a faint smile. Stan remembered that habit of his brother’s, at least. It was the kind Ford pulled when he forgot he had to give perfect responses for a moment, then tried to cover his human slip up quick. It was hard to truly know what Ford was thinking at any given moment for that reason. A leftover from childhood, Stan knew.

“I’m sure they’ll come back in time,” Ford said. “It’s miraculous that any survived. Even more so that so many came back quickly. It’s a good sign.”

A good sign, or just a wishful one? Stan replied in thought, but knew better than to grumble it out loud. He had to admit he was just as recklessly wishful as Ford.

“There’s somethin’ weird about it all, though.”

A plate was set in front of Stan by a six-fingered hand. Ford then settled down himself to eat across the pinewood table from Stan.

For a moment, Stan reflected on how strange it was to see Ford wearing that blue hoodie. Ford was supposed to be in a trench coat, wasn’t he? Or did he wear blue, but on his shoes? And why was his turtleneck red? Wasn’t that Stan’s color? So maybe it was ‘right’ for Ford to be wearing blue? Stan supposed no one really owned colors, but-

He had to look away from Ford. Sometimes just staring at his brother gave him a headache.

“What’s weird?”

Stan tried to gather scraps of understanding to explain it just right as they started to dig into their meal. Frustration bubbled and brewed in his gut until he just bit his lip and spat out a half-assed answer:

“Who am I?”

Ford’s resulting expression was that of a school teacher whose favorite student had failed to answer a question they’d just gone over the answer for together.

“Damn it, I don’t mean that, like, literally. I get that I’m Stanford-”

“Stanley.”

Stan pinched his nose’s bridge. He’d done it again. Why couldn’t he get that simple fact right? “Stanley, sorry.”

“You did use Stanford for years. That’s probably why it’s tripping you up so much.”

“Let me put it this way: I know little parts of who Stanley Pines is, but it’s like a mystery I only have little clues to. I don’t mean stupid shit like where I lived, my favorite song, whatever. I mean… who was Stanley Pines? A good guy? A bad guy? You told me about all the crime, but-”

“Stanley Pines is a hero.”

Ugh. Why did that send a shiver down his spine? “That word makes me wanna puke.”

“That’s probably because…” Ford trailed off, pausing mid-lift of his fork to his mouth to glance down to the side. “Never mind. Here’s a question: who’s the smartest person you know?”

“Well, I don’t call you Poindexter for no reason.”

“Exactly. So if I say you’re a hero, then…?”

“That’s just one person sayin’ it. Doesn’t make it true.”

“Dipper and Mabel say it. Soos says it. Stanley, the whole damn town of Gravity Falls says it.”

“Then why does it feel so wrong? It’s like you wearin’ blue. It’s weird!”

Ford glanced down at his hoodie. “Weird? Stan, that’s always been my favorite color.”

“But you always wear red!”

“I started wearing red because…”

Ford sighed and set his fork down, took his glasses off, and put his face in his hands. Then he looked back up at Stan, brown eyes lined with more bags than usual. For a moment, Stan wondered if it really had been the storm last night that had kept Ford tossing and turning endlessly in the bunk atop his own.

A hand found Stan’s shoulder. Those six fingers squeezed harder than they ever had before. “We’re going to put your memory back together exactly the way it was, no matter what it takes. Then you’ll see I’m right. You’ll see just how much of a hero Stanley Pines really is.”

“Yeesh, quit usin’ that word! It gives me the willies.”

“Never.”

They finished their breakfast in silence. Stan insisted on cleaning up since Ford had done the cooking. Meanwhile, Ford headed to the stern to steer the ship.

When he got back, Stan had finished with the dishes and was already back at the nook, though he’d pushed the puzzle aside for now.

“Where we headed today, anyway?”

Ford adjusted his glasses over a smile. “I’m glad you asked! I know I said we’d head to the Arctic Ocean for our first dive into the unknown, but I wanted to stop somewhere on the way. It’s somewhere I think you’ll recognize. I thought it might help jog your memories even more before we officially set off.”

---

Hot Belgian waffles, Stan never thought he’d be standing on these shores again. Their boat was moored and bobbing behind them at a long dock stretching out into the waters. Ahead was Ford, his hand in Stan’s, dragging him forward like an excited child.

A blue and white lighthouse to the north beamed into the fog wreathing around the pier, its lens spinning, trying to pierce the murk and make sense of the coast’s whole outline. Smaller lights in fairytale colors responded at its feet; amusement rides coming to life as day died to dusk.

Stan stared at the ferris wheel the longest, watching it turn in place again and again and again. An eye with a never ending cycle of ups and downs, moving but never really shifting back or forward.

As always in September, the Glass Shard Beach skies were overcast and sprinkling, and the air a damp, cloying blend of salt, fish, and popcorn.

“Do you remember this place, Stanley?”

Ford wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulders. That part felt nice. That warm embrace, the smell of Old Spice and aged books as his brother drew close. “Thoughts?”

Stan glanced sideways and found one half of a smile on his twin’s face. The other half - his own mouth - should have been the balancing second upcrest of that smile. Stan knew that. But his lips betrayed what he should have felt here, sinking lower than they had all day.

Stan stared at the building again. “I’m… not sure.”

“You know what this place is, though, right? You at least remember that much?”

Stan’s hands tightened to fists. “Yeah. I do.”

“Great! Let’s go inside.”

“Inside?”

Ford had already started to reach for the red and gold door. He paused and turned around. “Is that okay?”

Stan bit his lip. He couldn’t remember why he hated this place. The memories surrounding that sour taste weren’t even full scraps, just tiny bits like ashes on his eyelashes every time he blinked, dotting his vision with fuzzy holes of gray.

“Come on. Take my hand. We’ll go in together.”

Ford grabbed onto Stan and pulled him forward. Stan followed with hesitant bootsteps. His feet met the threshold.

The crumbling brick had been steady moments before. But doom and guilt and anguish struck Stan’s heart like a duffel bag of lead, and he collapsed to the ground like he had all those years ago, concrete grating into his back, the shadow of a familiar man rising above him in the doorway.

Then came a push that sent him down a hole so deep it took him thirty years to drag himself back out.

The gray holes in his memory reawaken to orange fangs of flame, biting in reverse. How could a burning photograph put a picture back together?

“All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails!”

Those words chisel sharp into his tombstone heart. Ford’s above him again, a ghost of a disappointed echo staring down.

“Stanford! Tell ‘im he’s bein’ crazy!”

The curtains draw closed, blocking out the light. Dust gathers on them. Thirty years of it.

“Stanford, don’t leave me hangin’...”

“Stanley, I’m right here!”

A lie. The curtains were still closed, because they were never reopened even after all these years. Why would he expect them to be? He didn’t deserve for them to open and to see the light again.

There were ashes beyond them. Or was it snow? He slept on that couch in the shadows for days after as the dust fell around him and buried him, his eyes unblinking, his arms crossed stiff over his chest. A perfect grave for Stanley Pines. He'd just burned himself alive to bring Stanford back from the dead, after all.

“I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!”

“Don’t push me away! Stanley! Stanley!”

The thunder of that familiar voice clapped him back to awareness.

He was no longer on the ground. There was warmth and hair and scratchy stubble beside his face, tangling with his own in indistinguishable strands of silver, and two arms wrapped around his waist, nearly squeezing the breath out of him.

“Wha..?” Stan slurred.

Ford - in his late fifties again - reluctantly released from the hug, but still kept his hands on Stan’s shoulders. “Stanley, are you okay?”

“I… what happened? I was fine ‘til you went through that bright door.”

Ford glanced at the shop’s door, face warped with confusion. It was anything but bright after years of rust and rot.

He turned back to Stan and smiled anyway. Deep and genuine, not a worry covering smile. “It was one of your spells. You’ve had them before. But don’t worry.” Ford hugged him again. “I always make sure to stay with you until they’re over.”

“Why did you help me back up? You didn’t do that the first time.”

“What? I always help you back up after your spells.”

Stan shook his head. “Sorry… brain fog.”

“It’s alright. I should be the one apologizing, actually.” Ford looked up at the building again, then back to Stan, his eyes squinched. “I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place. I thought it might help more of your memories return, but maybe this step is too much for now?”

“Well…” Stan looked up at the building himself. Yeah, this place hurt, but a deeper part of him told him he had every right to be here. To walk back in that door. It turned the shame in his gut into a little ember of anger. “It’s fine. Let’s go in.”

Ford grabbed his hand. “Stanley, are you sure? I don’t want to cause another of your spells again.”

“I’ll be fine, Ford. ‘Sides, I gotta show you how a real criminal trespasses on private property.” Stan chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “I’ve been wanting to see this dump again for years.”

“Oh. You have?”

“Maybe comin’ back here will help me put together who Stanley Pines really was?”

“Stan, I already told you, you’re a hero.”

“Don’t think I don’t remember how pops threw me out.”

Ford’s eyes widened. A response tried to crawl from his throat multiple times, but no words managed to escape.

“Dad tossed me into the street, and you let me leave. What kind of hero is treated like that by their own damn family?”

“Stanley…”

“Whatever. Call me whatever you want. But I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you, Stan? Look, that whole night was-”

Stan pushed past Ford and walked inside.

The shelves and glass cases were still there, albeit covered with dust instead of mismatched items. Even the barf green wallpaper was the same, tattered in long strips over wood panels and creaky floor.

“Yeesh! What even happened to this dump? Looks worse than it did when we were kids.”

“Ma and dad lost it in that recession in the early eighties. They moved in with Shermie after that.”

“Good ol’ Sherm.”

Stan pictured a man that resembled their mother more than they ever had, nose aquiline, hair a shade darker, and his frame slighter like Ford’s. What little he did remember of Shermie was a much taller, older figure in a navy uniform. Someone that gave him affectionate noogies with tattooed arms, taught him to swim and ride a bike, and “scared” monsters out of his and Ford’s closet.

“We’ll need to check in with him at some point, too.”

“Think he’ll punch, or hug me?”

“Yes.”

They shared a chuckle.

“So, what happened to Ma and Dad, anyway? Do I wanna know?”

Ford hesitated for a long while after that question. It wasn’t until they went up the stairs that an answer finally came out. Stan looked up as Ford spoke, paused on the last step behind him. It was strange to see Ford’s face outlined in the fading, ghostly light from the front window. The familiar golden wallpaper behind him fit right, though.

Stan stayed in the shadows of the stairwell. He didn’t belong up there with Ford in the gold and light.

“They died after I disappeared. You were the one that told me about them, actually.”

“Oh.”

“I bet they’d be pretty proud of you, though.”

No. Stan knew that instinctively. Ford was the son to be proud of, with some scraps left over for Shermie’s white picket fence and two kids. Stan glanced over to the living room cabinet. There were never trophies or military awards with the name ‘Stanley Pines’ on them there.

Stan walked to the front window by the large dead neon eye.

Closed. Never blinking ever again.

He stands above the casket, the walls of it as velvet red as her lipstick. Gray hair falls in careful waves down her shoulders. Then there’s the peace on her face. No one living ever looks that calm, especially not Ma, who guzzles coffee like fish drink water. And she doesn’t smell comforting like she used to - like incense and Virginia Slims and Charlie perfume.

All her traces are gone. Cleaned and embalmed and made so perfect it’s untrue and disgusting.

At his side stands the man who looks like him. He isn’t right, either. A black suit has taken the place of the yellow one.

“They’re both dead now, Ford.”

That’s not his name. But Stanford nods. Stanley is dead, remember? His gravelly voice has been buried by a smoother, deeper one, scrubbed of its Jersey swank, polished to academic, elevated perfection. It was funny how the less Ford was like Dad, the more Dad was proud of him.

He has another finger now, too, made of styrofoam stuffed into a black glove. Thank God it’s Winter, otherwise it’d have caught some stares. Now he knows how his brother felt trying to hide it all the time.

But Winter…

Why did snow always surround death?

“I know, Dad.”

“That idiot broke her heart, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She was never the same after he left. First was the asthma. She stopped eating much at all. But she held on for years ‘til the can-”

Dad was never a man of many words. But few could choke that thick throat of his with a lump like that. Stanford puts a reluctant arm around him. To his surprise, Dad leans into it.

“She did Tarot readings on it every night, you know? Stupid cards always said Stanley’d be back here. Always. Never did, though.”

“Did she really miss Stan that much?”

A nod. “Then the crash happened. It was seein’ that newspaper article that did her in. I just know it.”

Breath catches in Stanford’s throat. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Maybe… maybe if I’d been around her more, she would have missed Stanley less?”

“She knew how important your work was to you, Ford. Nah, if anyone’s to blame, it’s Stanley. He was the hub of this wheel. When he left, it spun outta control and broke apart.”

He looks at Ma in the casket again. Her image blurs and the rain starts to fall. “Yeah. You’re right.”

They both let the silent rain fall together for a while. Every glance to his side is a glance into a chisel-jawed, teary mirror.

Then comes a question that hurts to even try to ask: “Did you ever miss Stanley, too?”

A long pause. A shrug. “Maybe a little.”

Flowers and velvet and cleanliness shifted back to dust and torn wallpaper. Stan blinked, still standing over his mother’s table by the window, fingers death-gripping the wood and clawing marks in the dust.

Those Old Spice and aged book arms were around him again.

“Ford?”

“Oh, thank God, you’re back! You blanked out again.” Ford pulled out of the hug. He looked at Stan’s face with concern. “Are you… crying?”

Stan shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

Ford tried to hug him again, but every attempt made the casket and roses come back. Stan tore out of Ford’s grasp and walked off to the side, into another room. There, he found the final piece of furniture his parents left behind.

A three-panel mirror. Stan stopped in front of it, and he saw himself in the light with the gold wallpaper behind him this time, instead of Ford. Cracks etched down the side panels, but the middle mirror was in perfect condition.

“Hey Ford? Got a science question.”

Ford stopped sifting through a stack of moth-eaten comic books in the corner. “Yes, Stan?”

Stan gazed into the mirrors. Three versions of himself stared back, two from different angles, one from face on. They showed a mystery he didn’t recognize, with a red cap on its ashen hair, its white shirt blotched see-through with tears under a long leather coat.

The left panel looked like someone’s beloved son. The right, like a washed-out criminal.

But the one in the middle...

“If you’re lookin’ into different mirrors at the same time, which is the truest reflection?”

Ford raised a brow and he chuckled. “Well, they’re all true. They’re just reflecting light from different perspectives.”

“All Stan, hm?”

That was when Stanley Pines lifted his left hand, smiled at it, and pulled it back in a fist.

Every question mark needed a hole at the bottom to make it complete, right?

---

Stan was back in the breakfast nook on the ship again that night, a wide grin on his face, left hand outstretched. Antiseptic slathered cool on his bloody, cut-up knuckles as six fingers worked over them.

“I don’t know why you’re always hurting yourself, Stanley,” Ford said as he wrapped bandages around Stan’s hand.

Stan chuckled from deep in his gut. “Dunno. Still think I’m a hero? You’re the one always fixing things and patching me up.”

Ford laughed. “Of course you are, Stan. We've gone over this a thousand times.”

They spent the rest of the night anchored in the Glass Shard harbor, surrounded by fog and sparkling lights, some from the pier behind them, millions of others reflected on the sea ahead of them.

By the next morning, the fog and shadows had finally dissipated, and the ship’s full form and identity were unveiled under the bright golden light as it sailed out, the first four-letter word of its name no longer obscured.

Ford made breakfast once more. As the oatmeal warmed on the stove, he took a seat across from Stan at the nook.

“Working on that puzzle again? I thought you’d given up on it?”

Stan shrugged. “I kinda did.”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I do have a mind for mysteries. If you don’t mind, can I help you solve it?”

Stan looked up at Ford and - seeing his reflection in his twin’s glasses - grinned.

“I think you already did.”

#stanuary 2023 #week one: mystery #stanley pines #stanford pines #gravity falls #fic #sea grunks #minor filbrick and ma pines moments #hmm but which four letter word did I mean?#wink wonk

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gravityfallscustomplush · 1 year

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There is nothing more mysterious than Mr. Mystery himself, well maybe his curiosities at the shack.

@stanuary week one entry, mystery.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #traditional art #stanuary 2023 #week one: mystery

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callipraxia · 1 year

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A Simple Interview

(A quick one-off in response to a prompt - behold, what would normally be a very rough draft! Side note, yes, I know Frankenstein is the scientist and not the monster, but alas, the narrator hasn't read the book or encountered the Internet)

Summary: A rookie cop gets the unwelcome task of informing Stanford Pines - supposed scientist-turned-showman and the subject of many a local rumor - both that his brother has died under mysterious circumstances and that it's possible Stanley stumbled into a murder that wasn't supposed to be his. Stanley died in Stanford's stolen car, so were the brakes cut by Stanley's enemies or by Stanford's? And will Officer Clutterbuck survive entering the Murder Hut outside of business hours long enough to ask?

* * * * * * * *

The flaming wreckage of a wrecked car was found in a ditch 4 miles from the Highway 618 at 6am Monday morning. The cut brakes and odd location of the car suggest that this was no accident. Says a rookie cop, “Mighty suspicious. Mighty suspicious.” In other news… News clipping from “Not What He Seems,” seemingly reporting the death of Stan Pines.

* * * * * * * *

Some people, it was said, had all the luck, and Officer Clutterbuck agreed that this must be true. It was, after all, the best explanation he’d heard for why his luck was so chronically bad. Some people had all the luck, and Officer Clutterbuck didn’t happen to be one of them. If he had been, he never would have even heard that someone named Stanley Pines had apparently stolen his twin brother’s car, much less have been ordered to come tell said twin brother that Stanley had then proceeded to crash it into a ditch and die.

Nervously, he knocked on the unpainted cabin door, half-hoping no-one would answer. A few months ago, the hermit who owned it had suddenly opened it up for tours of his laboratory, but before that, rumors had always swarmed around this place like gnats around overripe bananas. Strange lights, strange sounds - strange man, or so they said, and the looks of his house didn’t make the whispers seem any less likely. Not only was it a desolate sort of spot despite the effort recently made to pin some signs to it, there was also just…the Murder Hut?

As a Halloween attraction, maybe it would have made sense - but to call it that all the time, that seemed a little much, at least to Officer Clutterbuck. He knew, though, that he wasn’t very clever, and also that it was possible his judgment was affected because of what he was here to say. It came across, right now, as the world’s most tasteless joke, but maybe under other circumstances….

Footsteps approached the other side of the door, and then there was a long pause before he heard some locks click and the door - still held mostly closed with a chain - opened a sliver, allowing Officer Clutterbuck to see a few distorted shadows. It took him a moment to recognize them as isolated human features. He succeeded in recognizing this only a second before a gruff voice said, “Whadda you want?”

Officer Clutterbuck cleared his throat. “Uh - Stanford Pines?” he asked.

“Uh - “ the man on the other side of the door coughed. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Officer Clutterbuck - I'm with the sheriff's department?” He saw what he was pretty sure was an eye widen and thought the man was about to slam the door before he quickly added, “I’m - uh - I’m here to talk about your brother?”

There was another long pause, during which Officer Clutterbuck really wished he had some backup. He was barely out of what passed for the county police training academy and had never even arrested anyone. What could possibly make him the best guy to tell someone that someone who the first someone had known had probably been murdered? And that was if the someone had been a normal person, not some weirdo hermit who…all right, mostly it was just locals entertaining themselves by scaring kids and out-of-towners, there surely weren’t that many who really believed any of it, but it was hard, standing here in the middle of nowhere on this run-down porch, not to think of that crazy farmer he’d had to ask for directions. The man had warned him, with every appearance of dead seriousness, that Stanford Pines was a witch and that the last guy the farmer knew of who’d come to town looking for him had vanished into this house for months before he’d suddenly staggered into the village on a market day, tearing his own hair out in clumps and screaming at people about eyes and the Devil….

“Fine,” Pines said finally, brusquely, and he closed the door. There was a rattle as chains were undone, and after a slightly disturbing amount of that, the door opened to disclose a slightly bizarre figure: a tired-looking man, probably somewhere between thirty and forty, with a hairstyle - too tall at the top and too long in the back - which didn’t suit him at all and with clothes that didn’t quite fit him properly. Or at least the coat he wore even though he was indoors didn’t quite fit him properly: it was far too tight across the shoulders and, consequently, too short at the wrists. He blinked uncertainly at Officer Clutterbuck from behind a big, sort of old-fashioned pair of glasses - had the bit of his face visible before he’d opened the door had glasses on it? For a moment, Officer Clutterbuck thought that surely it hadn’t, but he shrugged the idea off. The interior seemed even gloomier than it was outside, and the door had barely been opened enough to show him anything, anyway.

“Sorry about that,” Pines said, in a tone which somehow made an apology sound almost rude. “Thought you might be that lunatic hillbilly who…What about my brother?” His expression became strangely fixed for a moment before he continued with. “Uh - I mean - “ And then his voice shifted slightly before he finally, rather stiffly, concluded with, “I assume you’re talking about Stanley?”

Officer Clutterbuck swallowed hard, trying to remember how he’d been told to play this. “Uh - can we step inside and sit down, sir?”

Pines scowled at him, and the general gossip, more common than the witchcraft allegation, about him being a mad scientist who was trying to raise Frankenstein out here floated to mind again. “Let me guess,” he growled. “You've found him, but you’ve still got no idea where my car is?”

Officer Clutterbuck swallowed hard again. “Please, sir,” he half-pleased. “I really think we should sit….”

“Oh,” said Pines. “So he’s dead, then.”

Officer Clutterbuck froze, unsure how he was supposed to respond to that - it hadn’t been in the script, the idea that Pines would just guess on his own! He’d been warned that the dead Pines having stolen the living one’s car might well fail to prevent the man from going into shock or denial - according to the guideline sheet, the reason he wasn’t supposed to say anything until they were seated was because it wasn’t unheard of for relatives to faint dead away and knock their heads open! They weren't supposed to just bluntly guess like that!

“Fine,” Pines repeated, sounding more annoyed than shocked or grieved by the unspoken confirmation of his guess. He turned and started shuffling down the poorly-lit hallway behind him. “Close that behind you!” he shouted over his shoulder, which Officer Clutterbuck supposed was the closest thing he was going to get to an invitation.

The inside of the house was not a place Officer Clutterbuck would have liked to spend a dark night. The hallway, it turned out, was not gloomy because there was no means of producing light: it was gloomy because the lightbulb seemed to have been broken. If the amount of dust on the pieces still clinging to the fixture was anything to go by, it had also been broken for a while. It was still obvious, though, that the umbrella stand by the door had a number of weapons propped up inside it instead of umbrellas. When he glanced into what he assumed was supposed to be the sitting room, he saw, instead of furniture, a huge skull of…something…and piles upon piles of mixed junk. Most of it seemed to be books or papers, but there were also, under yet more thick palls of dust, strange apparatuses the likes of which Officer Clutterbuck had never seen: glass and metal tubes and spheres, things that looked like they were either meant for taking measurements or cutting off appendages, dead and dying plants, unrecognizable charts and graphs, a glowing machine that almost looked like it was from an arcade, except it wasn’t…

“Stuff for future exhibits,” Pines’ voice said, suddenly too close to and immediately behind him. Officer Clutterbuck nearly fell over in surprise. “Come back in two weeks and give me twenty dollars and you can see ‘em then, once I’ve sorted them out better.”

This admonishment administered, he led Officer Clutterbuck past a room that looked surprisingly clean, well-lit, and organized - presumably a part of the lab he gave tours of - and into a tiny kitchen, which was at least cleaner than the hallway had been or the sitting room had looked. There were only two chairs, which matched neither each other nor the table. Pines pulled two mugs, also mismatched, from a cabinet and put them on the table before he added a coffee pot to the mix and sat down.

“Coffee?” he offered, extending the pot toward Officer Clutterbuck, who shook his head uncertainly. “You care if I have mine?” Officer Clutterbuck shook his head again. Pines poured coffee into the big enamel camping mug and then sat back to drink it, his eyes never leaving the younger man in the other chair. Officer Clutterbuck, unnerved by the direct stare, felt his eyes skitter away nervously, and they landed on the second, rejected mug - a smaller affair of chipped porcelain which wished someone a happy Father’s Day.

“Do - uh - do you have children, Mr. Pines?” he asked, hoping that the answer didn’t involve kids being brought up in this place.

“Not that I know about. Pretty sure that’s not what you’re here to ask about, too.”

“Er - no, sir,” Officer Clutterbuck. He took a deep breath, wishing Pines’ expression was even slightly less inscrutable as he drank his coffee and looked out through the shield of his glasses. “I’m sorry to have to inform you, sir, but - what you said before is…mostly true.” No response. “We did find your car - though I’m afraid it’s completely totaled - but your brother Stanley has…he’s passed away.”

“First thing that idiot ever passed without cheating, I guess,” said Pines. He frowned and added, “why do people call it that, anyway? You’d think that dying was a NASCAR race, and that he pulled ahead in the final lap to get first place or something. Just say someone’s dead if that’s what you mean.”

“Uh - sorry, sir,” said Officer Clutterbuck, utterly miserable and unsure if this was the correct response. “If you prefer, sir, then - yes. He’s dead.”

Pines didn’t look surprised. He just nodded and then added, “I assume that’s also why my car’s totaled?”

Was this what shock looked like? The guidelines hadn’t really done a very good job of explaining what that was supposed to be, if it took forms other than fainting. The television shows which had inspired Officer Clutterbuck to join the force made him think there were other ways it could present, but…

“Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m afraid he, uh, seems to have died in a car crash, and that the crashed car seems to have been, uh, the one he stole from you.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep the Stanmobile. Heh, he might not know it, but I’m coming out ahead of him in this deal - that car was a piece of junk, it barely ran. I, uh, haven’t gotten out much lately,” Pines added. “For a while now.”

“Oh,” said Officer Clutterbuck. He took out his little notepad. “Had, uh, had Stanley visited you recently? Before stealing your car?”

Pines shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t know why Stanley was in Oregon, but it definitely wasn’t to visit me. Hadn’t seen him in years. I don’t know how he even found out I was here, but I assume his original plan was to ask for money.” He scowled at nothing. “He never was anything except a screwup riding my coattails when we were kids," he added, his face hard and his voice harsh, without any noticeable emotion other than anger. "Which is why I'm guessing he was nothing at all after Dad threw him out. Nobody’s going to miss him, I can promise you that.”

“I…can’t comment on that, sir,” Officer Clutterbuck said carefully. “But it’s possible someone’s…actually happy about his death? Or - maybe unhappy that it wasn’t yours.”

That got Pines’ attention. “Huh?” he asked.

“It’s - “ there wasn’t a script for telling someone his brother had not only died but had possibly burned to death. Could he avoid doing so? “You see, Mr. Pines, the thing is…the brakes of the car were cut. That’s what we assume made Stanley lose control of the car. The thing we can’t determine is exactly when the brakes were cut - and so….”

“You can't determine whether somebody was out to get him or out to get me,” Pines concluded. “Huh. Well, it did take you folks a couple of days to find him. Probably happened at whatever fleabag motel he was crashing in - uh, no pun intended.” Pines took another swallow of his coffee. “Explains why he stole my car and left me his, too, I guess - he was trying to throw someone off his trail, and not doing a good job.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you? Just in case?”

Pines went very still. “What makes you think I could?”

“It’s, uh, it’s just a routine question….”

His attempt to mollify Pines didn’t seem to work. The man stood in his agitation, backing toward the sink. “Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he snapped. “About me, about my brother, about any of this - but I mind my own business, okay? I stay here, I do my science, I give tours to idiots for extra money, and that’s it! I don’t know what Stanley was into, and I don’t want to know, so I can’t help you, you hear me? So it’s time for you to go.”

“Sir - “

“Did I stutter? Unless you’re a paying tourist, I want you out of my house!”

There was a strange look in Pines’ eyes - almost wild, definitely not...okay, not okay in the head. Officer Clutterbuck decided that since he was not one of the people who had all the luck, he really would be well-advised to consider discretion the better part of valor. He fled and didn’t stop feeling glad to have gotten out alive until he was several miles away.

Back at the station, he found himself accosted by a reporter. “I understand you’ve been assigned to investigate the car crash out on Highway 618,” the reporter said. “There are rumors that there may have been foul play. Can you comment on that?”

Officer Clutterbuck reflected for a moment on his disturbing encounter with the man’s brother and shrugged helplessly. “It…does look mighty suspicious,” he said finally, concluding that, at least, was definitely true. “Mighty suspicious.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #stanuary #stanuary 2023 #week 1 - mystery #set in the early eighties #the difficulty of faking one's own death

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vulpixen · 1 year

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Week One: Mystery

Summary: This story takes place in the Mystery Dungeon AU I’ve been working on for a while and hold dear to my heart. For this first, it takes place in the Mystery Dungeon AU where everyone is a pokemon. Stan and Ford are Alolan and Kantoian Meowth's respectively and their parents Filbrick and Caryn are a Perserker and Kantoian Persian, and Shermie is a Perserker. How I interpret it as what kind of pokemon they are is determined by genetics and not by game mechanics. Depending on a pokemon's ancestry can determine what pokemon will be born. Other characters such as my ocs Andrea Pereira and Lucina Evergreen are here, too, and they are an Eevee and Shiny Kanotian Vulpixen respectively. Hope this explains things and enjoy this for Week One of @stanuary and onwards! Chapter 1 is here on AO3, too.

Team Mystery

Stan, a young Alolan Meowth, awoke early in the morning and would nudge his twin to wake from his sleep, eager to get up and go for this particular day. The day they start a new adventure.

“Sixer, wake up!” the young Alolan Meowth urged his Kantoian counterpart.

“Mrow!” Ford yowled. “What, Stanley?” He rubbed his tired eyes with a six-toed paw.

“Today’s the day we’re gonna start our explorers team! Team Mystery!” Despite knowing him and his brother aren’t old enough to become a professional, recognized adventure team by the Explorer’s Guild standard’s, yet, that wasn’t going to stop Stan and his brother from getting a start at it. Ford’s lips formed a bright smile as he put on his glasses and leaped down from his bed. Stan hoped one day to meet the founder and leader himself to work with. Stan pulls out the carrying case from under the bed that contains the items they think they’ll need for this adventure they have planned. Once they find something to do, that is.

The two have their breakfast and leave a note for their parents to find, taking some berries and other food for later before heading out the door and outside into the streets. The beach town was bustling with pokemon going about their own business, most of them being water types given the town is by the ocean on the east coast.

Stan and Ford were making their way to the local bulletin board just outside of the Peliper Postal Office when a thought occurred with Stan.

“Oh wait! We forgot to invite Andy and Lucy!” Stan just remembered their Eevee and Shiny Vulpix friends who make their team complete. Stan was over the moon when the girls accepted his and Ford’s offer to become part of their unofficial team. And since it was summer, Lucy would be around for their summer adventures. He’d hate to leave the two out of their adventures in exploring, rescuing and seeking out treasure.

Thankfully, Ford seemed to find the two ahead of them when he pointed at them.

“Seems like they got a head start.” Stan and Ford go up to the two who were looking at the bulletin board, scanning for the tasks they’re able to do and succeed in. Each job ranked from letters E to S, S being the highest and way beyond what the four are capable of.

“Hey, girls!” Stan greeted.

“Stan! Ford!” Andrea greeted the two meowths, her tail wagging in eagerness. “Me and Lucy managed to get here first! Think we can solve some mysteries around here.” Lucy pointing at the jobs listed. This piques the twin’s interests as they scan the board and see which ones seem more interesting and can get them more rewards. Stan slapped at the C level job that’s within their area.

“We can do this one!” Stan pulled the entry down that reads: ‘ Can someone find my basket? I lost it somewhere in Question Mark Cove. Will reward 400 coins. ’ Ford gave an affirming nod.

“Question Mark Cove? I think we can manage a trip there. I believe it's only ten levels down.”

“Perfect! We find this basket and get my – I mean our money. Split it evenly.” Andrea giggled, figuring Stan may take more of the share. Lucina rolled her eyes, but she was looking forward to exploring a cove.

“Ascot, look what we have here!” directed a Minun named Dicky to his Plusle brother as they approached the board. “New jobs! And a couple of wannabe adventurers who don’t even have official badges!” The Sibling brothers were still sore about how Stan and Ford and Andrea got the better of them last summer.

“Hey! We’ll get ours one day.” pouted Andrea.

“Yeah, go get your own jobs and shove off, sparkplugs.” Stan stuck his tongue out and pulled down his lower eyelid to mock them. The Sibling Brothers look at the group and let out a haughty laugh.

“Oh, we will. We’re going for something more… rewarding.” Dicky would leap up the bulletin board and retrieve a wanted poster of a criminal pokemon that appears to be a rough-looking Carrascosta. Ascot finished.

“Such as apprehending a criminal and collecting the bounty in Question Mark Cove.” The two leave laughing at the four dumbstruck pokemon behind to go off to fulfill the job. Stan was fuming as he couldn’t let this slide. He wasn’t going to let those jerks discourage him, his brother and friends.

“How ‘bout we go get that basket and get that bounty.” Ford, Lucina and Andrea gasped.

“Wait, what? We can’t do that. It’s something adults do, not us kids.” Lucina reasoned, scared about confronting a bigger and stronger pokemon they’re not prepared to face.

“Those two have no idea what they’re up against.” Ford watched the twins go towards the cove. They too were children as well. Stan mustered up the confidence to give the three and himself the morale they needed.

“Come on! With the four of us working together and using our moves, there’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll face whatever is down there and come back here to complete the job!” The three young pokemon looked between each other and smiled at Stan.

“We can give it a shot.” Ford approved, having a backup plan should things go south in having packed an escape orb.

Later down the Question Mark Cove…

The four pokemon managed to handle themselves against the opposing pokemon in the cove during their escapade down into the levels. They even managed to find the missing basket intact. However, they hadn’t seen the Sibling brothers since entering inside. Which Ford would point out.

“Do you think they’re in trouble? Wouldn’t hurt to check.”

“If the criminal got them, good riddance.” dismissed Stan. Something Lucina didn’t like.

“It would be wrong to just leave them alone down here to die.” Andrea sighed, seeing her friend speak true.

“Yeah, even if they are stupid jerks, they’re still kids like us.”

“Fine, let’s go find them.”

The four proceed down into the tenth and final floor of the cove and find what looks to be a makeshift hideout, no doubt belonging to the criminal, but no sign of the Sibling brothers. Stan and Ford call out for them.

“Hey! Dick and Asshole! Call out if you hear us!” Andrea giggled in response to Stan swearing.

“Did you catch the crook?”

They hear nothing for a second under loud, thundering footprints could be heard. It was the wanted Carracosta that goes by the name Crush the Undertow. His shell and maw riddled with visible scars from previous confrontations. He let out an uproar of laughter.

“Ye friends yer lookin’ fer are here no longer!” Crush lumbered over. “They turned their tails and ran off in fear of I, Crush the Undertow!” Stan and Ford growled, figuring the brothers would do something like this.

“Well we’re going to beat you ourselves!” challenged Stan and unsheathed his claws.

“Yeah, we’re not scared of you!” Andrea braced herself and her fur bristled. Ford and Lucina preparing for a fight.

Crush slapped his hard chest and bellowed.

“Then have at the, children! Give me a challenge! ”

It would be a challenging battle for the four young pokemon. Crush wasn’t holding back against the four, using his rock and water moves to get the upper hand. Stan, Ford, Lucina and Andrea have to act quick to try to dodge the attacks, and give it their all in turn. Ford didn’t have enough left to use against Crush, having used much of what they had and found throughout the cove. Ford could see they’re no match for this beast of a pokemon. Lucina having gotten knocked out upon getting hit against the wall, and Andrea getting her out to safety.

“We have to retreat!”

Crush targeted Ford and taunted.

“Ye not gonna run away like cowards are ye?!” Crush opened his mouth and released a high pressure amount of water at Ford. Stan would bound and leap to use his claws to deliver a strong swipe of his claws, aiming for the mouth and was successful, leading Crush to be off his aim. But it left Stan open to be attacked by Crush using his flipper to slam Stan against the wall and pin him there.

“Ya nicked me good, boy, but this ends now.”

Ford brought out the blast seed to use as a last resort to eat it, and unleashed a strong enough force to hit Crush and knock him down, releasing the injured Stan. Ford rushed over to help Stan up and give him an oran berry.

“Come on, Stan, get up.” Stan chewed and swallowed the rejuvenating berry that helped a little. “We need to go help the girls and tell the Magezone Chief about this.” Stan nodded at his brother, a lot ringing in his mind and thinking this could have gone better.

They hear steps coming towards them and it was none other than the Sibling Brothers, never having left. The plusle and minun clapping their paws.

“Well done!”

“Yes, very good! You defeated the crook in our place.” Stan and Ford glared at the two.

“You… you cowards! You got us to fight your battle so you can claim credit! You two could have taken him down with being electric types.” Dickie and Ascot would scoff, not having shame in it.

“And you did a fine job.”

“Saved us the trouble without using up our own resources to do it. Let us offer a deal.” Ascot presents. “You let us have this and we’ll put in a good word to have you and your team become a recognized rescue team with badges and everything from the Explorer’s Guild.”

“That is not what being an explorer is about, Sibling Brothers.” A strong voice spoke from behind them. The four boys turned to see a stoic Lucario and two of his teammates, a Pidgeot and Blissey, tending to Andrea and Lucina’s injuries. They heard everything admitted. “I’m immensely disappointed in you two for using others to fight your battles and perform your tasks, taking credit for their efforts while you’ve done none.” The plusle and minun cowered, fearing the worst was going to happen. And it does. “As the leader and founder of the Explorer’s Guild, I hereby strip you of your rank and badges, banished from the Explorer’s Guild henceforth.” He reached and opened his paw to take the badges away. Reluctantly, Dicky and Ascot relinquished their badges and carrying case and took a walk of shame out of the cove.

Stan and Ford were astonished by what just happened. The founder and leader himself, Ryland, along with his team to rescue them. Stan was relieved to see things were going to be okay, but feels guilty he got the girls and his brother into this mess.

Ryland turned to Stan and Ford. “We’ll take care of this, you and your friends need to be treated.” Stan and Ford nodded up and took their leave to get treated by the Blissey named Belle.

“Your friends sent out an SOS and we were the first to receive it,” Belle smiled as she bandaged up Lucina. “Good thing we did. You four were very brave.” Hearing that made Stan feel a bit better, but he felt guilt over endangering his brother and friends.

“I’m sorry, guys, we should have retreated sooner,” Stan lowered his head. Ford, Andrea and Lucina showed weak smiles.

“Don’t be down, Stan, things got messy and we turned out alive,” reassured Andrea. “And we found the basket to take back to the client looking for it.” The pidgeot named Soarin would offer.

“If I may, I can help deliver it swiftly and without delay. I assure you that I will give you four full credit for your efforts. What should I call your group?”

“Team Mystery,” the four young pokemon agreed.

The next day…

Stan and Ford are called from downstairs by their mom as they got a letter.

“Hey, boys! You have mail!” Their mother Caryn the Kantoian Persian smiled. “And from the Explorer’s Guild no less.”

“Wait, what?” Stan and Ford questioned. The two read the letter, and from what they determined, they are offered to join the Explorer’s Guild. In addition, some of the reward money that came from not only returning the basket to the client looking for it, but part of the bounty from apprehending the criminal carracosta. Stan couldn’t believe it. His dream was coming true.

“We can be official explorers! Badges and everything!” Stan beamed ear to ear. Ford liked the sound of that. “Team Mystery is in business!”

“I like the sound of that, Stan, but let’s stick with what we can handle before we aim for higher jobs.”

“It’s a deal, Sixer.” It was the beginning of a new adventure.

#stanuary 2023 #stan pines #ford pines #vulpixen writes #vulpixens ocs #mystery dungeon au #andrea pereira #lucina evergreen #week one: mystery #stanley pines #stanford pines

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gin-juice-tonic · 1 year

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Week one of @stanuary here we come. The theme was Mystery.

We interviewed members of the shack to find out what the deal is behind Mr Mystery himself.

#Pbbth #stanuary #the indescribable smell is the vent orange juice

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stanuary · 5 months

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The Stanuary 2024 Themes have been chosen!!

Thank you all so much for voting! This year our four winning themes have been brought back from the past by your votes, and paired with four new mystery themes hand picked by your humble Stanuary mod.

Week One: Lost & Home (with 67 votes)

Week Two: Possess & Sacrifice (with 68 votes)

Week Three: Fantasy & Memories (with 71 votes)

Week Four: Strangers & Brothers (with 76 votes)

With two themes each week, you're free to pick and choose how to use them. Do one or both, combine themes, or ignore them altogether and do your own thing! There's even more ideas to be found on the Extra Prompts page if you're looking for some added inspiration, and Stanuary Bingo if you want to make a bonus challenge out of it!

Are you a Stanuary newcomer? Check out the About page, FAQ, and Guidelines here for what it's all about and how to participate!

I'm doubly excited to see what you all create this year! Have fun!! ♥

#stanuary #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #gravity falls #stanuary 2024 #text

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fexiled · 1 year

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@stanuary Week One: Mystery

man of a thousand faces (or at least four)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #stanuary #fex draws #id in alt text #''alright it's time to put stanuary to bed for the year--wait what's this?? it's fex with the steel chair!!''#is it really truly stanuary if i 1) don't go absolutely ham on at least one piece; and 2) don't start posting until the very last minute #it's just tradition at this point #anyway- tried my hand at writing an image description for this in the alt text #and discovered i am extremely self conscious about describing my own art lol so if there's anything i could add or do better lmk #this took 8000 years bc i hand lettered everything except for the small text on the IDs and plane ticket like a maniac #serif fonts my beloathed

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kezisdrawing · 4 months

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This is my entry for week one of @stanuary, Lost! Here we have Stan getting lost while putting up advertisements in the woods, and unknowingly attracting some attention in the process. This takes place shortly after he rebrands from Murder Hut to Mystery Shack, so about a year or two after the portal accident. I’ve always wondered about Stan’s relationship with Gravity Falls’ cryptids in his early years. I’m assuming he must have been at least tangentially aware of them because he read Journal One, but beyond that it’s unclear. Anyway, I can’t believe it’s January already. It’s good to be back making art again!

#stanuary 2024 #stanuary #stanley pines #gravity falls

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cbmagus49 · 1 year

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STANUARY WEEK 4: WORTH

And with that we’re done with Stanuary!! I was kinda stuck on this one for a while so I’m really proud of the end results :D

Individual pictures under the cut ^^

EDIT: I’ve added an image description now! Thanks @anistarrose for the template; I’ve been meaning to start trying to add IDs for ages but I kinda suck at describing things, so this was very helpful ^^

[ID: five lineless digital drawings of Stan Pines from Gravity Falls, all seen in profile facing to the right, each at a different age and using a different limited color palette.

The first, in vermilion, shows a teenage Stan clutching a duffel bag with a heartbroken, horrified expression. A small orange broken heart floats next to him. Second, in dark indigo, shows Stan as a young adult with a mullet, running forward with a desperate-looking expression as paper bills fly out of his duffel bag. There are searchlights in the background. Third, in bright yellow, features Stan as a young Mr. Mystery, wearing a fez and question mark tie as he holds up an orb with another question mark on it. He appears to be speaking to someone offscreen, and is gesturing towards the orb with a confident expression, with three yellow question marks floating above it. Fourth, in green, Stan appears as an older man in his signature suit, without the fez, puffing up his chest and putting a hand on his hip as he grins at the dollar bills in his hand. Two lime dollar signs float above the bills. The final scene, in bright cyan, shows Stan in his burning mindscape, holding a photograph and smiling at it peacefully. Two cyan hearts appear above the photo as he's engulfed by the flames.

The images under the cut are the five scenes individually. End description.]

#gravity falls #stan pines #stanuary

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creativesplat · 1 year

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@stanuary, week one! Mystery.

This one’s a sketch, but I couldn’t find the time or effort to finish, so the rest of the comic will remain a... mystery!!! (or not if you read under the cut)

Turns out I drew a part two! :)

Suffice to say the rest of the sketch (supposed to be comic) would have gone like this: It’s not Bill. Ford learns quite a bit about Stan’s life post Science fair (a lot of it isn’t pleasant, poor Stan) and Stan learns that he’s writing about his own life - dealing with repressed memories through viewing them as someone else's, and the Pine’s Twins have a hug and talk about the past.

Inspired by the idea that Stan thought Mabel was being serous about him writing ‘Crime Grandpa’ when he remembers it, and begins to write, assuming all the memories of crime were some how just chapters in this story - though he can’t find the notes or anything!

#Stan's spelling isn't great (dyslexia) but he loves to write stories - so he gets Ford to check them!#crime grandpa #stan #mullet stan #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #stanuary #bill cypher #sketch #unfinished #creativesplat draws #gravity falls

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icarusyourefalling · 1 year

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a mystery and a birthday

Mabel has a plan, but first she has to uncover one of the many mysteries of her grunkle- his birthday.

written for week one of stanuary- mystery

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44005965

#stanuary #stan pines #Stanley Pines #mabel pines #the pines family #gravity falls #stanuary 2023 #gravity falls fanfiction #fanfic

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londonclubofsherwood · 1 year

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Stanuary week 1: Mystery

This is my fic for week one of @stanuary. It's set after the portal incident when someone comes knocking on the murder hut's door with some questions about Stanley.

I don't have ao3 so I'm just posting it here. Hope you enjoy!

Stan Pines was snapped out of his math-fuelled haze by a knocking at the door.

Who could that be?

He and Ford had no friends in town as far as he knew. No neighbours either, no matter what that Dan guy kept claiming. As a city boy there was no way he was going count people who lived twenty minutes away as neighbours. The Manotaurs hadn’t come knocking since he chased one off with a bat, an ultimate shame for their kind. And what tourist would visit at six on a January evening?

The mystery visitor knocked again, firmer this time. His stomach dropped.

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way Rico would have been able to track him down to an Oregon town so backwater that it didn’t make it onto roadmaps. But still…

Stan shoved the freshman textbook away. He reached for his baseball bat before deciding against it. The bat was a trusty old thing but would be nothing compared to Rico and his goons with their guns. Besides, the bat would be an immediate giveaway of who he was. Same with his brass knuckles.

He briefly toyed with the virtue of answering with both a weapon and his best approximation of Poindexter. Just put on a mustard coloured sweater vest and start rambling about algebra and parallel dimensions and Area 51. If needed he could, with puzzled and owlish expression, tell Rico that Stanley Pines was dead. Car crash. Very tragic. Or it would be if he cared enough to miss him.

Rico might even fall for that con. For all the disguises Stan had assumed over the years, he had never managed to settle into one so painfully nerdy. But if Rico still saw straight through it Stan would be just another John Doe tossed into a dumpster to rot. Ford would have no one to bring him back. His family would have another twin to grieve, and this time it would be the good one. The golden child.

He almost considered leaving it unanswered. But if it was some confused tourist? Stan could never resist a sale.

So he came to the door as Mr. Mystery. A loveable rouge of a showman with a broad smile and a garish yellow shirt littered with question marks. His weapon? A 'magical’ staff that was in reality a magic 8 ball duct taped onto a cue stick with the mystical ability to shut annoying people up with one good whack.

He could not be Stanford Pines — the genius whose life he stole. Neither could he stomach being Stanley Pines anymore — the failure who had burnt everyone foolish enough to get close. Mr Mystery was a compromise.

“Welcome to the murder hut!” He said with the voice of a chain-smoking carnival barker. “What kind of spooky mysteries and weird — ah, weirdness are you after?”

It was a woman. Long coat. Navy turtleneck jumper. Tortoise shell glasses. She looked like a nerd, and a short one too. Relief washed over him that he had not come out screaming with a bat.

“Uh, hello, Dr. Pines, can I ask you a few questions?”

She must have been one of Ford’s old colleagues. Perhaps someone from whatever not-quite-West-Coast-Tech college Stan had condemned him to. Ford had been given some grant. And while it had become null a year or so ago they still may have sent this woman to follow up on that.

“Its Mr. Mystery to you, and Mr Mystery is saying nothing about his potential research or any money he may owe.”

She huffed. “Look, Stanford don’t care about your research. Look, I want to ask you about your twin brother Stanley Pines.”

Stan froze.

Cold dribbled down his spine like snowmelt.

On instinct his eyes looked at her shoes. Brown boots. They did not seem to be of the steel-toed vanity favoured by undercover-cops. Still, a healthy distrust in humanity had never hurt him so far. He crossed his arms and stood up straighter.

“He’s been dead a while. What’d you want?”

“I’m Helena Cale, a reporter for The Oregon Weekly and I think you’re brother’s story deserves to be told.”

“Huh. Why don’t ya come in.” Stan said, just because he was sick of standing in the cold air. Nothing more.

He took her to the kitchen. The half-packed away ‘exhibition’ and the cobweb-ridden gift shop felt far from the right place to discuss your ‘death'. Stan had gotten picky about that sort of thing since he got an actual house with different rooms in it. Imagine that? Stanley Pines paying off a mortgage.

He plopped himself down on one of the old wooden chairs he had…acquired from a garage sale. Helena sat across from him. She pulled out a notebook and fountain pen out of her bag. Without asking a question she scribbled something down. Perhaps commenting on his charming personality or bold fashion sense. Still, the silence scared Stan.

“What are you so interested in Stanley for? Sure the guy had personality but he’s hardly famous.”

“I’m actually curious about the circumstances of his death.” She responded.

Stan shifted in his seat.

“He drove a car off the nearby cliff by accident. It wasn’t a suicide or anything.”

The words escaped his mouth before he had time to consider how defensive they sounded. Stan Pines was a man who spoke before he thought. He refused to be ashamed about that even if it got him into many sticky situations.

“I never claimed it was. How much do you know about Stanley’s life after leaving home?”

Stan barked a laugh. The wrong move.

“Basically nothing. Stan didn’t call or make any effort to tell me what he was up to. Why, do you think he was penpals with some serial killers or something.”

Helena glared at him — her brow furrowed — before she recovered her previous unaffected persona.

“According to the records your brother was homeless for most of his life and had an extensive criminal record. Including…” she rustled through her bag and pulled out a manilla folder “dealings with organised crime.”

He snatched the manilla folder from her and tipped it on its side. The pages tumbled out onto the kitchen table. He recognised most of them. Record after record about Stanley Pines, Steve Pinington, Eight-Ball Alcatraz; a loose spiderweb of mistakes and false identities he had spun throughout the Americas. And this was only a few of his aliases.

“Who’s Eight-ball.” He said, plucking that sheet from the pile. “Looks like a piece of work.”

That eyepatch. That cut on his eyebrow which had since faded into a scar. Somehow, as he stared into the eyes of his younger self, the good memories flooded back. Late nights with Jimmy. Cheap beer and whiskey from the seediest of dive bars. Pride in being the slipperiest man in all of Arkansas — until he wasn’t. His fingers clenched into fists.

“Well, he is believed to be one of Stanley’s many, many alibis.” She said. “Did you know he had fake identities?”

“Figured he would have stopped after twenty-one. Heh.” His joke was met with silence. “But no, I didn’t. And what do you want to do about these? Stan Pines is dead.”

“You don’t think it’s at all suspicious that a man who crossed so many shady figures just happened to die tragically young by ‘accidental’ circumstances.”

Stan shrugged.

“Fine. But even if there was a slight possibility of murder, wouldn’t you want to know for sure. He’s your brother. Hell, if my sister died I would not rest until I disproved any single possibility of foul play. And she’s a primary school teacher.”

He got it. If Ford ended up dead then Stan would do anything to bring justice. But if Stan died? He wasn’t sure Ford would be bothered to schlep back to Jersey for his low-budget funeral.

“This isn’t some Jim Thompson story. This is real life, and in real life sometimes no-good grifters die boring, stupid deaths. No mysteries required.”

He tried to smooth out the tremble in his voice. His father had made clear enough that men should never cry, or really any vulnerability. At least if they knew what was good for them. Thankfully, his coarse voice often hid any emotion which forced its way in there despite his efforts. It had served him well on the streets.

“Jim Thompson?” Helena asked.

“Crime novelist.” He answered simply.

Of course she was probably too much of a nerdy snob to read a pulp thriller. And if she was, Ford definitely was. He probably read those more intellectual books. What was that author Ford liked’s name? Agnes Christopher?

He was so caught in his musings he missed her next question. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were the last person to see Stanley alive?”

“Eh, yeah. Think so.”

“Did he say anything suspicious?”

What had he even told Ford? Had he mentioned Rico? Jimmy? Probably he had just complained about his stupid mullet. He shook his head.

This hurt — no, it couldn’t hurt him. He was a Pines man, after all. Whatever. It was still a ridiculous waste of time. He needed it to end.

“Get. Out.” Stan said, rising to his full height.

Helena dropped her pen, leaving blue ink pooling on the paper. But she did not leave, or at least thank him for humouring with what was likely a desperate attempt to capitalise on his brother’s — or really his own death — for clout.

“Actually, I have a few more questions.”

“Yeah? And I have one response. Leave.”

“Your brother’s death is a mystery. Potentially the story of the decade. I need to get to the bottom of it.”

How many damn times could he hear about a brother dying? See the fake pity of a woman who did not know what she was talking about?

“Well, maybe I don’t care about that good-for-nothing leach.”

The words clattered in the silence. She leaned back in the seat, her eyes boring into his own. It was not anger that she had met him with, but rather a mixture of pity and disappointment. It was the same look that Mrs. Aylward had given him back in seventh grade when she realised that despite all the help she had given him, he had just copied off of his brother for the final assignment. Well, at least he had plenty of practice disappointing people.

“You don’t really mean that.” Helena said.

“Yeah. I do. You didn’t know that bastard like I did. He was a clingy, selfish liar who road on my coattails and when I told him to stop he ruined my life. Then when he finally left he couldn’t even make something of himself. Imagine that!”

The words flowed from Stan’s mouth with the ease tears could never match. It was too easy to imagine all the terrible things Ford felt about him. Fed by the pure vitriol he felt about himself in his darkest moments.

“You know why he came to see me here in gravity falls? He came to beg for more money and a place to stay. He couldn’t even deal with the consequences of his actions as a grown man. Huh. Guess, my father was right about him. Dying was the most worthwhile thing he ever did. So, yeah, I don’t want some Sherlock Holmes messing around with what should be dead and buried.”

His breathing was ragged and hoarse. Adrenaline coursed through his body.

He might have been a bit harsh in his impression of Ford, but there was something cathartic about venting all of his guilt and fears and his anger towards his stupid genius brother who left him with a house and impossible debt. And his hatred at himself for being the one who had all but pushed him into the portal.

He definitely was too harsh on this poor reporter looking for a scoop. He shrunk in on himself in a way he had not done in a while. His shoulders slumped, his hands clasped in front of him. Helena did not seem to notice his change in demeanour.

“I understand, sir.” She said instead, grabbing her things and shoving them back into her bag. “I’ll leave you alone here. It seems you were not the kind of man I thought you were. Perhaps you were too…involved in this death.”

“Look, I meant —”

Of course Stan had found another way to blow things. Helena thought he had killed his brother. And yes, he may have in a way, but it was an accident he would die to amend, not some coldblooded murder. And for all of his flaws he knew that Ford would never kill him.

The door slammed. He heard the rumbling of an engine revving to get out of this cursed patch of wood. Now all he had to do was wait for the howling of police sirens coming down Gopher Road.

He had never been arrested for murder before. The thought was almost funny before he realised that meant his chance of getting Ford back was zero. North West Realty would come sniffing and the cabin in the woods would go to some random family of holidayers from California who had no idea what monstrous secrets lurked beneath the creaking floorboards.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He had to fix this. He could talk his way out. He was Stanley Pines, the conman with a silver tongue. Images flashed back of Ford closing the curtains and of him being shoved in that trunk, being tied up in a warehouse, shanked in the side. He grimaced.

This time he could not afford to fail.

He had to meet Helena again and try and plead his case that he was a grieving man who was dealing with it badly. He looked at the empty liquor bottles on the counter. Yeah, that story was believable. He could even throw in the fact that he was drunk.

Heh, perhaps he should have thrown in some ramblings about those gnome jerks who were always going through his trash. That would have convinced her.

But it had to wait to the morning. The last thing he wanted was to look like a stalker as well as a fratricidal monster. In the morning she would would probably be in Greasy’s Diner. It was the only place to eat in town after all. And she couldn’t cook a decent meal in whatever dinky hotel they had set her up in.

He poured himself a nip of Scot - ish Whiskey (the finest from Washington State!) to steady his shaking hands and took a seat at his Easy Chair. He had a feeling that he was not going to get a lot of sleep that night.

The sun had only just crested the mountains by the time Stan was out the door. He clambered into the front seat of the Stanleymobile and turned on the engine. That loud hum was more soothing than anything else in his life. Sitting in the driver’s seat made him feel powerful, like he was in control — sometimes to a dangerous extent.

The drive to Greasy’s Diner had never felt this long. He wondered whether the mist around here had sort of time-slowing side effect. It would be far from the strangest thing he’d seen and while Ford had never written about it he had always had a flimsy grasp of the passage of time. Besides, that man didn’t know everything. No matter what he thought.

He parked outside the log-shaped diner. As he got out some lady in a grey flannel jacket swore at him from her truck. So much for small town hospitality. And all because he had sped up at the last moment to take the last spot from her.

Ridiculous.

Just like it was ridiculous that the place was bustling so early in the morning. Most of the tables were full of couples, and families with small children, and groups of friends. Gravity Falls was full of morning people. He scanned the place for any sign of Helena. She was no where to be seen.

He considered leaving until that waitress — Susan he thought it was — asked him if he would like to get a table. He was going to decline but then she laughed at that cheesy joke he delivered with his trademarked--Stan-Pines grin so he said yes. He ordered pancakes and a black coffee.

Then, by the time he was about to leave, Helena came in.

“Hey, Helena! Can we talk?”

She looked at him. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?” She said.

She must have had a rough night. Her eyes seemed blank and her voice hollow, compared to that fiery spark he had seen in her last night. Her white blouse was muddied and her coat buttons were done up wrong. Her hair looked unbrushed.

“Uh, it’s Mr. Mystery. Or Stanford Pines. We talked about your story?”

“I thought that I came here to report on lumberjacks and you don’t look like a lumberjack. No offence.”

“I just live near one. You came to the wrong house.” He lied.

Maybe she had amnesia? She could have fallen and hit her head. It was a ridiculous lucky coincidence but after years of terrible luck he supposed the universe owed him something. Besides, what else could have caused her to forget such a recent memory. It made no sense. But he supposed not much in the town did.

Ford would ask a billion questions and chase down the answers until the mystery bit him back. Stan was nothing like him. He was a guy who was content to let what happened happen. He had learnt the hard way that messing in what didn’t concern you rarely ended well. It would keep him safe in this strange, old town.

“Well, welcome to Gravity Falls. It’s the kind of place you’ll never forget.”

#stanuary 2023 #stan pines #stanley pines #gravity falls

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