Chapter Text
“Wowzers! Who would’ve thought that mermaids would be so down with attempted murder?”
“Sirens, Mabel. They were sirens. There is literal folklore going back thousands of years about that kinda stuff. Do you even read the articles I send you?”
“Bro bro, they are fish people with fins instead of legs. Those are called mermaids in my book. Also, you send me like a hundred - thousand articles about crazy supernatural stuff a day. I can’t just read them all in one go! I’ve got things to do! People to see! Pigs to love!”
“Pig. You have a pig. One pig.”
“And he’s an adorable lil’ pudgy muffin who needs all of my attention, your point?”
Sighing, Stan Pines finally glanced up from his paper long enough to see what the heck these two knuckleheads were chattering about. The first thing he noticed was that they were soaking wet from head to toe, dripping all over the foyer floor and making a sizable puddle that at the rate it was growing, would flood the place out in no time.
A fact that he could already tell Soos’s Abuelita was not gonna be happy once she discovered it. Stan swears, the woman could sniff out messes like a hound could sniff out rabbits, it was unnatural.
Secondly, the gremlins appeared as thought they’d been chewed up and spit out by the looks of their bruised-up faces and tattered clothing. Also, he was pretty sure that they were talking about the sirens that lived in the lake so that probably meant nothing good.
Stan folded his paper up and set it on the side table next to his armchair. “What happened to you two?”
Dipper spun around and threw his arms up, marching into the den. “Mabel ruined my attempt to talk with the sirens in the lake!”
“Woah, woah, woah , hold up,” Mabel quickly interrupted, hot on her brother's trail. “I did squat out there! You were the one who got all weirdly personal with those questions!”
“They weren’t weird! They were scientific hypotheses that I wanted to confirm!”
“You asked whether they laid eggs like fish or pushed babies out like humans.”
“It’s a valid question!”
“And then you asked how they pee!”
“Again! A valid question!”
“Creep alert!” Mabel yelled out, pointing at her scowling brother in an advertising fashion. “We’ve got a fingerless glove wearing creep over here!”
“Hey, the fingerless gloves are cool!”
“No, they’re not,” Mabel and Stan replied in unison. "Robbie wears those," Mabel tagged on for good measure.
Dipper looked back and forth between them before huffing and crossing his arms indignantly.
“Whatever! I didn’t need any real answers, anyway. Great Uncle Ford will know more,” The kid paused. “I wonder if he could talk to the one he dated on my behalf?”
Yeah, no. That train of thought could only end in disaster.
“Oookay , Dipper being his normal creepy self aside, would ya two stop leaking all over my nice wood floors and go get dressed?” Stan butted in, not needing to know much else about the situation.
Dipper folded his arms, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, while Mabel giggled behind him.
“Technically speaking, they’re not your floors anymore, Grunkle Stan,” the kid said, as if that made a lick of difference. “They’re Soos’s.”
Stan rolled his eyes and slouched in the chair. “Yer right. And his grandma ain’t nearly as lenient on stuff like keepin’ a tidy house as I was. So, if I were you, I’d go change before she comes in with the vacuum again ta take things into her own hands . ”
The twins exchanged a brief look before, deciding to heed his advice and race back up to the attic. Stan huffed and cracked a little private smile at the sound of their thundering footsteps thumping up the stairs. It was weird being back in town after a whole year of traveling with Ford. He’d finally gotten used to a new routine with him, so to be back was… strange to say the least. It’d taken a second for Stan to not feel himself swaying around anymore, as if half of himself was still back on the Stan o’ War docked a good few miles away. However, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit happy to be back. Especially now during the summer.
It was a surprise to no one except maybe their parents that Dipper and Mabel had all but begged to come back to town for the summer again. And once that decision had been made, all that had been left to do was for the two to call Stan and Ford up on their boat and confirm that they’d also be coming back as well. Because, as much as their parents had come to like Soos over the past year, everything had relied on whether or not their uncles would be there to care for them again. Stan was flattered, if not slightly concerned that he was now deemed a responsible enough caretaker in the eyes of his nephew and niece-in-law. Even after they’d come to learn about the whole twin swapping thing. Or some variation of the truth regarding that, because neither Stan nor Ford had gone into too much detail about the interdimensional portal that had been in the basement or the ensuing triangular apocalypse for obvious reasons, but amazingly Shermie had been kind enough to vouch for them when they’d tried to make their case.
Although, their initial reunion with their older brother really hadn’t gone that smoothly either. Seriously, why was everyone’s immediate reaction to shocking revelations in this family to punch the living daylights out of someone? Credit where credit was due, Shermie threw a good left hook for a guy in his seventies.
Regardless, the point was that despite Stan missing the sea and his boat and spending all of his time with his brother while outrunning hostile anomalies, he was glad to be home for a while. And he was especially glad to have the chance to relax because, sure, Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly the safest place in the world to be, but at least he wasn’t freezing his ass off in the Arctic while a killer squid tried to titanicize their boat.
Sometimes, an old geezer like himself needed a break, and that was okay.
Reaching over for the remote to turn up the volume on the television, Ford entered the den while scribbling something down in one of his newer journals. He didn’t go through the trouble of labeling them with that flashy golden six-fingered symbol like he had his previous ones, but they were basically a continuation of what Ford started in those first three books regarding his research. Just with a lot less paranoia and invisible ink. At least he thinks there’s no invisible ink. Eh, who knows.
All he knows is that everything they’d so far come across in their travels was written in there. Well, more like the book he was currently holding alongside two or three other smaller journals that were stored away somewhere. What could he say? His brother liked to ramble.
“Whatcha mumblin’ about over there, Sixer?” Stan asked, startling Ford out of his thoughts. The nerd probably hadn’t even realized that he was talking out loud. He rarely ever did.
“Oh, my apologies! I was just trying to discern whether or not that yeti we came across in Greenland would truly be considered a distant relative to the Sasquatch. It has been discussed at length before, however, I have yet to compare and contrast the similarities and differences we’ve observed.”
Stan rolled his eyes at whatever his brother just said and tossed the remote aside. “I’d say he seemed pretty Sasquatchy to me, Poindexter. I’m sure he wouldn’t sue you if ya just assumed and got it wrong.”
Ford shut his journal with an indignant huff. “I do not want to document false information, Stanley.”
Stan raised up his arms, exasperated. “Yetis are supposed to be in the Himalayas, Ford! His whole ass existence in Greenland was stupid! How’d he even get there in the first place? Why’s he gotta try n’ stand out from the crowd?”
Stan scowled at the memory. He had not been as pleasantly surprised as Ford had been by that little impromptu side-quest. They’d only stopped by to see the Northern Lights, next thing they know they’re getting chased down by some giant white monster with razor sharp teeth. Needless to say, Yeti’s were now on Stan’s shit-list. “‘Sides, the hairball did try to eat us, so I’d say he deserves to be falsely documented. Karmas a bitch n’ all that.”
Ford chuckled quietly and signaled for him to keep it down.
“Watch your language, the children aren’t far,” Ford reprimanded, and Stan scoffed.
“Oh, come on, ease up a bit, they’re thirteen now. I started cursin’ like a sailor when I was ten and I turned out great!”
“ Hmph . You say that as though you wouldn’t have a heart attack if one of them even dared to utter the f-word in front of you,” Ford teased. Stan narrowed his eyes, having been thoroughly called out.
“Hey, just ‘cause I can swear don’t mean that they can too,” Stan rebuffed. “It's like a “do as I say, not as I do” type a thing.”
“That’s rather hypocritical, isn’t it?” Ford questioned.
“Why yes, yes, it is,” Stan agreed with a snarky smirk. As the adult in this situation, he could make up whatever rules he wanted. It was fantastic and one of the things he’d missed most about being a caretaker. Was it morally, correct? Probably not, but who cares? Not Stan, that’s for sure.
Ford rolled his eyes before glancing around the room and slipping his journal into his favorite blue sweatshirt that was too damn hot to be wearing in the middle of June, but heck, what did Stan know? Clearly not how to avoid heatstroke. Stan already knew about the (hilarious) tattoos, so was he trying to do? Hide them from the kids? The All Star one on his neck looked like something Mabel would design herself and Dipper would probably see them and suddenly wanna get a tattoo himself… Actually, maybe he shouldn’t show him. They’d only recently gotten back on their parents' good side.
“Where are the children, anyway?”
“They just got back from tryin’ to talk up some sirens,” Stan shrugged. Ford raised an eyebrow down at him.
“Did they have any better luck than when you attempted?”
Stan glared up at his brother, not appreciating the tone nor the shit-eating grin he was giving him in response.
“No, actually. They were dripping wet when they came in here. Left a nice lil’ puddle over there by the door as a present too, for good measure.”
Ford eyed said puddle with a hum. “Sirens can be notoriously prideful.”
“Everyone in this house is now well aware of that,” Stan said, rolling his eyes for what felt like the upteenth time that day. “You should probably go out with them more often for things like this. Y’know, just to make sure they don’t wind up as some werewolf’s chew toys.”
“The children are more than capable of taking care of themselves,” Ford dismissed, jotting some more nerd jumble down before snapping his head back up. “Although, it would be nice to spend more time with them.”
“Wow, he actually caught my meanin’,” Stan dryly quipped before softening his tone. “We’re in mid-June now, Poindexter. We gotta make the best of what little time we’ve got.”
Ford nodded seriously and stood straighter. “You’re right. I should make a greater effort.”
“Hey, now, don’t go too crazy,” Stan warned, holding up his hands. Able to see that overcompensating disaster from miles away. “I know ya already do hang out with them plenty when doin’ all that anomaly jargon stuff. I’m just sayin’ ya should try n’ tag along for the simpler things. More, like, observational research and less almost drownin’ type of shenanigans. Don’t go overthinkin’ it.”
“I’m not overthinking,” Ford denied, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a very visible overthinking frown.
“All ya ever do is overthink,” Stan smirked, reclining in his chair. “You should try n’ be more like me. Not a care in the world over here. Anxiety free,” Ford raised a knowing brow and Stan’s smile faltered. “Fine. Mostly anxiety free. Ya can’t lemme have anythin’ nice, can ya?”
“When said ‘things’ are lies, I don’t feel the need to cater to you,” Ford smirked. What a jerk.
“Ha ha, whatever,” Stan brushed off, turning his attention back to the television. “Don’t ya have some nerdy science thing to do instead of botherin’ me?”
“Do you think I should take them camping?” Ford asked, completely ignoring him. “They’d enjoy something along the lines of that, right? You could come too, of course.”
“Oh, well since I was so eagerly invited,” Stan waved his brother off. “Ya could. It’s the perfect time to do it weather wise, but if ya really wanna hang out with them ya could take ‘em to do somethin’ on Summerween.”
There was a pause. “Summer-what-now?”
Stan squinted back up at his brother, not even mad, just disappointed.
“Seriously, Sixer, how long did ya live here for, back in the day?” Stan mumbled before throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Summerween! This town loves Halloween so much they celebrate it twice a year!”
Ford blinked incredulously at the explanation. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Stan scoffed. “It’s one of the few things I really liked about livin’ here for thirty years. Scaring children is one of my best talents. And doin’ it without consequences? Ho-ho, it’s hilarious.”
“I think your values are wrong.”
“Probably,” Stan agreed. “But still, just take ‘em out to do something for it. I dunno if they’d wanna go trick or treatin’ this year, but ya could do somethin’ equally spooky. There’re a couple haunted houses around. I tried to do my own once but got banned from tryin’ again ‘cause it was, quote, “too horrific for general audiences to witness” or some other bull. I think kids just got weak stomachs now. It’s all that organic stuff.”
His brother rolled his eyes, leaning against the archway he’d come through with a pondering expression plastered across his grumpy face.
“Alright,” he carefully began. “When is this Summerween, then?”
“Uh, what day’s it now?” Stan asked.
“The twentieth,” Ford replied.
Stan shrugged and grabbed the remote again. “In two days, then.”
“Two days?!” Ford squawked, standing ramrod straight. “That’s not nearly enough time to make preparations or to—!”
“Moses, Ford, calm down!” Stan called out over his sudden panicking. “What happened to not overthinkin’ this?”
“I’m not overthinking, I’m being proactive!”
“I dunno what that means.”
“It means I’m being reasonable!” Ford emphasized with dramatic, flailing hand gestures.
“Yer really not,” said Stan, fondly shaking his head. “There’s a bunch of stuff to do. We could go tomorrow to the store to buy some candy and watermelons to make jack-o-lanterns outta.”
Ford tilted his head, eyes bright with building curiosity and enthusiasm. “That does sound rather nice.”
“Then we’ll do it,” said Stan. “And for the actual day you can go do any of that stuff I said with ‘em. I can tag along too, even if I’ll miss scarin’ the snot outta some kids. It’s probably better those two have a chaperone this time that isn’t Soos , considerin’ what happened last year.”
“What happened last year?” Ford asked, worryingly.
“I dunno,” Stan shrugged. “But Soos claims he ate a man alive, and I don’t think he was jokin’.”
“… Alright, then. I guess.”
“That was my reaction too,” Stan sighed, smiling at his brother in a way he hoped came off as encouraging. “They already love ya, Ford. I just want ya to experience more things with them, and a holiday is one helluva way to do that. Also, I know that they’d be safe with you. And since they’ve got a knack for makin’ trouble, yer the best one to be there with them.”
Ford’s body untensed and his shoulders went slack. He gave a soft, genuine smile and Stan couldn’t help but feel a little prideful at how quickly he’d been able to snap him outta his downward spiral this time. It had to be a new record.
“I'm able to protect them the best?” Ford asked. “Not you?”
Stan shrugged nonchalantly. “I ain’t as fast or… I dunno, nimble as you, or whatever. I got the strength, but you’ve got the sci-fi gun in yer back pocket and a bunch of knives up yer sleeves.”
That was not a figure of speech, either. Ford had literal knives up his sleeves at all times. It was a problem.
“You have ten guns in our room,” Ford pointed out. Stan cocked his head. Alright, fair enough.
“Sure, but none of them can blast as cleanly through walls.”
“Point taken,” Ford conceded with a shrug of his own. “Just don’t sell yourself short.”
“Please,” Stan snorted. “When do I ever?”
“A lot, actually.”
“That was meant to be rhetorical.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Ford, not sounding sorry.
Stan opened his mouth to give a clever retort to the smartass reply when a beeping started to emanate from inside of Ford’s jacket. Now, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Ford had a lot of devices and gadgets that went off at random times, however some were much more important to acknowledge than others. And the meaning behind this particular beeping seemed to be somewhat serious with how fast the color drained from his brother’s face. Stan turned down the volume on the TV and sat up straighter.
“What’s up?” He asked, apprehension pooling in his gut. Ford didn’t answer, instead he stared down at that screen for a good minute or so. Eyes darted around it, as if he was in disbelief of what he was seeing. It didn’t help to quell Stan's rising anxiety at all to put it lightly. “Ford?”
Ford snapped out of whatever he was thinking and held the gadget close to his chest. His eyes were wide, and his breathing had picked up. Gone was the calm, playful side of his brother, as he’d suddenly gained an uncanny resemblance to an animal on edge. He looked scared. He looked wild, Stan realized with a burst of concern.
“I… I have to check on something.”
With that, Ford abruptly began to determinedly march towards the foyer and Stan stumbled out of his chair. Reeling from how quickly this conversation had taken a turn.
“Wait, what?! Right now?” He yelped out.
“I’ll be back soon.” Before Ford could reach for the door, Stan grabbed his arm. His brother immediately stopped and raised his shoulders defensively. The sight had Stan fearing the worst, but the fact that Ford hadn’t pulled away from his grasp kept him somewhat grounded.
“Sixer, come on. What’s wrong?” Stan pleaded. Which was huge, because he rarely ever allowed himself to do so. A Pines man never begged. Or, at least, he used to think so. But Ford had not reacted this way to anything in months. Not in this closed off, get shit done talk later type of mindset. So, it had Stan understandably fumbling for answers.
Ford kept his back to him but did crane his neck slightly over his shoulder to look at Stan. Stan liked to think he’d gotten better at reading his brother, and most times he could, but if Ford really didn’t want him to know about something, he’d pull it off well.
“It’s nothing. At least I hope…” he trailed off, before yanking the door open. “I’ll be home by dinner.”
The door slammed in Stan’s face, and he was left to stare uselessly at it alone.
Unsurprisingly, almost predictably, Ford in fact was not home by dinner. The early evening melted away into night, as the crickets and owls began to chip and hoot right on cue. Stan, meanwhile, sat on the porch and waited. He waited for a long, long time while the kids, resolving to stay up with him but not get bitten up by mosquitoes, stayed inside watching a movie marathon that would no doubt have them asleep in less than an hour.
Stan glared out into the darkness ahead, the occasional firefly flying by to glow briefly in front of him. Why hadn’t he gone with him? What if the idiot had charged headfirst into danger and he was hurt or knocked out or— fuck, or worse with no way to find him.
Shaking his head, Stan closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the summer night air. “I swear, when this is over, he’s buyin’ a fuckin’ cellphone if it’s the last thing I do.”
“You okay out here, Mr. Pines?” Stan snapped his attention towards the door to see Soos standing in the illuminated doorway. He was still in his Mr. Mystery getup, having only lost the jacket and untied the tie. The sight gave Stan a welcome boost of warmth to his heart.
“I’m fine,” he shrugged off. “Just contemplatin’ if I could get away with fratricide.”
“Aw, come on, Mr. Pines,” Soos encouragingly smiled. “I’m sure Dr. Pines’s okay. The guy is, like, a literal superhero.”
Stan huffed. “He’s smart n’ strong, but he’s also reckless and dumb.”
Soos shuffled closer to the bench. “I get you’re worried about your brother, but stayin’ out here isn’t gonna make him come home any sooner. Everyone is watchin’ some awesome eighties movies inside, you should join us!”
Stan opened his mouth to refuse, but then he felt a pinch on the back of his neck and squatted a hand at it.
“Alright, fine,” he grumbled, rising to his feet. “These mosquitoes are gettin’ crazy.”
“That’s why I always spray myself with bug repellent,” Soos proudly proclaimed. “It works better than cologne. Also, if I put enough on it makes my head spin!”
Stan patted him on the back. “I think you should lay off it for a while, bud.”
Ten o’clock turned into eleven. And eleven turned to twelve. Stan and Soos eventually brought the kids from their makeshift fort up to their beds instead. Stan groaned when he saw the time and Soos offered to stay up longer with him.
“Nah, get some rest, kid,” Stan smiled, sleepily. “I’ll be back up in a little bit.”
A little bit turned into another hour, and soon Stan found himself passed out in his recliner while old movies played on in the background. He tossed and he turned restlessly, both with how uncomfortable he was and how increasingly worried he was growing. Even while asleep, his subconscious didn’t let him rest. Imagines of Ford in trouble flashed before his eyes. Nightmares of his brother falling down a cliff side, no not falling, being pushed. Ford calling out for help. Calling out his name for help.
Stan! Stan, help me! Help me!
“Stanley?”
Stan snapped awake, eyes blurry and his glasses askew on his face. Laying on his left side, he noticed a pair of legs standing in front of him. Sitting up abruptly, cringing at the aching pain in his back and neck and basically everywhere, Stan fixed his glasses and saw—
“Ford?!”
The TV was playing a rerun of an old sitcom, the laugh track ringing throughout the room. The blue light of the television flashed on Ford, lighting him up enough for Stan to get a good enough look at him. He seemed a little worse for wear. Glasses more cracked than they had been before he left, leaves in his hair, a few scratches on his face. However, what Stan really noticed was that he was wearing an entirely different outfit than he had been when he left. And it wasn’t as though he’d changed into a better one after having clearly suffered some sorta trauma. No, this one looked just as bad as he did himself. Tattered and beaten up and… a whole lot like the one he’d used to wear when he first came back through the portal. Only, the trench coat was darker, and his red sweater was… redder, somehow. Maybe it was just the crappy lighting.
The sight alone threw Stan for a whole ass loop.
“What the actual fuck, Stanford?!” He hissed out, forcing himself to keep his voice low so as to not wake the entire house. “Who the hell do ya think you are?! Where have ya been?! Do ya know how worried I’ve been?! You’ve got me stayin’ up waitin’ for ya like yer a teenager and I’m yer goddamn mother! And what the fuck are you wearing?! What happened to you?!”
Once he was done spitting out every question under the sun, Stan met Ford’s eyes long enough to notice that something was… off. He could feel it. Actually, Ford’s overall expression was a strange one, and Stan couldn’t quite place why he thought that way.
“That’s…” Ford swallowed before shaking his head, narrowing his eyes down at him. “That’s none of your business.”
Stan gawked up at him. “None of my business?! Ya disappear for five hours and got the gall to tell me I’ve no right to be worried?!”
“You’re overreacting, although that is quite typical for you to do,” Ford replied, voice monotone.
Stan sputtered furiously and stood up. “Are ya serious? You vanish off the face of the earth and the first thing ya do when you come back is—”
Ford hugged Stan. He hugged him and he hugged him tight, reaching up to grip at his hair, keeping him from moving. The display had Stan standing there limply and extremely confused, not knowing what the actual fuck was going on with all of these mood swings. Reaching up, Stan made to tentatively return the hug, but the moment he touched his back Ford released his death grip and pushed him away.
“I’ll be in the basement.” Turning, Ford made his way out of the room and into the gift shop. Stan watched on for a second, completely baffled, before racing after him.
“The basement?!” He questioned incredulously, entering the darkened room in time to see Ford punch in the code to the vending machine. “Ya haven’t been down there in almost a year, why’re ya—”
When he reached out to touch him, Ford slapped his hand away. Stan instinctively recoiled, holding his reddening hand close to his chest and rubbing it soothingly because, shit that had stung. Across from him, a million expressions seemed to cross over his brother's face and Stan had no time to try and decipher any of them.
“I apologize,” he grumbled, as if it hurt to say it. “I have something I need to do. I won’t be long, you should get some sleep.”
Stan tried to say something, but the next thing he knew Ford was opening the passageway and shutting it behind him. He stood there, watching the light flicker in the vending machine while the sitcom laugh track spilled out from the other room. Growing louder. Mocking him.
I won’t be long, he’d said. Now where had he heard that one before?