You can see the first chapter here and the second chapter here.
So as thanks for writing an intriguing story, here’s a little comic I made. I wasn’t sure about Stan’s age or his attire but I took some liberties (I don’t know to draw a beard, and they talked about shaving soooo I conveniently omitted it 😅) .
small detail I hadn’t noticed anybody pointed out:
before the portal where he could learn many out of dimension things, Ford apparently knows German and how the related fairy tales goes.
it could’ve been that Ford did learn the language in a class, but there’s a key word that makes this stand out:“Folk”. it could mean that it must be a familial language besides the implied Russian origins with Caryn. especially worded as “rusty”, as in he hasn’t spoken the language for a long time. sure adds more fuel to them being Ashkenazi besides the mention of Hanukkah and other things like Stan’s fez, doesn’t it?
for how rusty Ford says he is, he did understood Krampus well enough to have a chat on that page lol
so to deduce all of this: not only Jewish, Filbrick could be German. not only told his own jokes, he probably shared that part of himself, ft. folk tales! enough for ford and most likely stan to know since the past?
Naruto getting cornered by Sasuke in a fucked up yandere mode. Like, Naruto had been chasing his ass for years at this point and the moment he gets Sasuke's attention again, it's like the obsession is flipped... Sasuke wants to be near Naruto all the time, wants to be wrapped around him all the time and gets jealous easily. It's hard to tell from the outside, but Naruto notices. And he begins to wonder if this is how he looks when it came to Sasuke during the search... He gets asked to help Sasuke curb his behavior a bit to be more socially rational and... the temptation to stoke the flame of Sasuke's fixation on his weighes heavy on his heart.
Sasuke being just as obsessed with Naruto is so good. Because everyone makes fun of Naruto being so deranged that he would kill himself for Sasuke but I know the reverse is true (except Sasuke would just kill everyone else x3)
Ever since he came back to the village he’s utterly obsessed with sticking by Naruto’s side. Whether it’s because of a personal thought of “I can’t leave if I’m beside him, he won’t let me” or “I can’t leave now, not after all he did” or just a simple “he’s mine now”, even Sasuke isn’t sure. All he knows is that he cannot let Naruto out of his sight and that he gets this burning, crackling, deep seething rage in his chest whenever anyone else tries to get close to his Naruto.
Naruto notices, of course he does. But there’s some fucked up part of him that adores the attention. He’s certainly not gonna say no to Sasuke staying by his side, it’s what he’s always wanted. He knows deep down that it isn’t healthy but when has their relationship ever been healthy? Everyone asks him to make Sasuke chill out, he’s freaking everyone in the village out, and Naruto says yes but it just leads to even more time alone with each other. Sasuke loves it
[ID: Naruto fanart. The first shows Sasuke leaning over Naruto at the end of VOTE1; Naruto is unconscious, and Sasuke looks tired and miserable as rain pours around them. The second has the same composition, but now they're adults, and Naruto is leaning over Sasuke with a big grin as Sasuke smiles back sweetly, laying in a flowery field. End ID]
Results of choice 13: “…She was mistaken. Jorge must have tried to trick Diego and fooled everyone else” (50,0% out of 14 votes).
a/n: I'm trying out stuff, so this part is crossposted to AO3. Vote (a week-long) is still tumblr-only, because it works.
Stan closed his eyes and exhaled, calming himself down.
Yes, Jorge trying to have the upper hand in whatever happened would explain everything. He held his position not because he told everyone his intentions. He only shared them with a close circle of confidants, keeping the pawns or occasional partners in the dark about his true intentions.
That made perfect sense: whatever Grauntie Mabel took as Jorge siding with Diego simply meant - Jorge was playing his own game. And of course he'd have to play it to perfection, with Stan failing both at his own proposed plan and at getting leverage one too.
So, if Stan was to guess, Jorge was pretending to become partners with Diego until he didn't need to anymore. Meaning Stan had to play along till he could verify Jorge's real plan. Either by finding a way to call without anyone noticing… or some other way.
And that meant that for now Stan had his own part to perform. To help his family achieve Jorge's plan to perfection. While he had no doubts Grauntie Mabel could behave herself without suspicions, Stan wouldn't risk it because of the rest. Especially as they all had evident dislike for Jorge, saying some nonsense about kidnapping. They wouldn't be saying that if Jorge was a perfect tax-paying and law-abiding citizen with a well-respected job. Or if they knew Jorge's true intentions.
So Stan took another calming breath and looked at his Grauntie.
“Yes”, he nodded and tried to smile as reassuringly as he could, “I believe you, Grauntie”. After all, it wasn't her fault that Jorge made her believe in that. She saw exactly what she had to see to play according to Jorge's plan.
“Really?” Grauntie Mabel’s eyes widened for a second, before all her frame dropped in relaxed relief. “Oh good…” she smiled and in the next moment was already hugging Stan. “Oh pumpkin, you can't imagine how glad I am to finally see you…”
Stan froze for a moment, before his arms awkwardly found Grauntie's back and patted it. “Me too”, he whispered, feeling his own sort of relief settling. While the hug wasn't exactly comfortable, with Stan having to twist himself into a weird position over his little brother, it didn't matter.
The hug from Grauntie was just as warm and nice as Stan remembered. Maybe even better, because her smell, of weird fruit-like perfume and mothballs, suddenly tugged on Stan's heartstrings, making him frantically blink his eyes and sniffle, to quell his sudden desire to bawl right here and now.
And Stan refused too, not when everyone was watching, and…
That itself was now so weird, that all his family was here, all worried, as if nothing happened.
“Stan?” Grauntie Mabel probably felt him tensing, because she reluctantly leaned away, not releasing him fully, but Stan didn't need her to do it - he squirmed out himself and was surprised as immediately he was tugged back by Ford who not as much as wrapped his arms around him, but put a visible barrier between Stan and the rest of the room. To add to it, Shermie was now sitting in front of him, grabbing at Grauntie Mabel’s hands himself.
“He needs more rest”, Shermie's voice was surprisingly firm yet gentle. “And his back still hurts, so no sudden hugs, please. Warn us please”.
“You're the one doing everything without warning”, Ford mumbled, without real heat, and Stan was kind of in agreement.
Grauntie looked stunned at first, but then she smiled and nodded.
“Of course, of course. Don't worry, boys, we’ll take care of everything”, she was already standing up and nodding at her own twin. “Dipper, may I have a word with you? Outside? Caryn, you too, please.”
Stan hated how he immediately felt relieved as the room suddenly became much more empty. Wasn't he missing them all? Shouldn't he be glad they were here now?...
“Hi, Stanley”, Fiddleford, who stayed and now was taking a nearest seat, awkwardly waved at Stan. “I reckon you're already sick of everyone saying how we are glad you're alive and…”
“What, don't tell me you missed me too”, Stan made a show of rolling his eyes. Without leaving the pleasant confines of his twin's hug. “So, any idea…?”
“Of course I missed you too!” the thinner nerd exclaimed with such heat that it could be nothing else but the truth. “Sure, I won't be claiming I was the most vocal one, the competition was quite tough…” to which Ford's arms tightened even more, “But nevertheless, I too was devastated when… you know. And very rejoiced when Shermie called us…”
“You weren't”, Ford mumbled. “You immediately started panicking over kidnapping implications”.
“At least I didn't almost fall and break my nose over not looking where I was going”, Fidds glared at the other, before exhaling and turning to Stan. “Sorry, let's say it was quite a shock we got, and the rush afterwards didn't help either… But that's not important! How are you?”
Stan blinked, a bit surprised by the intensity of the gaze of the bespectacled guy, which was only a bit countered by a nervous fiddling of the guy's fingers.
“I'm fine?” he replied, taking his sensations into account. “My back and shoulder are a bit sore, probably should be careful with my ribs for at least a week, but some more rest and I'll be completely good!”
He was met with silence, before he felt Ford's forehead slightly pressing in his back, just to the side of the irritated area. “Ford?”
“...You still the same”, his twin mumbled, and by his forehead and arms still wrapped around Stan felt him shaking. “That's both so relieving and irritating…”
Stan laughed, but no one joined him. Instead now Shermie was back to hugging him from the front, and Fidds was frowning.
“Stanley…” the latter coughed. “That's… good to know you feel… fine, but I was asking more about…” Fidds looked around, to walls, floor, then at his own hands. “You took the news about your… caretaker quite fast. And considering how disturbed you seemed when you first heard them… Let's say I am concerned about your feelings.”
Ah, Stan got his mistake. Probably should've played up his own part a little better, to drag it out a bit? But actually Stan wasn't in the mood for giving out a whole show. Not to Grauntie, not to Fidds. So an easy way out was needed.
“I'm fine, really”, he shrugged. “We weren't really close. And actually it's not surprising someone ditched me agai… Careful, Ford! It hurts!” he shouted, as the grip of his twin became so tight that the ribs screamed in protest. And even as it immediately lessened, Ford's voice immediately dropped even lower.
“Sorry, sorry, but… Not surprising?! How can you say something like that…?”
Stan chuckled, without humour, feeling something ugly stirring in his chest. He tried to quell it, to ignore it as always. Really, after seeing so many concerns lately, hearing so much almost genuine joy over meeting him again, shouldn't his hidden thoughts be forever silenced? No, instead they were now hissing even louder, staining his own joy over being around his family once again.
“You tell me”, Stan whispered, refusing to look at anyone in particular. He hated that he said it, hated what he implied, but he also was feeling so drained he was unable to keep silent.
Immediately he felt stares and heard gasps. But Stan found a spot to safely stare. At the little chain that belonged to the one who…
“You ditched me once too”.
The chain tightened in response, slightly glimmering in sorrow and shimmering in protest.
And Shermie grabbed the hand wrapped in a chain, tugging on it until he caught Stan's stare.
“You mean before we met again?” he quietly asked. Stan simply nodded, not particularly wishing to share all what happened between him and Jimmy. But apparently Shermie didn't need it. His little brother nodded too, before he carefully put Stan's hand between his little ones. “He obviously cared about you. I think whatever happened between you before was some mistake, because you didn't see him then, he was…”
“Disturbingly scary?” Fidds offered.
“Unnecessary rude?” Ford huffed too.
“...So cool!” Shermie glared at them both, before returning to stare at Stan. “You know, if you don't believe me he cared…”
The chain tightened even more in pleadings, making Stan sigh.
“I know”, he looked away, “At least I know it now”. He heard Ford taking a breath to obviously say something, but Stan wasn't done. “He shouldn't have cared. Then I wouldn't kill him. Or whatever happens to his kind. He was right to ditch me that time, should've just stayed away from…”
“Shut up!” He felt little hands jamming his mouth, looked back at Shermie whose eyes were now filled with tears. “Don't… Don't… He wanted to save you, you dumbass! So don't talk like that! Like caring about you was something bad…!”
Stan wanted to interrupt, but Shermie kept pressing his little hands, so this time Ford actually managed to say whatever he wanted.
“I'm grateful to your friend”, he shuffled around on the hospital bed a little, so while there still was a some sort of hug, now Stan could see his face too. “He did something so noble and made me ashamed of myself.” Stan tried to interrupt one again, but he wasn't given the opportunity, as Ford sniffled too. “All those years I thought I would do anything to bring you back, but when the time truly came, I couldn't do anything, I just stood paralyzed in fear over losing you again, but your friend? He didn't hesitate. And…” Ford paused, frowning and putting one hand to his chest, before hesitantly continuing. “I can swear he didn't regret Breaking the Oath for you and receiving the burn of consequences for it. But… Stan, earlier? You meant me, right?” now Ford's eyes too were filled with tears. “Of course you are, it's all my fault! I supported the decision for you to go back without me and then I never visited and then I believed you were dead and never actually thought to verify it…”
“Well, whatever”, Stan gently shook Shermie's hands from his face, cradling them in his own. “All in the past, you got what you wanted, I'm not actually dead…”
“I didn't!” Ford finally threw his arms into the air, making Stan immediately miss the sort of hug they were having. “I certainly didn't want you to go missing or assumed to be dead or kidnapped or…”
“Relax”, Stan chuckled, “I simply meant you having all the research grounds to your own liking and staying with your new friends and…”
“It didn't matter without you!” “I was your friend too!”
Double shout made Stan wince from its volume, before he could even start to parse its meaning. And then he blinked.
“Come again?” he squinted.
Ford and Fidds glared at each other, before simultaneously sighing.
“Helping Grunkle Dipper in his research wasn't as exciting if you weren't there”, Ford clasped his fingers together. “Sure, at first I liked how professional it all was, but with time…” he smiled sheepishly, looking down. “...I missed having you nearby.”
“What, missed me fumbling everything or breaking the mood?” Stan couldn't stop the remark, remembering one of their quarreling. But to his surprise, Ford nodded, smiling even wider.
“Yes!” he shouted, eyes shining in the weird mix of tears and excitement. “You just knew how to bring out the unexpected or to lift the spirits! Every research trip would be so better if only you were there…”
“You never told me that, when we were still talking”, Stan crossed his arms, not sure, torn between the desire to join his brothers in openly weeping or to deny Ford his attempts for… what exactly? To make it look like Stan misunderstood something? That he was actually welcomed?
Ford faltered at that, looking away. “I know”, he whispered. “I realised it too late”.
“So, after you thought I died”, Stan nodded, pleased with sudden understanding. And weirdly disturbed that his suspicions were starting to be proved. Of course it all was due to them being relieved he wasn't dead… He felt his twin stare. “What?”
“You don't believe me”, Ford whispered, his eyes widening.
“What? Of course I do!” Stan tried to reassure him. “You were grieving, so you thought of every way you could've prevented it. It's alright.”
“It's alr…?!” Ford sputtered. “I grieved you and you say…!”
“Stop, both of you!” Fidds shouted, while Shermie already was grabbing both of their hands. “Stanford, calm down! And Stanley…” he paused, now hesitating. “You know the saying about absence…”
“That makes the heart fonder yada yada”, Stan rolled his eyes. “It's bullshit, Fiddlenerd. You never were a poetic one back then, so don't start now".
Fidds sighed, but now it held a sort of irritation all over. Meant Stan was right…
And then Fidds laughed. “Oh, I can't believe I actually missed your name-calling!”
Stan blinked, then glanced at Ford who was very poignantly looking away. “So, did he finally go crazy or what? I told you, all that boinking his head over the tree branches wouldn't end well…”
“Stan”, Shermie tugged on his hand. “You do believe we were really missing you? I promise you, we all really really did!”
Oh, if the answer was so simple as just yes or no. Stan felt them all being so sincere now, almost believed in it, truly, but…
It wouldn't last long. And Stan wasn't as naive to let himself be shattered when everything would crumble once again. No, better to just never allow himself to forget it.
But little Shermie didn't deserve to be sad over the cruel truth.
“Of course”, Stan performed the biggest grin he could and ruffled the hair of the youngest brother, ignoring the tightening chain on the wrist. “Thank you for reminding me, Sherm”.
Shermie widely grinned in response, diving back into another hug. Yet at the same time Stan caught his twin’s look and smiled at him. But Ford wasn't smiling back. He was frowning, before sighing and staring even harder.
“I still would think the same way if I didn't think you were dead”, he said.
“Of course”, Stan smiled, not having any desire or strength anymore to prove his twin wrong. “Now… I remember someone never finishing his tale of a haunted library, so why can't we…?”
Ford frowned, as if saying ‘I know what you are trying to do’, before shaking his head and crawling back to ‘his’ previous space, opening his arms. Stan probably was too eager with how quickly he took the offering of another hug, and obviously Shermie didn't hesitate either.
“I… don't think there's a space in your cuddle pile for me”, Fidds chuckled, yet it sounded a bit regretful.
“No one invited you, Fiddly-boy”, Stan showed his tongue. But then he felt his wrist being pinched by Shermie.
“That's rude, Stan!” the littlest of Pines frowned at him in displeasure. “And everyone knows, the more the merrier.”
Stan groaned but glanced at Ford's friend who was trying to look anything but disappointed. “You really? Want to join?”
“Don't bother”, Fidds crossed his arms and looked away. “I still have some things to do…”
“I was wondering if what Ford was telling was actually true”, Stan now was staring at the ceiling very hard. It was a nice ceiling. “It would be nice if someone who actually was there would be calling out his bullshit.”
After a pause he heard a chair being dragged over the floor in an attempt to get it closer. And, as Stan glanced back, Fidds was smiling at him.
“Thank you”, he hesitantly patted Stan over his closest arm. And then added after a pause. “So, it's about the murder of a Butler Ghost at the library I reckon?”
Stan chuckled and glanced up at his twin.
“See?! At least someone knows how to start a story with a hook! Go on, Fidds!”
***
When it was time for the next change of bandages, Stan actually managed to bargain for letting him walk towards the doctor's cabinet and not to continue laying as a sack of potatoes on his bed.
Bargaining with Ford for the latter to wait in the hallway turned out to be impossible, and Stan gave up after his twin used the forbidden tactics of pleading shiny eyes.
At least actually agreeing to Ford's presence instantly made Grauntie and Great Uncle to back away themselves, meaning it was indeed more about preventing him from accidentally running away once again then anything else.
And as Mom and Shermie declared to go and find some spare clothing for Stan, the latter made some more deductions. First, none of his previous clothes survived. And second, there were apparently talks about his discharge. Meaning Stan had better soon inquire at what their plans were and how Stan was supposed to fit there. And whether those plans were even convenient to Stan who already had some of his own.
For now, however, he was more focused on the way the doctor huffed, checking out his back and shoulder.
“…everyone will recognise you for what you are…”
Stan shivered, chasing away the hated voice from the memories. He didn't want to know or to remember, but in a way he was already doing it. Great Uncle once mentioned it, and…
“…everyone will recognise you…”
“Stan?” He felt his hands tugged, and as he looked up, he saw his twin staring in clear worry. “I’m here, I'm with you…”
Stan nodded, feeling his throat tightening. He still had no desire to know, but the more he tried to evade any thoughts, the more the realisation kept burning.
Everyone already knew. Great Uncle knew. And if he knew, probably all the rest knew too. They brought him to the hospital so they even saw it before the doctors.
So there was no actual choice for Stan, was there?
He tugged on Ford's hand back and whispered: “I want to see it.”
Ford obviously had a half-formed question on his mouth, before nodding and glancing at the doctor. The latter's reaction was of some huffs and maybe head gestures, before the next moment the doctor was stepping away, and Ford was taking his spot.
A sound of a camera roll, and the next moment Stan was already given his twin's phone, staring at the screen and seeing…
…
Stan clicked on the options and immediately deleted the image.
“Stan?” his twin hesitantly put a hand over his other shoulder. “It… probably can be treated at Gravity Falls. I think some herbs or some magic can make it heal without a trace…”
“No need”, Stan chuckled, feeling a weird numbness spreading over his soul. “Kinda flattering, don't you think?”
“No?!” Ford shouted. “In what way is it flattering?! Stan, you don't….”
Stan chuckled and closed his eyes. Of course Ford wouldn't get it. Sure, maybe it could be taken as an insult, or an attempt to humiliate Stan…
But really, when one would look past it (...just as Stan just did), it was a fear. A respect for what the Shrimp was. For what Stan was.
He was branded with a title that wasn't some empty word. He was branded because Diego hated what the Shrimp represented and in a way…
“Stan, are you even listening?!”
…In a way that was not just another scar, but a little bit more - a proof of merit. A proof of who he truly was.
Stan felt himself grinning, stomping over the spreading feeling of emptiness in his chest, ignoring a pulsing sensation over his wrist.
In a way Diego was right. Everyone would recognise him for what he really…
Stan was shaken by his shoulders.
“Hey! What's the idea?!” he screamed at his twin and his panicked expression.
“You…” Ford gulped, his gaze running all over Stan's face. “You looked… As if you…” it looked as if Ford was struggling with formulating his thoughts which always was a rarity. “Stan… Talk to me! Please!”
“What about?” Stan shrugged, wincing that the motion irritated his brand. “That's just a wound, it'll heal.”
“We both know it is not as simple”, Ford looked past his twin. “Can… can you give us a minute? Please?”
Apparently, the doctor didn't mind, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Ford was frantically whispering.
“Stan, look, I know what it means. I know that's your handle when you worked for Jorge, but it's over and…”
“Obviously you don't know shit”, Stan interrupted him. “They branded me because we made them angry and we made them hate us”, he was once again grinning. “Don’t you get it? People like Diego don't hate weaklings or mere obstacles. They hate their rivals, and that's what…”
“You're not the Shrimp!”
Stan blinked at the irritated face of his twin.
“Did you hit your head or what?” he tilted his head. “You just said you know who I am.”
Ford took the deepest loudest breath before continuing.
“Stan,” he relocated his palms to Stan's cheeks. “Stan, you're not there any longer, you're not with Jorge or his gang. You won't ever need to be whoever he wanted you to be…”
“Oh?” Stan laughed, almost charmed by a level of belief in his sibling’s voice. “So what do you think will happen after me being released from here?”
“Well…” Ford obviously faltered and his fingers twitched. “You’ll return with us home…”
“And where do you think my home is?” Stan started to hate their conversation. Was Ford so naive to still not get it? Or was he deluding himself out of sentimentality?
“Gravi…”
“It was never my home”.
Ford flinched, but his hands didn't leave their previous spot. “Okay, I… should've predicted that. Then to Mom's and Shermie's…?”
“That’s theirs, why should….” Stan paused, frowning, before gasping and grabbing his twin's wrist. “They can't return there”, he whispered, feeling his insides freezing. “I heard Diego gave orders to check on their home! I think I managed to delay it, but his guys now know where they live! Diego may decide to target them again!”
Sure, if Jorge was pretending to be partners with the other, Diego wouldn't have a reason to try anything of the sorts, but this treacherous leech could still try to strike and pretend it wasn't his guys! So no way, better be safe and…
“Oh fuck”, Ford whispered, his eyes alarmed. “Of course, they can't go home yet, you're right. Even if Diego…” he paused, before coughing, “I mean, every precaution matters…”
“What aren't you telling me?” Stan frowned, alarmed by an aborted sentence. “What about Diego?”
Ford obviously gulped. “As… you heard, he and Jorge are working together? I'm not sure why they would target you and our family ever again…”
“Jorge wouldn't”, Stan immediately protested, before reminding himself of his own plans. “He wouldn't gain anything out of it, but Diego is a cunning asshole who won't resist to strike even at his partners, no matter what he's currently doing,” Stan shuddered. “Believe me, even if the bastard was beyond bars, he'd still find a way to pass a word for his men to do some dirty work in his name!”
Ford squinted at him, before sighing. “Let me call back for your doctor to finish your bandages, and then we'll… we need to decide what to do next… May I have my phone back?”
Stan glanced down, at his twin's gadget, with a dark screen now. Suddenly, he realised that was a way to contact… anyone, actually, and verify some questions that kept piling up.
But Ford was waiting with his palm open, and Stan was left to mourn his suddenly lost window of possibility, refusing to feel trapped, as he placed the item in question there.
Ford just wanted to have his phone back, and surely, if Stan simply asked to call, Ford would allow it. Stan didn't want to check it, didn’t need to confirm it.
And true to his words, Ford went to the door to shout for the doctor. What Stan didn't expect was for Ford not to return, but instead to run away down the hallway.
Something was indeed wrong.
Stan kept frowning as his shoulder was back to being covered with gauze. And suddenly… he knew how to check for at least the worst case scenario, without raising any suspicions from staff treating him, while bypassing his family’s scrutiny.
“Hey”, he turned to the doctor, “How is my family paying my bills?”
The doctor paused.
“Well, as far as I know, due to you having lost all of your documents, there's no insurance to be called in. I think your Great Aunt and Great Uncle settled the matter by paying with actual gold or something?”
Stan nodded, that sounded reasonable with his old records being too dangerous to use or even cancelled. But also…
“I have full insurance coverage”, he turned to look at his doctor. “At least I should have, I was in the middle of changing my name so I'm not sure if it was approved yet. Can you check it out?”
The doctor frowned, but still put away the gauze and took out a pen with his notebook. “Sure? For what name?”
And that was a true question. Stan had one or two even, to use specifically on his missions as for not to be caught or linked back to anyone. Those were also the ones he'd use if he accidentally got ill at home.
But there was also one ID he was to use as an extra precaution. One that he was to use only if the worst case became the reality and he was expected to go into hiding until further orders would be given. In an ideal situation he’d be given his new documents together with instructions, but there was also one scenario in case there would be no time to do it all by the usual script.
So Stan dictated a social number and also one of memorised contacts as his supposed insurance company. “Please tell me, if the procedure is still unfinished and the record is yet unavailable”.
The doctor nodded. “I confess, if your record is actually valid, it would save us so much trouble. I'll pass it on and hope to get to you with nice results.”
Stan grimly nodded. For him it was just the opposite. The nice results wouldn't mean trouble. They would mean disaster.
***
As Stan was deemed free to leave the cabinet, fresh bandages and all, Ford wasn't waiting for him in the hallway. Actually, none of the family was there, and Stan was disturbed to realise just how refreshing it felt, like a breath of sea air after hours of living on nothing but by-products of fire.
Stan felt rotten: only a week ago he'd given everything just to spend an hour with his family, and now he was seeking a reprieve from them. Didn't he miss them? Didn't he love them?
And yet, at this moment, instead of heading the way toward his assigned room, his legs took him in the opposite direction. Truth to be told, Stan didn't think he wanted to escape once again, he just wanted to prolong this moment, not to return yet. To have an opportunity to think calmly, to make sense of his feelings and his situation.
And Stan even honestly started on it, until he spotted a figure up ahead the hallway, slowly becoming familiar as he approached it. The recognition hit him, stopping him in his tracks, just as a figure raised her own eyes and looked first past him, then did a double take, before frowning.
“I'm sorry, but I think…” the lady, with light brown hair, long enough and braided, clad in comfy t-shirt with logo of the Duck Warriors and pajama pants, tugged at her companion whose arm she was using as a prop. “Should I know him?”
Her companion, tall and chubby man looked at Stan too, and immediately his face was lit up with a smile.
“Oh! That's the lost little dude of the Pines family! Oi, little dude!” the said man started waving with pure enthusiasm.
Stan gulped, just as the couple approached him.
“Hi”, he offered, staring at Melody who still was looking at him. He had no idea what to say more. This was not an encounter he expected to have, and moreover… Shouldn’t Melody still be unable to remember what had happened? She obviously struggled to recognise him, so… What should he even do right now?
“You're Stanley, right?” Melody's companion took the opportunity for him. “I'm Soos Ramirez, friend of your family, and this is my fiancée, Melody…”
“Bruno”, Melody gasped, her eyes widening, as she stumbled away from her fiancé and grabbed Stan by his shoulders. “Bruno, of course! Goodness, you look horrible! What happe…? Oh, oh, of course! Sorry to be so reckless and get you…!”
“Yes, that's me!” Stan grinned, feeling his eyes stinging. He didn't think he wished so hard for her to recognise him, but apparently he did. He even put his palms above hers to check whether they were real. “You honestly remember me?!” And then, as Stan saw Melody slightly nod, the dam inside him stopped leaking and fully broke down. “I'm sorry, so sorry!” he cried and, unable to bear her gaze, looked down, at his own slippers. “It’s all my fault, I should’ve done something to prevent the crash…”
“Nonsense!” the hands on his shoulders tightened, “The fault is mine! Oh, just look at you!” Melody’s voice became frantic and shaking, and then one of her palms lightly touched Stan’s cheek. “I wasn’t told you got hit so bad, I had no idea! And I couldn’t even remember… Oh god, what if I killed you…”
Stan paused, feeling something missing. What did she…?
“If you… What?” he dumbly repeated, lifting his head to see Melody’s distraught expression. “What?”
“Sorry to intervene”, Soos politely coughed, getting both of their attention. “But… Correct me if I’m wrong, but…”
“Yes!” Melody shouted at her fiancé, but without releasing Stan from her gentle grip. “That’s Bruno! He was with me, when we crashed! Why didn’t you tell me someone else got hurt so bad? You didn’t need to spare my feelings…”
“But that means…” Soos frowned, at the same time as Stan realised the issue, quietly chuckling.
“Oh no, all of that is not from the crash”, he shook his head. “It’s… Actually, it’s a long story, but I got away from the crash mostly unscratched…”
“You’re the one who stole that other car and ran away”, Soos’s voice quieted, showing the man plunging into his thoughts. “That Shrimp guy, the one who the police were covering for…”
Stan flinched and shook Melody’s hands from himself. “You know it, of course you know”, he whispered, stepping away. “Look, I didn’t mean…”
The next moment his retreat was stopped, this time by Soos’s firm grip on his shoulder. The man looked at him, all serious, frowning and without a hint of previous smile.
Stan gulped and looked down again, to evade the judging gaze. Even if it wasn’t accusing yet, it wouldn’t be any longer now, and Soos had all rights, it was his fiancée after all, and…
“Actually, I don’t care about car theft or anything you did before to earn that fame, as the only thing that matters to me was what you did after the crash”, Soos quietly started. Here, that was it. Stan wondered if the man was more of a physical retribution or a verbal one… Not like he wanted to stop him. He deserved it, after all… “Thank you, I owe you one, little dude.”
And Soos hugged him.
Making Stan’s brain flatline.
“Huh?” he wondered after a moment. “What?” he blinked, wiggling out of the hug a bit to glance at Melody. She was staring at them with teary eyes and a wide smile.
“You’re the one who saved her”, Soos’s voice became whispering. “Dude, the doctors told me Mel could truly not survive if you didn’t act quickly, so…”
Stan gulped and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax into the hug. He… did?
“It’s rude whispering when there are more than two, you know,” Melody’s voice was closer now too, finding Stan’s shoulder and once again grabbing it. “But… Bruno, Soos mentioned you ran away? Why?”
Stan needed only a moment to decide. Even if he wouldn’t - Soos already knew and would tell his fiancée anyway. She would know everything, and this way… Stan could try to explain as best as he could.
“Bruno is not my real name”, he looked at Melody again, feeling her companion starting to release him. “It’s Stan. And… I couldn’t let the police discover me. Couldn’t risk them arresting me. Sorry.”
That reminded him, he should ask Great Uncle Mason about what they did tell the police. Did they know about Stanley Pines? Was the warrant for his name still active? Or reissued if he was considered dead apparently? And what about the Shrimp? Great Uncle Mason didn’t look like he really wanted to catch him anymore, but…
“Ah,” Soos snapped his fingers and leaned towards Melody. “I guess we should postpone telling the police you remembered something else, you know…” he winked in the end, and Melody chuckled after a moment.
“I see”, she nodded. “Pity, the officers were so lovely in their attempts to get to the bottom of it, but regretfully, still nothing new”.
Stan blinked, before gasping:
“What? But… why? You don’t need to cover for me…”
“Nonsense”, Melody gently patted his shoulder. “After our coolest journey we’re like best partners!”
“And you’re one of the Pines, so you’re like family? Of sorts”, Soos winked at Stan too, just as one of his pockets started ringing with a cheerful 8-bit melody. “Oh sorry”, he mumbled, stepping away and taking out his phone. “Hi dude…”
“But really, Bru… Stan”, Melody now was grabbing both of Stan’s hands, “You need to tell me everything that's happened. And… Where’s Shanklin? I thought you were inseparable…”
“He ran away”, Stan sighed, lowering his shoulders. “I want to go searching for him as soon as I’m able, I was told he was fine, but…” he gulped, looking down. “...He got hurt even worse than me.”
“I’m sure he’s fine”, Melody’s voice was full of warm reassurance. “He looks like he can look after himself”.
That was what Stan kept telling himself, but as Melody said it too, it felt more real, it felt…
“Sorry to interrupt you, little dude”, Soos now was the one gently gripping Stan’s shoulder, “But I guess your folks are going mad searching for you. Do you want us to walk you back?”
Stan deeply exhaled. Of course, his little moment of freedom ended, too soon, if he was to confess…
“Stan?” Melody tugged on his hands. “Do… you want to go back to your family?”
“Yes”, Stan tugged back and stepped away, making both of the pair release him. He wasn’t lying, he really was, for years it was the only true wish he had. Nothing had changed, nothing. “Let’s go.”
He already started walking down the hallway and immediately heard double steps following him. And he even was glad they were there, watching his back in a way. He already liked Melody, and her fiancé was as pleasant as she described him to be…
It didn’t take long for them to be found and noticed by…
“Stan!” Ford was already running up towards them, immediately grabbing his twin by an elbow. “Where were you?! I returned and the doctor said you went away on your own…”
“Decided to walk”, Stan couldn’t make himself meet his twin’s eyes. “Sorry”.
“Don’t apologise, Stan”, Soos suddenly broke into their talk. “We distracted you with all our talking, so it’s on us”.
Ford hummed something, but his grip lessened, just as he fell in steps by Stan’s side.
***
“No, no, no! We’re checking him out and then we immediately return. To Gravity Falls, all of us, and you two as well”, Great Uncle Mason was pacing back and forth all over the room.
“But our apartment!" Mom protested. “Surely we can at least pack some things there?”
“No! Too dangerous! I won’t allow anyone from our family to be endangered any more! Don’t you get it?!” Great Uncle Mason obviously was only steps away from fuming.
Stan was back on his bed, sitting and huffing. His attempts to mention how he had no desire to go there and that he actually had his own place to return were ignored by everyone. Mostly with arguments of Stan being injured and in need of someone to watch for him and so on and so on.
Fidds kept evading his questions about Shanklin’s last known location, and even Soos’ and Melody’s presence didn’t help, as Grauntie Mabel almost immediately shut them down with ‘The matter is much deeper than you two can imagine’.
Actually, Stan liked the idea of straight up sneaking out and running away more and more. He probably could try and track Shanklin on his own. And lay down in his own apartment till he could learn more of the situation.
At least this time he could call his brothers when he’d settled. And when he’d learn of Jorge’s real plan, and maybe as soon as he would help Jorge to take down Diego, he could reassure his family the danger had passed…
“Okay, okay, stop shouting!” Mom sighed and dropped down on a chair. “I got your point, we’re going as you say. But are we having enough cars to take everyone there? Mabel’s can take only five, ideally four if for a long ride…”
“We returned on mine”, Fidds made an input in conversation. “That’s another five at max… And we don't even need as many.”
“Then it’s decided”, Great Uncle Mason nodded. “Me, Mabel, Ford and Stan will take ours, while you will drive Caryn and Shermie. Everyone agrees…?”
“No!” suddenly, it was Shermie. “I want Stan to go with us!”
“Don’t be silly”, Grautie Mabel smiled at the youngest Pines. “Sweetie, Stan is hurt and needs us to watch him…”
“Actually, I can do that too”, Mom huffed. “That’s my son, so he’s going with us. Fiddleford, I hope you…”
“No, I don’t mind”, Fidds quickly glanced at Stan and smiled. “As long as Stan promises not to mock my choice of music…”
“No! Wait!” Ford jumped on his feet. “Grunkle Dipper is right! What if something happens! We can protect Stan…”
“You mean we can’t?” Shermie shouted. “Just give me one of Grunkle Dipper’s cool guns and I…”
“No one is giving Shermie a gun!” Mom and Grauntie Mabel screamed together in unison, and Great Uncle Mason started saying something too…
“You know, while we’re not going to Gravity Falls right away, as we still need to grab some stuff from our home, we can take someone too…” Soos proposed, followed by Melody nodding, and Stan winced as nobody obviously tried to even hear them out…
Yet everyone immediately quieted down after the loud knocking at the door. Heads turned to a guy clad in a nurse uniform who awkwardly coughed and was already approaching Stan.
“Sorry”, the nurse mumbled, “I was asked to get your signature”.
Stan grabbed the offered papers, quickly going over it and feeling his soul going numb. The chain immediately reacted by tightening in support, and Stan reflexively patted it, before taking a pen from the nurse’s hands and coming up with a new signature on a spot, suitable for a printed out name.
“Hey, what…?” Great Uncle Mason was already near, grabbing the papers and going over them too… “What is the meaning of it?! Who is Alejandro Torres and why is he paying for your medical bills? Didn’t we…”
“That’s me,” Stan grabbed them back and shoved them at the nurse. “While I appreciate your trying to pay for them, I have the full coverage.” At the same time Stan glanced at them all, at Great Uncle Dipper who was standing with open mouth, at Grauntie Mabel who was frowning at the exiting nurse. At Ford, his twin, who tilted his head as soon as he noticed the look.
Did they know? Did it happen after they parted ways with Jorge? Or…
“So, that’s another of your aliases under… him?” Ford gulped. “Stan, they can track you down if you use it…”
Yes and no. They could. Eventually, when the time would come. Because the confirmed ID meant… the whole cartel went down, leaving only several hidden contacts to warn everyone they could reach and help them to hide.
“Don’t worry”, Stan shook his head, gritting his teeth. “It’s not connected to Jorge”. And that was exactly the point. The confirmed ID meant for Stan to lay low. Not to contact anyone he knew. Not to return to any places associated with the cartel. Abandon even his own apartment and go for the best hide he could find.
Stan exhaled, not believing his own thoughts.
It really seemed going to Gravity Falls was his ideal solution. Settle there and wait for a message or…
…The chain tightened once again, sharing some warmth. Stopping Stan from thinking of the worst possibilities.
Stopping Stan from feeling alone in a room full of people. People who probably knew more and weren’t ever intending to share any information with him.
People who were now back to discussing, and as Stan tuned in - it was the same issue. Who would take Stan as a driving companion and…
“Doesn’t anyone want to ask me for my opinion?” he grumbled in irritation. He mostly intended it to be just a thought spoken out loud, but instead there were gasps and guilty looks.
“You’re right”, Great Uncle Mason slowly exhaled. “I beg your pardon. Of course you should be the one to decide. So, who’d you want to go with? I still insist that you think about going with us…”
“Shermie, it’s just for a brief trip”, Ford rolled his eyes while taking one of Stan’s hands from Shermie. “You’ll see Stan soon enough when we all reunite back home… So…” he looked at Stan, “What do you say? Join me? With Grunkle and Grauntie we’ll get you to Gravity Falls safe and quick!”
A small cough from the side was paired with a small wave from Melody, reminding Stan of another option.
So he pondered his choices. And between all of them, the one he liked the most would be to go…
CALLING ALL WRITERS, ARTISTS, ANIMATORS, VOICE ACTORS, AND MUSICIANS!!!!
If you were disappointed by how Stranger Things ended, if you felt betrayed, queerbaited, confused, and just appalled by that monstrous let-down of a finale, I'm right there with you.
We watched this show to escape from the horrors of the real world, not to relive them in the cruelest, most malicious way possible.
Seeing how they ruined their own characters, who made many of us feel seen and represented, made a mockery of queer people, of their fans, many of whom remained devoted since day one, and turned a show that used to give us comfort into one that gave the general audience---the very ones it claimed to not be for---more fodder to hate and attack us, it's perfectly acceptable, if not expected, to be upset right now.
But the good thing is, these characters no longer belong to the DB now. Now, they belong to us---the ones who truly understood them in the first place. Now we are the ones who get to tell their story, the real story, since after all they made it so open for interpretation that literally anything is possible.
If you're interested, here's my proposal:
a multi-episode, creatives-driven collaboration to reimagine Stranger Things as a whole (for now the focus is on season 5 primarily) and make it what it was originally meant to be: a nostalgic tribute to the 80's and a tale of love and acceptance dedicated to fans who never got to experience that in their own childhoods
A diverse cast of characters with actually ACCURATE representation
A team of 15-20 animators, writers, VAs, etc. who work together on a single project and a community of people who love what the show was supposed to represent but were unsatisfied by the execution (and who just want to put their frustration into something meaningful)
The reimagined series will be posted in parts to a YouTube channel dedicated to the show
A chance to fix the flaws and plot holes in ST lore and world-building and make the ending we actually wanted to see (possessiongate/ conformitygate was such a missed opportunity)
The idea is still a work in progress, but I believe if we work together this could actually be pretty big! If you can't participate, that's okay! Please spread the word and share this post to reach more people so we can actually MAKE. THIS. HAPPEN. Let's show the DB how to do it the RIGHT way.
Results of choice 12: “Well, now I'm intrigued. What's with the haunted library?” (37,5% out of 16 votes).
a/n: by the way, I'm slowly moving (and redacting) the old parts to AO3, so if anyone wants to bookmark or refresh some parts - feel free to check out!
For a second or two Ford looked like he was surprised, before his smile widened.
“Really? Well, it was indeed a rather curious incident that allowed me to make corrections in Grunkle Dipper's Ghost Leveling Chart…”
Stan groaned.
“Back to the fun stuff please?”
“Oh right! Sorry!” Ford coughed and continued. “So, apparently there is this ghost community in Portland that each year does a ‘Solve the murder’ party where one of the ghosts pretends to be a dead body…”
“Pretend? Aren't they already dead?”
“They are! But they try so hard to just lay down on the floor and not to float away… ahem, anyway! This year they settled on ‘murderous librarian pissed over the late return of the books’ scenario and chose Gravity Falls Public Library as their scene…”
“Ford…”
“So that's what Fiddleford and I stumbled into and tried to capture them because…”
“Ford!”
“What?!”
“Did you just…” Stan groaned once again. “You can't just start with a reveal to your story! How am I supposed to be interested if you already told me this is just a bunch of nerds playing around?”
“But I'm just getting to the most interesting bit!” Ford protested. “They were so passionate about their party that they used their powers to make the library seem like an actual crime scene! There was blood everywhere and weapons laying around and they made an altar out of all the books…”
“All those years and you're still shit at telling stories”, Stan looked away, feeling a small wave of confusing affection spreading. Ford grew a lot since they last saw each other, and sure, Stan still was in the process of finding and storing in mind every detail that made his twin even more different (...and every detail that let them stay similar), but at that moment? He saw the little kid shouting in wonder over every new mystery Gravity Falls offered them. The little kid that had to be dragged away or he would be just stuck at the same place till the next morning.
The little kid that Stan kept missing every night since he went back home. And with time managed to try and miss less and less… but who was he trying to convince?
He missed his twin just as strongly, and just a little hint of what they used to be was enough to remind him of that.
And now Ford was here, sitting, still holding Stan's hand. Both a cruel hope to return back to what they used to be. And startling evidence that nothing could ever be the same. Not with the way Ford's voice was much deeper (and Stan missed all the opportunities to poke fun of when it broke), not with the way Ford was now dressing like a college teacher despite probably only starting one or still even finishing high school (could he skip classes, no longer held back by anyone dragging him down?) and given his temples were sort of white now the ‘teacher’ look was almost complete (and really? If Ford already started greying, would Stan be soon finding grey hairs himself?), not with the way Ford no longer tried to hide his hands (though he was obviously more busy holding Stan's hand for that to be a conclusive observation).
So many little details, and Stan wasn't there when they appeared. And he was supposed to! They were supposed to…
This train of thoughts was interrupted by Ford tugging on their hands that he still hadn't let go.
“What?” Stan glanced back, and Ford smiled, his eyes suspiciously shining.
“Yeah, you right”, his smart twin nodded. “Do you… do you want… maybe…” then he looked away himself. “Never mind, that's stupid”.
But Stan didn't need that phrase to be completed to understand the meaning. And maybe if Ford in a way was the first to suggest it, then Stan could believe he wasn't selfishly grabbing at the opportunity to pretend for everything to be normal.
“Only because you asked, Ford”, he tugged back with the joined hands, making his twin smile with a small relieved sigh. “So, let's see… You and the techno-nerd…”
“Fiddleford!” Ford interjected, and Stan groaned.
“Oh pardon me… You and the Fiddlenerd…” he felt better, hearing his twin actually giggle. “...entered the dark and menacing building of the Library, alone, in the dark of the night… and it was a full moon!” judging by Ford's expression, he wanted nothing more than to correct Stan's story and add the exact timestamps, actual moonphase and maybe even weather conditions. Too bad Stan tugged on their hands again and that worked. “And there were no human sounds around, only distant wailing and suspicious creaks. ‘Let’sh not go there, Shtanfird’...”
“He doesn't have This kind of accent!” Ford was back to giggling.
“Oh so you admit he has one?”
“I never said he hasn't!”
Stan blew a raspberry in a way to make it clear he didn't admit a defeat, only a tactical retreat, and continued, in a mockingly high voice:
“‘Fear not, my…’”
“I do Not sound like that!”
“Oh, you actually do not, not anymore”, Stan laughed, ignoring a pang, and continued in a much deeper voice: “‘Fear not, my fearsome friend! We won't be steered away from our noble quest of knowledge! The holy books full of Math and Formulas are awaiting for us to liberate them…!’”
Stan expected some more joking protests (or maybe plain laughter if he was lucky), but as he glanced at his twin to gather his reaction, Ford was biting his lip, staring at the floor and looking a bit distraught.
Oh crap, did Stan go too far?! He got too comfortable in his pretending of them being alright, but clearly Ford didn't yet, and Stan shouldn't have poked fun at his favourite subjects…
“I'm sorry”, he looked away, at the wall, feeling any jovial mood evaporating. And luckily, he was in the spot with a perfect excuse to drop everything. “I think I'm tired indeed. I'll sleep now”.
Which he wouldn't be, or maybe would. Maybe he needed, to get back his strength and stop being so weak as to give into temptations…
“Stan, please,” Ford whispered behind him. “... That's me who's sorry! It's just… Not important! Can you please continue?”
Stan grumbled something. He wasn't even sure if it was just a rejection or something more. But what he was sure of was that he wasn't trying to get his hand free. Ford still was clutching it, and despite everything Stan was stupid enough to pretend it was something.
…
Screw everything, he was hurt, he could be allowed to grasp at any bit of his twin’s affection for as long as it was offered.
And Ford was silent for a bit, before exhaling very heavily - and well, that was it. That was obviously the moment he was done, and now he'd release Stan's hand and find an excuse and…
“We weren't there for some math books”, Ford whispered, sounding like he was admitting something important.
“Good for you to finally get some other interests”, Stan mumbled, not looking back. So what? This wasn't such a crucial detail, but to Ford it apparently was.
And now his twin would spend hours ranting about why it was crucial and why Stan should care.
Stan both wanted it and feared it. Sure, that meant more Ford talking and not leaving, but usually those talks ended in argument, and Stan would trade everything to just… stop. Before another one… Or actually, this time Stan knew better, he just had to… bear it. Stop himself to argue back. Accept every complaint Ford would throw his way. And maybe… then Ford would see Stan truly changed for the better. And won't mind for Stan sometimes calling him again…
Ford was sighing and thinking loudly for so long, that Stan almost got bored from being scared. Maybe he should start first, admit his fault and beg to move on…?
“Math books wouldn't bring back the dead”, Ford eventually whispered, and… what? Did Stan miss falling asleep or something?
“What?” he repeated outloud, turning back to his twin and staring.
“We went to search for a grimoire of Tacian the Smelly…”
“Ah, because you're magic now”, Stan nodded, understanding now…
“No, because he was the best damned necromancer of all times and I needed his theory on Soul Binding to perfect my own spell to finally drag your spirit back!” by the end of it Ford was basically shouting.
Stan could only blink at first.
“You… tried to communicate with my spirit,” he stated.
“Yes, Stanley, I did”, Ford's voice flattened, as he himself was back to staring at the floor.
“Because… you thought I was dead”, Stan felt as if the puzzle pieces were slowly clicking into their rightful places.
“Yes, Stanley, because I believed my twin to be dead”, Ford's voice dropped to even quieter volume.
Stan blinked. It both made so much sense and brought so many new questions, like…
“Did it work?”
Ford's head was momentarily lifted back, as its owner was now staring at Stan, his gaze full of a mix of rapidly changing emotions.
“Yes, Stanley”, he answered in a minute, his voice resembling a flatline. “I tried to raise the spirit of my brother who wasn't actually dead. Of course it worked. Thank you for asking”.
Stan chuckled and looked at their still joined hands. It was a weird piece of knowledge that Ford went to this length. But it wasn't unwelcome. It was something he'd actually expected Ford to do in case Stan would indeed end up dead.
In a way, it meant that Ford kept his promise to call him. In some way. Not his fault the line wasn't dead.
…But really, Ford did try to reach him, and that thought made Stan grin.
“Well, I'm sorry that this one spell didn't work…”
“One spell?” Ford's voice became even flatter. His eyes flickered with flaming emotion, and he all but turned away, but at the last moment glanced at their hands. Stan wanted to ask what his twin was thinking or trying to do, but Ford already freed one of his hands (still keeping the other on Stan's) and brought it to his neck, grasping some… Actually, Stan was already familiar with this medallion or something, and indeed, Ford went glowing…
“Didn't Great Uncle mention it to be dangerous for you?” Stan titled his head, to which Ford only glared back. And the result of his glowing was a bag that flew through the air from the chair and dropped on Ford's lap. Then the latter rummaged in it, found what he was looking for and shoved the item at his twin.
Stan glanced at said item.
It was a journal, almost like the one Great Uncle liked to keep, but this one was red, or more like dark-red? With golden “S” on the front.
“What's that?” Stan put it on his lap, not yet ready to open it - it was obviously Ford's stuff, and he wasn't going to just go through it…
“See for yourself”, Ford said.
Well, having received the permission, Stan went for it, ignoring how his hand shook while turning the page.
Honestly? He'd expected more of mentioned ghost leveling charts or pictures of gnomes or rows of text in perfect cursive. Well, at least the last ones were present - but they weren't following the silly images of anomalies of Gravity Falls or of somewhere else.
There were spells. And schemes of human bodies. Questions to keep in mind while raising the dead. Myths of the Afterlife. Sketches of Guardians of the Underworld (and Stan's heart skipped a bit when he thought he glimpsed a figure surrounded in fire, galloping on a skeleton of a horse - he didn't need to verify to check the title under this particular drawing).
But what Stan did check were dates. And they… told a story of their own.
It wasn't just one spell indeed, there were dozens. And going through the pages, Stan saw them evolving. One circle became a double one, only to acquire several additional circles at his sides next. The chanting lines were multiplying, interrupted by new findings and ending each time in a shaky big word of ‘failure’.
And with every new try the word grew in size, the handwriting was less and less proper, until the last page that didn't even have that last word, only marks of water being dropped here and there.
Stan gulped and looked a bit earlier, at the journal entry before the last spell.
‘This is it. This should work. I've included every variable. If Stan is somewhere… No! His spirit IS somewhere out there! I refuse to believe otherwise…’
“You were searching”, Stan whispered, closing the journal but not yet ready to give it back. “You were searching”.
All those years he was missing Ford, his twin tried to reach and bring him back.
And said twin was now staring at him, his eyes no longer shining, but outright leaking tears.
“I was”, he said, his lips trembling. “I tried so hard…”
“Pity all your hard work was in vain”, Stan tried to smile, feeling his own eyes betraying him too. But then he yelped, as a six-fingered hand slapped him over his head, not hard enough to be actually painful, but sudden enough to shake him up. “Hey! What's the deal?! I'm wounded here!”
“And that's not an excuse to become stupid!” Ford huffed, loudly sniffing. “I'm glad it wasn't needed! You're alive, you're here… That's what's important…”
And then Stan probably blacked out for a few seconds or more, because one moment he was still half-sitting half-laying, and the next one he was painfully twisted, his back and chest screaming, but that wasn't important, because he was bending over the edge and he was hugging his twin and Ford was hugging him back, both obviously bawling and refusing to let go.
Stan only could painfully whimper when the ache on his chest became unbearable, and that made Ford gasp and try to back away.
“Stan… let go… Stan!”
“No way!” Stan only held tighter. “It doesn't hurt too much, so don't worry…”
“Stan…” something changed in Ford's tone, something that soothed Stan's fears. “Just… let's get you back to horizontal. I don't want to fear for your ribs ever again”.
It didn't sound like a reprimand, it sounded like a pure worry, and so Stan allowed his twin to tug him back, over the pillows. And shuffled a bit to the opposite side, as Ford moved to first sit on a bed too, then threw off his shoes and climbed all the way up and opened his arms.
Stan didn't need to be told twice. He leaned into the hug, feeling his twin's arms carefully closing on his back and pressing.
“Tell me if something hurts”, Ford whispered, his hands slowly stroking Stan's back, not everywhere, but weirdly, as if there was something he was afraid to touch…
…
“...about my latest catch…”
…
Stan frowned, scared at the faint voice on the back of his memories. It was there, looming with a threat of pain if only Stan would be so daring to reach for it.
And Stan wasn't, he didn't want to know, not when Stan was feeling safe and wanted, at least for now, at least for this moment!
“Stan?” Ford probably felt him trembling, but Stan just shook his head.
“Please, not… not now”, he pressed tighter, and Ford, god bless him, just held him closer.
“Do you… want me to talk instead?” he asked after a beat.
“Oh yes”, Stan nodded, “please…”
He felt Ford nodding, before his twin coughed and awkwardly started, his voice trying to get as high as possible:
“‘Fear not, my fearsome friend! We… will success in our noble quest to vanquish the powers keeping me apart from my…’”
He was interrupted by a loud banging of the door and an even louder gasp.
“Ford! You dirty liar! You said I can't go and hug Stan this way!”
Stan smiled, hidden between his twin's arms, listening as Ford spluttered.
“Shermie, that isn't the same, Stan was…!”
Whatever he was, Stan didn't listen, as he was forced to move again, even back away from his twin to his displeasure, this time to accommodate their little brother who was trying to nest himself by Stan's side too…
“Careful!” the shout from Ford was Stan's only warning, as the back of his shoulder met a bed’s railing and immediately combusted.
Just like that, everything changed, the pleasant shroud of bliss was torn apart, as the merciless burning reality got its venomous claws into him. Diego's hand was grabbing him for anew, pressing into the harsh surface of the table. Stan trashed, trying to get away, refusing to plead, but he only was held closer, until he was unable to move, until he was surrounded by laughter from them both, of the bastard whose grin raised a terror in him, of that bitch who raised a hatred in him…
More hands were grabbing at him, and Stan's shoulder kept burning, and the Words kept falling away and everyone was slipping from his grasp, no one ever could stay and he was…
He felt them then, not the Words themselves, but their faint echo. Stan reached for them, trying to touch, to get them back…
And his hand was grabbed back, by two warm, solid hands.
“....an, focus on us, we're here, and you're safe, you're in Hospital of Saint…”, oh, that was Ford's voice. It was almost steady, even if with a small trembling here and there.
“...Stan, please, I'm sorry…” and this voice was nothing but trembling. Shermie. Stan had to reassure him, that everything was alright…
“...yes, everything is alright”, Ford choked on that simple phrase. “Everything is alright…”
Stan nodded, believing him, and pressed closer, feeling as both of his brothers held him in return. Feeling as the faint echo of Jimmy's presence tightened on his wrist in reassurance.
He felt his eyes stinging from all the tears already spilled and from all the ones incoming. He felt his insides twisting over realising what just happened.
“Sorry for being so weak”, Stan whispered, ashamed to admit, but needing to say so, because he needed to fix everything until it was too late... “Please, ignore it…”
“You aren't, you're so strong, Stan”, The little hands of their younger brother were now carefully threading through Stan's hair, so unlike Diego’s claws. “And even if you are, who cares? Well, I care, but not because you're weak, but because you're my brother…”
Meanwhile Ford just held him, a strong, unmoving, safe presence. Lulling Stan into a sleepy state that promised warmth instead of burning pain.
“Shermie’s right”, Ford eventually answered, his voice no longer trembling, just as Stan felt himself succumbing to dreams. “I care too and it obviously is not related to…”
***
Maybe the painkillers did their job or having his brothers blanketing him for the first time in forever was magical, but when Stan woke up next time, he felt mostly refreshed, even if sore all over. Ah, and the pain was back - maybe he said too soon about them working or maybe the previous bag was over and wasn't refilled yet?
Then again, it wasn't pain waking him up, it was voices.
“...no”, he heard Ford whispering. “We're not moving. He needs us”.
“Yeah!” Shermie was trying to whisper too, and in a way he was succeeding. Just not completely. “Us and all the cuddles he can get!”
“But Stan's shoulder…” Great Uncle’s voice was more questioning than suggesting, yet Stan still felt the need to object.
“My shoulder is fine”, he groaned, nuzzling even more into his twin's side.
There was shuffling around him, before Ford quietly replied.
“Stan, it's… It's really not. You've got…”
“Burned there, yes. Probably very badly”, Stan felt the throat closing at that, but it really didn't matter. Not the worst of his injuries. Not the worst of his burns even. So he just huffed, refusing to look at anyone. “Not a big deal, I’ll just have to be wearing shirts to the beaches too, so not like anyone would noti…”
Jimmy's chain suddenly heated so much that Stan hissed, shaking his hand.
“Stop that”, Great Uncle's voice made Stan finally lift his head and glance at him. The older man was frowning and twisting his fingers in every way humanly possible. But he also was looking at Stan, and there was no judgement there, only… concern? And noticing Stan looking back, Great Uncle Mason mirthlessly nodded. “Stan, first, you don't need to pretend you are fine…”
“I'm not pretending!” Stan immediately objected.
“You are”, both Ford and Shermie groaned beside him in unison.
Stan huffed, sitting up and crossing his arms. “Maybe I am. So what? It still doesn't matter…”
“It doesn't matter?!” Great Uncle’s voice went up, and his arms too, grabbing at his hair in a gesture that usually spoke of him being distressed. “Stan, we found you badly bandaged and bleeding out and branded and not to mention half insane! You were going to… to…” he spluttered, obviously trying to search for words.
Stan rolled his eyes. Great Uncle was exaggerating as always. But actually, one bit there caught Stan's attention (not that… that one word didn't mean anything, right?... He… he wasn't…?).
“How did you find me? Why now?” he tilted his head, instead trying to put pieces together, for the really important stuff. Sure, Great Uncle Mason did mention meeting Jorge not long before it, and also Ji… Jimmy… helping… (Stan looked down and gave a brief stroke to the chain that almost preened in response)? But it didn't explain why they were even there to start with. Sure, Stan was taken, but it wasn't like it was the first time he was in danger…
“I asked Ford for help”, Shermie whispered, reaching for Stan's hand and hesitantly grabbing it. “I was scared, and Jimmy had no idea where you were, and Shanklin was hurt…”
Shanklin! Now that was indeed even more important!
“Hurt? Where is he,” Stan interrupted, staring at Great Uncle. “You said he's alive, so where is he now?”
“He bit Fidd…!” Shermie yelped, as Ford quickly slapped him too. “Sorry, I forgot”, he whispered and turned away.
Stan looked at Shermie and then glared at his twin with suspicion.
“Ford? What are you not telling me?”
Ford deeply exhaled, before briefly glancing at their Great Uncle and back at Stan.
“We patched him up, so your possum is as healthy as he could be. But then ran away and we don't know where he is now”, Ford calmly explained. And it would've been believable, if there wasn't a slight tapping of his fingers against his own arm.
His twin was nervous. And probably still omitting something.
Stan glanced once again at Shermie who wasn't meeting his eyes, then at Great Uncle who at the contrary was staring at Stan with utmost attention.
Something was fishy, but Stan didn't know where to dig.
“But… he's alive? And not dying?” He tried to verify the most important bit for now.
“He is”, Great Uncle replied, and he sounded sincere in that.
Well, at least that was settled. Stan huffed and made a mental note to ask Fidds about this mentioned biting and determine a starting location of his search.
But that was for later, when he would deal with more pressing matters.
“And what about Jorge?” he stared once again at his Great Uncle, watching for every little sign.
“He's…” Ford started some explanation, but Stan didn't let him.
“I didn't ask you, I asked him.”
Great Uncle was even more obvious in his tells, not to mention confessing he met Jorge. And something was truly fishy, in a way Stan wasn't let near phones or given straight answers.
“That's the thing…” Great Uncle nervously chuckled, back with messing with his hair. “About this Jorge…”
“He sold you out to Diego”, a new voice settled, devoid of hesitating, full of pity and regret. Grauntie Mabel smiled with a deep sadness in her eyes as soon as Stan looked at her. She was standing at the doors, flanked by Mom and Fidds, and soon she was already striding towards Stan, not hesitating and taking his cheeks in her hands. “Oh dear, it pains me so much to see you…”
“You are lying. He couldn't…” Stan protested, both to object to their Grauntie’s words and to the quickly restored worm of doubt chewing at his insides. Sure, he hoped he managed to prove himself and his worth to Jorge, but… Could the old man indeed agree if the offer was right…?
“I'm sorry, but he did”, Grauntie Mabel nodded, her gaze just as somber as before. “He abandoned you as soon as Diego proposed to merge their businesses together. I think you can understand how much of an opportunity it offers. Luckily, Dipper and Ford could get to you in time…”
Stan tried to look down or to the side, but he couldn't, not when Grauntie was watching him with such an understanding in her eyes, that Stan felt sick.
He didn't want to believe it. There was no way it was true, no way…
No way Jorge did step over him too, just as he did with every one of his partners or henchmen as soon as there was no benefit in keeping them… It wasn't true…?
…But it was apparently just Stan's fate to be stepped over, again and again and again…
“How did you know that?” he asked, refusing to show his doubts and how they were already tearing him apart. Not when his Mom or Great Uncle were there. Not when Grauntie was trying to look straight through him. No, instead Stan grabbed at any little opportunity to prove it to be a mistake, tethered to reality by a warm feeling on his wrist. He already once believed Jimmy not caring about him. And it turned out he did care! So maybe Jorge…
“I was there, it was a part of a rescue plan that went off the rail”, Grauntie Mabel somberly chuckled. “Me and Fiddleford both witnessed it. And he will tell you the same thing, right, Fiddleford?”
Stan glanced to the side where Ford's friend - even more taller and lanky now, but still the same awkward walking stick - looked back at him, gulped and nodded.
Stan's mind went spinning. Jorge was the one making sure Stan was alive and fed for the past years, Jorge was the one listening to him and offering his advice when Stan had doubts…
But… There shouldn't be any reason for any of his family to lie about this… Meanwhile Jorge would be indeed a fool to let his personal attachments, no matter how weak or strong they were, stand in the way of his ambitions.
It all didn't make sense, it all made Stan doubt everything, but if he was to believe in anything here, he'd choose to believe that…
“Stan, pumpkin”, Grauntie Mabel pressed on his cheeks to get his attention. “Please, believe in us and not in the man who basically kidnapped you himself!”
…She was telling the truth. Jorge could've, would've and did abandon him.
…She was mistaken. Jorge must have tried to trick Diego and fooled everyone else
…She was lying. Whatever happened out there, it didn't sound like the real Jorge
Stanford was lying, but only he knew that. Stan and Carla had broken up months ago, but it was still as good of an excuse as any other.
“Those lovebirds,” Caryn murmured to herself, half annoyed and half endeared. “Well, go get him. You boys need to get up early tomorrow to help your father with the shipment in the morning.”
“Can’t Stan help him alone? I have to practice my presentation for tomorrow, and I’m not going to be of much help anyways.”
“No, he can’t. And none of that, you ain’t a feeble kid anymore. You go together, you finish earlier and you’re free to keep preparing that presentation of yours. Also, don’t make your father come wake you up tomorrow. I want you ready by 5:30, ya hear?”
“Yes, Ma,” Ford replied, defeated.
“Good. Now go get your brother.”
“Yes, Ma.”
Ford stood up from his desk, irritated. How was isit his fault that Stan hadn’t come home yet? He knew about tomorrow’s early task, and he knew that Ma liked having the family together at dinner time. If his twin wanted to keep pushing their parent’s buttons, that was on him alone. Ford shouldn’t have to pay for his recklessness.
He huffed in resignation. No matter his grievance, he would rather not get in an argument with Ma and risk his father joining the conversation. Not only would Ford be on the losing end, but Pa would possibly wait for Stan to arrive and make Ford go to his room. And as annoyed as he might’ve been at Stan for making him lose some very precious studying time… the absolute last thing he wanted was for his brother to face the rage of their dad. Best to let him go to sleep and silently bring Stan back home.
Where would he be anyways? He definitely took his car, so it’d be either easy to find him or completely impossible, depending on how far he had felt like driving. Ford sighed, putting on a jacket and quietly leaving the house. He knew Stan’s favorite spots around Glass Shard Beach, but there were only a few that he would go to at night. He finally settled for walking around the coastline, feeling as his best bet would be somewhere along the sea.
◅▫◅▫◅▫◻▫▻▫▻▫▻
Stanley hadn’t really been keeping track of time since he arrived at the Stan O’ War. There wasn’t any need for it; he really wasn’t feeling like going back at the moment, so the later the better. Ford would likely be studying for his presentation, Ma would probably be cleaning the kitchen after dinner and Pa would be watching some western on the TV until he passed out on whiskey and reluctantly went to bed. Nighttime hadn’t been fun for a long time, ever since Ford and him wouldn’t spend it between made-up stories and hushed laughs.
Stan didn’t sniff as the cloudy storm in his brain kept up its unrelenting rumble. There was really no way out from this situation, and he hated not being able to see one. Normally, he would find… creative solutions —as his mother would say— to his problems, but was he supposed to do now? Ford was leaving, he was actually leaving and he didn’t even care that Stan was staying behind. He didn’t care that their dream was staying behind. Stan looked around the small, empty boat; it looked more like a simple bunch of planks than it ever had, even before in its beginning. The thought did nothing to clear his mind, and he buried his head in his knees once again.
“There you are!” A voice exclaimed from outside, and Stan looked to his right. Through the missing wall, he saw Ford approaching him. He had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and he was walking with feigned nonchalance. Clearly he was annoyed to be there, so Ma had probably been the one to send him out. “You missed dinner.”
“Not hungry,” he replied, trying his best to get rid of any sign of uneasiness.
“That’s unlike you. What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, don’t give me the silent treatment. What is it?”
“I said nothing. Go home and practice, don’t you have a presentation tomorrow?”
He didn’t mean to sound so petty. He really didn’t. But he couldn’t help the way the words came out.
“Yes, I do,” Ford replied slowly. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Nah. You should go and rehearse so you can put on a good show for those snobs.”
Okay, maybe the last part wasn’t necessary, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“What is it with you? Are you mad at me or something? And what snobs are you talking about?”
“There’s nothing with me, okay? Just go home and do whatever nerd shit you need to do to get into that fancy college you want. You know, turn science fiction into science fact, or whatever.”
“How do you— were you eavesdropping at the principal’s office?”
“They called me in there just to leave me out! And I heard my name! What was I supposed to do?”
“That was a private conversation, Stanley! And I was going to tell you about West Coast Tech sooner, but you ran off before I had the chance to.”
“Oh, I bet. Sorry for ruining your moment.”
Stan stood up, tired of feeling like a kid being scolded. In an attempt to settle the conversation as finished, he looked directly at Ford. Grave mistake; his brother’s eyes were confused, his brows knitted together, his mouth shut tight. He knew that expression, and he knew what was about to break loose.
“Why are you acting like this? Aren’t you happy for my accomplishments?”
“Well, forgive me if I miss some of them, I lost count! Can’t a guy just have some time to himself around here?”
“What— Stanley! What is this all about?”
“It’s NOTHING, Stanford, just drop it. For fuck’s sake, I don’t need to hear you gloat about how this is a great opportunity and it’s the best place on Earth, and blah blah blah! College, uni, studies, future! Congratulations, you’ll have it all! Of course you will! Now can you—”
A loud thud cut him mid-sentence and reverberated around the empty space around him. Stan whipped his head to the source of the sound. It had come from a fist against wood; his twin’s hand was now resting against the ratty plank he had just broken. When Stan looked at Ford, really looked at him, he could see his entire frame shaking from barely contained tension.
“Six—”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Ford’s voice filled the air like an explosion. Ford never screamed like that, not even when he messed up some homework and had to re-do it. This was a level of rage he’d never seen from his twin and holy shit he really sounded like Him when he was mad. “What is your problem?! Why are you acting like this?! You better than anyone know how hard I’ve worked for an opportunity like this! How much time and sleep I’ve sacrificed to get here! Are you so selfish that you won’t even be happy for me?!”
“Selfish? Me?! That’s fucking rich coming from you! I’ve been by your side in every science fair, attended every single talk you were in, I’ve been there! And all I got in return was a fucking lie!”
“What are you talking about? When did I lie to you?”
Stan felt like he physically deflated.
“Holy shit,” he chuckled, his laugh not even a fraction of how miserable he felt. “You really don’t know. How little did it even matter to you that you can’t even remember?”
“Well I don’t know, but maybe instead of tip-toeing around the topic, you could just say it to my face, don’t you think?”
Stan’s lower lip trembled. Don’t.
“I don’t know, Ford. What was the one thing we promised we’d do after high school, huh? Maybe in the very same place we’re standing right now?”
Ford looked around.
“The Stan O’ War? That’s it?” Stan felt his heart break. That’s it. “Stan, be serious.”
“Oh, I was serious. I always have. I went to woodworking classes for this, I stole those sailing books for you, I actually studied how to build, repair, and drive this thing, Ford! Because I was serious about this! Can you say the same? Or did this really mean nothing to you?”
“Stanley, I— I loved building the Stan O’ War, but sailing? It’s ridiculous! We’re seventeen, we have no money and we still have no boat!” He gestured around the space. “Yes, it was fun, but you can’t actually believe now that that’s what we were going to do in the future, right? That’s not how the world works!”
“Well, fuck how the world works! It never worked for us, did it? The whole point of this was not having to follow what the world wanted of us!”
“Stanley, you…” Ford sighed.
“What?” Stan snarled.
That brother of yours will only hold you back. You can do so much more than him, but you keep listening to what he says. He’s stubborn and selfish, like all people who can’t keep up with those who are better. If you want to amount to something, you have to focus and stop letting him drag you down. You understand, boy?
“Spit it out.”
“Stanley, I’m trying to understand you. You’re telling me that your plan after graduating high school was to somehow fix this boat that has nothing but half of its structure, no sails and no engine; then, after who knows how long that would take us, we would leave everything and everyone we know, with no money to our names, to embark on a ship that we don’t know how to drive, sail into unknown waters —the most dangerous place known to man!— and then… what? We would live off treasure chests and whatever we fish that day? Because if I remember correctly —and yes, I do remember—, that was our plan as kids!” Ford’s pace was deliberately paused, but he still took a moment to breathe. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I personally have grown up and am able to discern a children’s fantasy from the real world. Can you say the same?”
Stan couldn't say the same. In fact, he couldn’t say anything at all. He couldn’t even breathe. His brother didn’t fucking understand, so who would?
He didn't even register that he’d started scratching his arms. Hard. Right hand over his left forearm and vice versa. Up and down. Faster, and harder, and faster, and harder. Not even the pain was relieving him.
“Stanley, stop scratching yourself,” Ford said, his previous anger still burning but slowly growing overshadowed by his worry. As he watched Stan pick up the pace and lower his head, he knew he had to intervene. “Stop!”
The second his hands grabbed Stan’s wrists, he was met with a hard shove that almost knocked him down. Stanley was now looking at him with wild, glossy eyes. His hands shifted away from his forearm; his left arm clutched his mid-section, and his right hand started scratching again, this time at his left arm, just below his shoulder.
“Just leave me the fuck alone, Ford! That’s what you’re going to do anyways, right? Why put it off any longer?”
“Are you seriously mad at me because I won’t go into an impossible childish dream journey with you?”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE LEAVING, ASSHOLE! Because you’re fucking leaving, and I’ll still be here!”
“What are you— you’ll find a job somewhere or something, you don’t need me for that!”
“I won’t have anything, Ford! The moment you leave, I’m gone!”
“That’s your choice! I’ll just go live my life, and you’ll do the same! You can leave, or stay home, and—”
“There’s no home for me anymore! Pa’s gonna kick me out!”
Ford stopped.
“Pa is not going to kick you out—”
“There’s a packed bag in the closet.”
“What—”
“Your old boxing bag. I was looking for it while mine was in the wash and it’s full of my stuff. Clothes, a toothbrush, my passport, and some money.”
“That’s… maybe Ma—”
“I asked Ma and she said we ain’t going nowhere. I looked around to see if you had a packed bag too and there’s nothing. And the passport is recent, and it has Pa’s signature on it.”
Passports only need someone else’s signature when the owner is… a minor.
“I don’t know how long that’s been there. But it’s there, and sooner or later he’s gonna throw me out the house. Like he always wanted… like you want, too.”
Ford was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear the last part, but he did nonetheless. The only sound around them were the waves crashing gently against the sand and Stan’s nails against his now beet-red arm. Ford wanted to tell him to stop doing that, to stop hurting himself —he had promised he’d stop, he had— but he couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. His ears felt full of static as he tried to process everything, but something cut his thoughts short.
The scratching was gone. In its place, a sob broke the silence, along with Ford’s heart.
“You can’t leave.” Stan’s voice was impossibly soft. It was nothing like him, and Ford could faintly see a tiny nine or ten-year-old boy with a black eye and unable to sleep. Stan shouldn’t be like that; he was bright, full of energy and bravado and a smile that said I’ll deal with it and I’m here and I love you. The man in front of him didn't fill half the space his Stan did, all curled up and hugging himself like he was bracing for a punch that didn't come.
“You can’t leave me here. I can’t— it was supposed to be us, forever.”
“Stanley,” Ford found himself replying in a tone very similar to his brother’s, as if he were talking to a wounded animal. “I’m just leaving for university, I’m not really leaving you. I’ll come back.”
“You shouldn’t.” Ford looked at him, puzzled. Wasn’t he just begging him to stay? “The moment you get away from this fucking place you’ll realize how much better you could be, and you won’t be back anymore. And you shouldn’t. Why the fuck would you. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
You would if I were the one staying behind, Ford’s brain said with a mind of its own. He knew it was true, though; Stan had given up possible friendships, plans and all sorts of things when Ford couldn’t keep up with him. He could’ve been a popular guy, if only he hadn’t been so adamant on meeting his twin the freak in the janitor’s closet every recess to keep him company. He could’ve saved himself a lot of beatings, from more than just bullies, if only he hadn’t stood up and lied for him. But he hadn’t. He had stayed.
“We were going to leave together. On a boat, on a car, anything. But together.”
Ford wasn't sure Stan was talking to him anymore, or if he had forgotten he was there, but he didn't sound like he realized what he was saying. He looked completely out of it, looking down and muttering, and he couldn't bring himself to stay still. Slowly, Ford walked towards his brother, careful not to startle him. He stopped right in front of him, and the little sounds that escaped Stan felt like needles in his chest. He raised one hand, placing it over Stan's non-damaged arm. Under his touch, Stan flinched slightly, and Ford resisted the urge to huff, not wanting to give his brother the wrong impression.
“Stanley,” Ford called, unsuccessfully. “You don’t have to look at me, but I need to know that you’re listening.”
Stan made a small noise in response, almost a whimper, but it was all Ford needed to continue.
“Even if they take me and I leave, I won’t leave you.”
“Come on.”
“No, I mean it.”
“You shouldn’t. You’d be better off without me riding on your coattails. I’ve held you back long enough.”
He’s held you back long enough. Get your act together and be your own man, son.
Something clicked in Ford’s brain, and suddenly he was seeing red. He should’ve known that their father had been behind Stan’s secluded behavior these past few months. If he had told Stan half the things he told him…
“Who says that? Pa?” Stan genuinely shivered when he heard the name, and Ford cursed internally. “Well, screw him. I'm the smart one here, and he doesn’t know a thing.”
Stan scoffed, finally looking up but away from Ford.
“He might be a dick, but he's right. I'm a burden and a liability, that's why he doesn't think I deserve to stay home. You're about to go into the best uni in the country and I'll be lucky if I graduate from high school. You're gonna make us rich and I'm just a leech, mooching off all of you.”
You have to stop spoiling your leech of a son, Caryn. At this rate he’ll never leave.
“That's... so many crazy and wrong things to think about yourself that I don't even know where to start. Stanley, you're not a burden or a leech or anything that Pa has told you. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I said,” Ford grabbed Stan's face with both hands, forcing him to make eye contact, “do you understand?”
Stan didn't say a word.
“You're none of those things, and you never have been. You're not taking advantage of me, and Pa should be proud of you for being you. Who cares if you aren't good at studying? I'm bad at cooking and he has never complained about it. You're… the strongest, most kind and loyal person I've ever met. You're a good person, Stanley. And you've never been a burden to me.”
Ford inhaled deeply, unable to stare into his twin’s eyes anymore. He moved his hands away from his face, placing them on his shoulders instead.
“You shouldn’t— no, you can’t believe the things Pa says. In fact, what did he tell you?” Stan stayed quiet. “Tell me. I need to know.”
Stan scoffed. “Nothing that you don’t know already.”
“I want you to tell me. Because if he told you half the things he tried to make me believe…” Ford gripped Stan's shoulders tighter, stopping himself before he hurt his twin. He exhaled, trying to remain calm. “I need to make sure you don’t believe him.”
“Look, maybe he was harsher than necessary, but he’s right, okay?”
“Stanley. Tell me,” Ford ordered. Then, as he took in his brother’s terrified glare, he softened his voice. “Please.”
Stan gulped. Sure. What else was there to lose.
“It’s just the same as always. That I’m the stupid twin, that I can’t do even the smallest thing right, that I mess everything up. I’m a no-good and all I do is leech off you and Ma and even him, and I have nothing to show for myself. I…” Stan sobbed quietly, shaking under Ford’s hands. “I fail at everything, I never listen and I never learn my lesson. I’m a waste of space and money and I should be glad to have a roof over my head, because I’ve done nothing to earn it.”
Ford could almost feel the lump in Stan’s throat on his own. He wanted to stop him, to make him shut up and to hug him until he could squeeze all of those horrible thoughts out of his head. Every word that came out of his brother was more nauseating than the last, and he cursed internally again for not having a notebook or a piece of paper to write everything down, so he could prepare a thousand-page dissertation on how wrong everything he said was. But he couldn’t think about that now; Stan was still talking, and he needed to pay attention so he could rebut every single argument.
“… and I have to stop mooching off of you, always clinging like I don’t know what to do without you, because I can’t… I can’t do anything on my own and I’m a fucking failure and should just leave you alone. I should get off your back and fuck off, because you’ll be better off without a stupid weight on your back. I’ve been weighing you down since we were born, and you shouldn’t have had me blocking your way. You’d be better if I were just gone, and… and you would’ve been so much better if I had never been born.”
On second thought, self-restraint was greatly overrated.
Ford’s body moved faster than his brain, and when the latter caught up, he found himself wrapped around Stan like a lifeline, like we would disappear if he let go.
Like he apparently wants to, his mind added, unhelpfully.
His mind was going a thousand miles an hour, but it also felt like it had completely stopped; like the words he so desperately wanted to vocalize were stuck in quicksand, somewhere in the back of his throat. He prayed that the force of the hug could somehow communicate everything, that Stan wouldn’t push him and ask him to leave again, because he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
It seemed like the universe wouldn’t be kind this time. Stan was standing as rigid as a mannequin, and if it weren’t for his labored breathing and the intermittent shivers wracking his body, Ford would’ve thought he was also made of plastic.
He wasn't pushing him away, but he wasn't doing anything at all. No resistance whatsoever. If he knew his brother, this was a sign that he was trying to hold back his emotions and act like nothing happened.
The ever-immovable tower. His shield against the world. Stan had always had a way to appear unfazed by adversities, whatever their nature. Always ready to receive punches, insults and scoldings that weren't meant for him, but ones that he had willingly made himself the target of. And, after the damage was dealt, he would turn with a battered face, blurry eyes, and a dismissive wave, eager to end the conversation and never mention it again.
And Ford had let him. Nearly every single time. Because Stan was strong, reliable and unrelenting in spirit; so unlike himself, weak-minded and feeble, unable to stand up for himself as soon as someone mentioned his hands. Willing to pass the torch to his brother and throw him into the lion's den if it meant saving himself from hurt.
No, he thought. I can't let him do that this time.
“I need you to really listen to me, okay? Please.” No reaction. “Not a single thing you've said right now is true. You're not a burden, or a leech, or anything that Pa has told you. He doesn’t know you like I do. No one knows you like I do. You're kind and resilient and hard-working, and who cares how you do in high school. You're... God, I wish you could just see what I do. I'm so proud of you. Because no matter what people think or say about you, you stand your ground. I wish I could have an ounce of your confidence, because then I would've stood up to everyone who hurt me. Or you.” Ford took a big breath, not moving an inch away from his brother. “If I weren't so weak-minded, I wouldn't have let Pa get in my head with all those awful things about you, because they're NOT true. I'm so sorry I let him, Stanley, I really am. But right now, I need you to believe me when I say this, okay? Because this is the unbridled truth.” A short breath, and the dam broke. “You're not a waste of anything. You are worth a lot, much more than what people say. And I would absolutely not be better without you, I'd be miserable without you! And never, ever say that you shouldn't have been born, because I'm grateful you were. I'm so happy that you're still here with me. I... I love you, Lee, and I need you to believe me, please.”
Ford's speech was cut by his own shaky breaths. He held on tighter to his brother, hoping to get the slightest reaction from him, but there was nothing. No movement and no sounds coming from him. He didn't even seem to be shaking anymore. Not that Ford would be able to notice with the twitches starting to take a hold of him, running through his body in a familiar way. He instinctively hugged Stan tighter again, impossibly so, and kicked himself mentally for it; even when he was supposed to be comforting Stan, he couldn't stop himself from finding solace in his brother's embrace as soon as panic began to set in.
On a purely physiological level, he knew it was expected, since it was a repeated pattern that stemmed from countless past occasions in which Stan would be his anchor. On every other level, he felt like an ungrateful coward.
His mental rant stopped as soon as he felt two familiar arms wrap around his torso. Stan's hug was soft, surprisingly foreign, and Ford wondered whether his twin was exhausted —very likely— or he was returning his hug out of pity, eager to move on.
His initial relief at Stan's movement quickly turned to worry. Please, don't, Ford begged internally. We can't drop this now, you can't ignore this, please tell me you heard me, tell me you listened…
His pleas ceased the moment Stan tightened his grip. Despite the squeeze, Ford felt his lungs fill with all the oxygen he didn't know he was lacking. His brother's hug now felt right, like the last piece on a puzzle.
Suddenly, the weight between them shifted; instead of Stan holding both of them up, Ford noticed that his brother was sort of leaning towards him more and more, to the point where he realized that Stan's legs were barely supporting him anymore.
Moses, had he just… fainted?
A deep, burning panic wracked Ford's body, but he managed to push it aside for the moment. Before his own anxiety consumed him, he grabbed Stan by his arms, still wrapped around him, and he awkwardly sat both of them down, shifting his brother so he was sitting on the floor and leaning on his chest. When he looked down, he noticed that Stan hadn't passed out. Maybe it was exhaustion after all.
After a few seconds, Stan tilted his head up, meeting Ford's eyes for a brief moment, then turned his face away. Ford was frozen thinking about that stare, so devoid of the bright light that usually enveloped his whole brother. His fears seemed to be confirmed; maybe Stan hadn't heard a single thing he'd said.
Ford’s hand —the one not holding Stan at the moment— instinctively found his brother's hair and started to thread his fingers through the strands, mimicking the soothing action Stan often did when the roles were reversed. It didn't matter if he didn't hear anything; Ford would repeat it, make a whole dissertation if needed, as many times as it took to convince him that his words were true. Stan needed to hear them, to believe them, and Ford vowed to do so no matter the cost.
A sob broke the background noise of the waves, and Ford felt a chill run down his spine. This sob wasn't like the previous one, even though they both came from the same person; no, this one sounded much closer to a whine, high-pitched and miserable, and it made Ford's heart sink into the bottom of the ocean.
The following sounds didn't seem to escape Stan's mouth, but rather break free from their prison in his throat, ripping everything on their way out. A hand clutched Ford’s shirt, so tightly that the fabric might’ve torn, but he found that he couldn't care less. Every wail coming from the boy in his arms felt like a stab to the very core of his soul. He unwillingly wondered whether Stan had ever felt like this whenever he was comforting him, and the mere thought of his brother voluntarily going through this agonizing pain over and over again was enough to break the dam.
Ford lowered his head, setting it on top of his brother's, and let out the first of many tears. He knew he couldn't stop it, and for the first time in a long time he didn't feel ashamed about it. Now, with the strongest person in the world openly weeping in his arms, he knew this wasn’t a sign of weakness, but rather freedom.
Ford cried for his brother. For how blind he had been not to see the obvious manipulation from their dad. For how long Stan had endured their Pa's anger, punishments, rejection. For not realizing just how big Stan's mask was— for not realizing that he had used a mask on him, too, to feign nonchalance and keep his mind at ease. For how fucking bad Stan thought of himself, to the point of genuinely thinking everyone would be happier if he were gone.
He really believed Stan had left those thoughts about himself behind, after a few but serious conversations they’d had a couple of years prior. But how could he possibly leave them behind when his own father was the one reinforcing them? With words, with actions, behind closed doors or in front of the whole house. Stan had remained stoic, putting on a smile right after as if saying don't worry, I'm okay. And it wasn't, and he wasn't, but Ford was too blind to see. Or maybe it was easier to believe that he was.
Both boys stayed just like that, shamelessly crying as they held each other. Even though they cried for different reasons, their pain felt very much shared, like so many things in their life. It was a pleasant feeling, Ford found himself surprised by thinking: sharing had become suffocating in their most recent years, tiring after having done so since they were born. It had felt like being denied the freedom of being his own person, stuck as half of a pair rather than one full individual. How foolish— no, how fucking stupid he had been for months, too selfish to even consider how Stan might’ve felt about it. To think that his twin, his most relentless support, was the one holding him back.
Your brother can do no good on his own. Focus on what you can do for yourself, boy.
No, Stan was very much capable of doing things on his own. He just didn't want to.
Because his biggest fear —which Stan had indirectly confided in him and only him barely two years ago— was loneliness.
The same feeling that Ford had felt his entire life towards people in general. Alone in a crowd, no matter how numerous. That was, of course, whenever Stan wasn’t around; spelling bee competitions, advanced courses, school days when his brother was home sick… It only took Stan leaving the room for that awful, creeping feeling to crawl inside of his chest and settle there for as long as his twin was out of sight.
It had been a surprise to learn that Stan felt a similar way, but apparently he did. He never would’ve guessed; seeing his brother so resolute with others, his words precise and his charms on full display… He could lead a conversation and do as he pleased with others— most of the time, at least. But apparently Stan had always felt like him, even if he was better at hiding it.
He told you, he specifically told you that he was scared of being alone, and you still drifted away from him, all because Pa told you to and you obeyed him, you coward!
“Six?” A soft voice coming from below him derailed his train of thought. Ford sniffed, pricking up his ears to make sure his mind hadn’t made him hear any voices other than his own.
When the silence persisted, he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Stanley?”
The aforementioned sniffed.
“I’m sorry for the scene, I’ll just—”
The second Ford felt Stan moving away from him, he hugged him tighter, bringing him close again. Don’t let him leave, don’t, he wants you here, make sure he knows you want him here!
“You don’t have to apologize, please don’t ever apologize,” Ford managed to say through the quickly returning tears. “I’m the one who should apologize, I was so blind a-and selfish and I didn’t even notice…” His words died in his throat, muffled by muted sobs.
“Ford, it’s not your fault,” Stan argued, moving to hug his brother better. “You couldn’t have known, man, Pa was keeping it a secret—”
“No, not that,” Ford interrupted, trying to keep his voice as clear as possible, without much success. “For so many things, I-I’d need a list,” he chuckled, humorlessly.
“It’s okay, I forgive you,” Stan replied, and the tired tone of his voice made Ford cling to him the tiniest bit tighter. “Not your fault you’re stuck with me.”
“No! God, Stanley, I’m…” The sudden raise in his voice made Stan flinch again, and Ford took a second to curse internally. “I’m not… stuck with you, you’re not some baggage I carry around, you’re my brother, okay? I can’t…”
Against his better judgement, Ford broke the hug, grabbing Stan by his shoulders and looking straight into his eyes— the way he hated doing with literally anybody else but Stan. His twin looked back at him, dark eyes shining with still-forming tears reflecting the lighthouse’s beam.
“Did you listen to everything I said? Please tell me you listened.”
Shyly, Stan nodded.
“Good. That’s good.” But not enough. “Do you believe me?”
Stan didn't nod this time.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sixer. It’s just… you see me differently. What you say is not what everyone else thinks.”
Ford smiled. Finally, an affirmation he could easily disprove.
“That’s because, like I said, I know you better than anyone. I know the real you, not the many faces you put on when you talk to others. I know you for who you are, not who you pretend to be. I always have.”
Stan looked away, shifting in his seat. He moved his hand to his opposite arm under Ford’s close gaze, but stopped right before he could start scratching again; instead, he simply stroked his now slightly injured arm, as if saying sorry for damaging it.
After a few seconds, he inhaled, readying himself to speak.
“I know I’ve asked you before, but… and be honest, okay?” Ford nodded. “Do you think Pa hates me?”
Ford fell silent. Stan had indeed asked that question before, and Ford had always answered honestly. Our old man just has a short fuse. He’s probably had a bad day at the shop. We got carried away and didn’t listen. He did warn you.
None of those were the answer Stanley wanted, but they were what he needed to hear. And, as Ford went through the several answers that he had given his brother over the years, he started to notice that they were increasingly leaning towards defending his father, not comforting Stan. Imbecile.
Did their Pa hate Stan? Actually hate him? His attitude was definitely different towards him than Stanley. So many details that he always noticed, observant as he was, but he never paid much attention to them. Their father was always much more dismissive towards Stan, and Ford found it hard to remember a time that Pa showed something other than disdain.
Did Pa hate Stan?
“I… I don’t know,” Ford replied, and that was the honest truth. It was too much to think about in such a short amount of time. Too big of a question. Too many consequences whatever his answer was. He would’ve loved to be able to say ‘hate is a strong word’, just like his Ma would, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was having a hard time finding excuses —because that’s what they were, weren’t they? Simply excuses— to justify his father’s behavior. Kicking Stan out? That… that was simply not a justifiable reaction. Yes, his twin was reckless and stubborn, and he got into trouble far more than he should, but even then… kicking Stan out of their home…
What would it take for Ford to kick Stan out?
“Yeah, well, I think I finally know,” Stan mumbled, sniffling. “Don’t even know why I’m surprised, it isn’t like he was subtle about it.”
Ford turned to his brother again in time to see him wiping a tear.
“It isn’t your fault, Stanley.”
“Course it is. I don’t see Pa kicking you out. Or Shermie.”
“That doesn't mean it’s your fault.”
“So why is it then, huh? ‘Cause other than being a shit son, I don’t see any other reason to want me out of his house.”
Ford felt his lip tremble again. He must’ve been less subtle that time, because Stanley looked up at him with worried eyes.
“Hey, what is it?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just said the words that were shattering Stanford’s heart all over again. “Ford.”
Ford couldn’t bring himself to speak again, not until he was sure of what words to say and the perfect order in which to say them. It was scarily similar to preparing a presentation, and for fuck’s sake, he had never been good at them. He couldn’t improvise his way out of this one, there was too much at stake, too many false accusations to refute, and despite his previous efforts of putting his thoughts into words, Stan just didn't believe him. He couldn’t make Stan see reality.
Just say something, don’t stay silent, not after what he just said, don’t let him think you agree…
“Ford,” Stan repeated softly.
Stanford closed his eyes. There was no use trying, he couldn't do it. His stupid brain had gone into lockdown mode and all communications to his mouth had been cut off. He couldn’t say anything to reassure his brother, no words of comfort that could alleviate Stan’s worries. So he did the only thing that he reckoned could help.
He brought Stan close to him again.
Once more, Stanley didn't put up any resistance, but at least this time he didn't resemble the lifeless mannequin Ford had felt he was hugging before. Surprisingly enough, his brother allowed him to wrap one arm around his back and rest his other hand on the back of his head. Even more shockingly, Stan wrapped his arms around Ford’s waist, seemingly trying to give back some of the comfort he was receiving. Mimicking their previous position, Ford instinctively settled his chin on top of Stan’s head, rocking them both very slightly.
After a couple of minutes, Ford spoke again, looking straight forward.
“You’re not a shit son, you’re not a bad person, Lee, you can’t… you can’t let him convince you of that. You’re a good son, and a good brother, and if he can’t see that…” Stanford stopped, blinking away the burning feeling in his eyes. “Then maybe he’s the bad one. Maybe he’s just a shit father.”
Stan’s breath hitched, like Ford had just uttered some forbidden words.
“C’mon man, don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Ford doubled down. “Why does he get to call you names and beat you up but I can’t call him a bad person?”
“‘Cause… he raised us. He put food on the table and taught us how to be men. He could’ve gotten rid of us when we were born, but he didn’t. He’s proud of you and Shermie, I’ve seen it. It’s just me. I’m… not enough. Not what he wanted.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have had children then,” Stanford spat, his words laced with venom all of a sudden.
Stanley opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly closed it again. Judging by his brother’s change of tone, there wasn’t much room for discussion, and he guessed that Ford didn't really want to hear about twins being either a double or nothing.
He decided to let it go. Ford seemed content with letting the silence fall once again, and Stanley found that the absence of an argument might’ve been what he needed at the moment. He settled for letting his twin cool down and focused on the nice feeling of the other’s hand brushing his hair, the comforting pressure of the embrace easing some of his tension, and the distant babbling of the ocean.
God, he had really missed this. The last time they hugged had been two years ago, after a seriously difficult conversation in the darkness of their room. Stan looked down, grateful not to see the damage he’d done to his arms, but feeling them burning nonetheless. He mentally kicked himself for making Ford go through all of this again, seeing him hurting himself because he was too weak to deal with pain on his own. His brother didn't deserve this, having to take care of him in such a pathetic state, being the ever-present burden—
You're not a burden.
He almost wanted to laugh. Of course Ford, being the good brother he was, would say that. Didn't make it any less of a lie, though.
You're not a burden, or a leech, or anything that Pa has told you.
It’d feel so good to believe it. To genuinely believe that he wasn’t what he’d been told his whole life, what he’d come to realize on his own.
I need you to believe me when I say this, okay?
How could he? So what, suddenly every single person in the world was wrong? Every single classmate, teacher, neighbor, relative that he’d come across in his life saw the same thing, and he had to believe that they were all wrong? He’d never been one for numbers, but he was pretty sure there was something called “statistics” that begged to differ. That and “common sense”.
I need you to believe me, please.
No, there was no way. He couldn’t, it wasn’t that simple, nothing was simple! And it couldn't be true either, because… because it wasn’t. Maybe Ford thought so, but that didn't make it true. He didn't deserve it being true either, he'd never done anything to deserve it being true, and everyone else agreed. Except Ford.
He doesn’t know you like I do. No one knows you like I do.
That he couldn’t refute. Ford did know him better than anyone, but he was also the most biased. Ford’s opinions were not the reality they lived in. That was not how the world worked.
Well, fuck how the world works!
His own words came back to him, setting solid in his mind. What was he saying? Of course the world didn't know shit! The world had also called Ford a freak his entire life, and had treated them both like shit since they were born. No, going against what the world said had been his life-long motivation, even before they found their beloved boat. Don’t listen to them, stick it to the man, run away. That had been the whole point of the Stan O’ War, the only thing that would give him hope even at his lowest.
The world was wrong about them. The Pines twins weren’t some weird, freaky losers. They were a team, an unstoppable force if they wanted to. And if what Ford had said was true —part of it, at least—, that team was also unbreakable. Ford would leave, but not him.
Well, that was comforting, in a way, but it didn’t matter much. Not when Stan would be the first to go.
“How long do you think I have?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Huh?” Ford replied, clearly coming back from deep in his thoughts.
“I said, how long do you think I have? Until he kicks me out.”
The hand softly massaging his hair stopped abruptly, retreating slowly. Stan immediately missed the comforting action, but he quickly noticed that the arm still wrapped around him tightened its grip ever so slightly.
“He's not going to kick you out,” Ford muttered, almost matter-of-factly.
“He paid for a passport, of course he is.”
“No, he's not. We just... have to find a way to change his mind.”
“Yeah, right. Changing Pa's mind. We'd have a better chance of winning the lottery without even buying a ticket.”
“We still have to try—”
“No, we don't. There's no point in getting you on Pa's bad side too. He's made up his mind, and there's no way he'll change it. It's only a matter of time before he hands me that duffel bag and—”
“Well, I'm not gonna sit around waiting for it to happen!” Ford’s arm shot away from Stan, setting with a dull thud on the wood below them. Stan sat up, moving away from Ford, only now noticing the chill night breeze that the half-vacant wall did nothing to prevent.
Ford closed his eyes shut, trying his best to calm down while looking for his next words. After a couple of minutes of going through futile mental attempts to formulate the perfect sentence, he opened his mouth, hoping that whatever came out would be enough.
“Please… don't give up on this. I can't... you can't leave.”
Ford fell silent at his own words. Unbelievable. He had ripped Stan to pieces for not wanting to let Ford go, for being scared of being left behind, and now he had the guts to ask Stan to stay?
Fucking hypocrite.
Now it was Stan’s turn to fall silent. After a few minutes, he sniffed once and spoke again.
“Okay, what's the plan, then?”
Ford's head shot up, meeting his twin’s eyes. For the briefest moment, he saw a minuscule glint in them, the smallest spark. All that was needed to start a fire.
“You…”
“To be clear, whatever plan you have, I don’t think it’s gonna work. So first of all, make peace with the fact that I’m probably leaving soon.”
Ford was not going to make peace with that anytime soon, but he nodded nonetheless. Stan was probably not buying either, but if he did, he made no move to acknowledge it.
“Second of all, whatever we do, you have to stay as clear as possible. If it fails, we’ll blame it on me alone, ya hear me? ‘Cause you ain’t getting punished for this. We either succeed or I go, but you will not get on Pa’s bad side. Deal?”
Stan put out his hand. His brother went to shake it, but Stan moved it away before he had the chance.
“I’m being fucking serious, Stanford. If we shake on it, you cannot vouch for me or defend me if things go south.”
“How do you expect me to adhere to those terms? Of course I’m going to defend you!”
“Because it’s the only fucking thing I’m asking of you. If Pa gets angry at you, he might throw you out too, and we cannot afford that, okay? This isn’t some child play, you could end up homeless.”
“You’re the one who’s gonna end up homeless!”
“Yeah, better one of us than both! And I already have one foot out the house, so we either pull this off or don’t try at all. But you can’t take the fall with me, alright?”
Stan lowered his hand again.
“Only shake on it if you mean it.”
This time, Ford hesitated. He knew that, had it been the other way around, he also wouldn’t have put his twin in danger of following his own fate in favor of a chance at saving himself. What Stan was doing, trusting him enough to try, and making an effort to even believe he deserved help after everything he had confessed in the last hour… it was nothing short of a miracle. And Ford wouldn’t betray his trust like that.
“I mean it,” he declared, shaking his brother’s hand with nothing but honesty and decisiveness.
“Good,” Stan replied sharply. He took a deep breath before continuing. “So, what’s your plan?”
“Well, first of all, let's assess the situation. You said there’s a packed bag that you found while yours was in the wash, right?”
“Right.”
“And he doesn’t know you have found out about it, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“In that case, the obvious and most inconspicuous thing we can do is to simply act as if we didn’t know what those things were doing in the bag.”
Stan arched a brow, incredulous. “That’s your big plan? Pretend we’re stupid?”
Ford huffed. “No, of course not. There’s more to my plan, but the duffle bag makes this more complicated. If he was completely sure about kicking you out, then he wouldn’t have left it there packed already, you would be out by now.”
“Huh… guess I didn’t think about it like that. So what, you think he’s waiting for a specific moment to kick me out?”
“It appears so. Or maybe he had his mind made up but changed it right at the last minute.”
“That doesn’t sound like him. And if he did take it back he wouldn’t have left the bag there.”
“I agree. I believe our first guess is our best one. Well, not best, but…”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Poindexter. Not good for me but the most probable.”
“Exactly. So, if we give Ma the money that was in there, hang the clothes back in the wardrobe and put the toothbrush and the passport away, we can make it seem as if we didn’t know what those things were there for. As far as we’re concerned, it was just an old bag we dug up that had some stuff in it we forgot we put there.”
“And wouldn’t it be better to just… leave it there?”
“I’ve thought about it as I spoke, but ultimately it all comes down to whether Pa is having second thoughts or not. If he does, maybe he’ll think twice before kicking you out. After all, he went through the trouble of packing you a bag— which is not to say that he’s a good man for it, of course, but… if he has to pack it again, maybe he’ll reflect on it.”
“And what if he kicks me out with nothing instead?”
Ford frowned. “Then I’ll pack you two bags.”
Stan rolled his eyes, in a poor attempt to appear indifferent at the very real possibility of Ford having to smuggle basic things for Stan once he was thrown out. Homeless. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Okay, on the off chance this worked —which would be a miracle, to be honest—, what would we do next?”
Ford cleared his throat, in an even poorer attempt to appear confident.
“Next would be what Pa’s trying to achieve with this stunt. Based on the things he's said about you —which, just to re-state the obvious, are not true in the slightest—, he thinks you’re… a waste of his money.”
Stan scoffed. “Given it isn’t just an excuse to get rid of me because he hates me.”
“Putting that aside, the root of the problem might be that he expects you to pull your weight around the house. And there’s only one language that he speaks: money. Therefore, what we need is to do is find you a job. Something that will bring some money home.”
“I’m already making some at the kiosk.”
“Yes, but that largely goes into gas. We need to find something that will bring home enough money to make it more profitable for him to keep you than kick you out. At least for a while.”
“How long is ‘a while’ gonna be?” Stan scoffed, once again sounding defeated. “If I keep giving him what I earn, I’m never gonna get out of here.”
“Until,” Ford stated, “you can move in with me.”
Stan blinked, his skepticism momentarily forgotten. “What?”
“Once I get into West Coast Tech, there’s an endless list of scholarships and grants I can apply to, even simultaneously. Therefore, once I gather enough money to rent a small apartment —since I don’t think you can rent a dorm room if you’re not a student—, you can move in with me while I continue my studies.”
Stan stood still, his mouth hanging open and looking around, trying to make sense of his brother’s words.
“I know it isn’t ideal,” Ford said in a rush, seeing Stan’s expression. “I know it isn’t a ship like we wanted, and I know you’d probably rather have your own space to live your life, but this is just a temporary solution, I promise. Still, I think it’s better than staying in Glass Shard Beach, although if you’d—”
“Stop. Stop, just… stop.” Ford did as told, while Stan opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. “That’s… it’s insanity, Sixer. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m the one offering, then,” Ford replied with a shrug.
“No! So your plan is for me to stop mooching off all of you just to mooch off just you? No, man! You can’t just offer to pay for everything while I do fuck all!”
“If it makes you feel any better, you will definitely have to get a job there. I’ve heard California is a bit more expensive than New Jersey.”
“Ford, think this through. The reason you get scholarships is to get you through school. You cannot waste whatever money you get on maintaining me.”
“I’m not ‘wasting’ anything, and if I get a scholarship, I’ll spend it on whatever I damn please! If I work as hard as I do it is to get what I want, and what I want is for you to have a house you won’t get kicked out of!” The rising tone of Ford’s voice took the words away from Stan. At the sudden lack of a comeback, Ford went over his words, sighing. “What I’ve always wanted, just like you did, was to get out of here. Together. I’ve never stopped wanting that. And yes, maybe we don’t have a boat, and maybe we don’t have a father worth a damn, but we’ll have each other. Wherever we go.”
The rest of that last sentence echoed around Stan’s brain in the voice of two small kids, covered in saltwater and sand and heavily sunburnt. He stared at his twin, and the fire in his eyes was one that he could rarely see: that of uncharacteristic confidence, unbridled self-assurance, pure stubbornness. Ford wasn’t one to stand up for himself much, especially ever since they were teens, but that look had never failed to bring with it the bold side of his brother. Whatever he was cooking up in that big brain of his, he had a goal, and he’d stop at nothing to achieve it.
Now, it was Stan’s turn to decide whether he wanted to take the leap or not.
A stupid dilemma, really. They’d go together.
“Alright,” Stan muttered. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
For the first time in what Stan noticed had been too damn long, Ford flashed a genuine, ear-to-ear smile. He barely had time to smile back before his twin threw himself into his arms again, this time just for a few seconds before pulling away.
“We’ll make it, Lee. And I really mean it.”
“I believe you,” Stan replied, the sudden realization hitting him hard enough to make his eyes well up again. He refused to shed any more tears, and put his hands over his brother’s, which were resting on his shoulders. “We’re gonna get outta here, together. Forever.”
Ford nodded enthusiastically, feeling the waves crashing against the shore in a round of applause.
Together, Wendy, we can live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Oh, someday girl, I don't know when
We're gonna get to that place where we really want to go
Results of choice 11: Stan looked away. Could he now? Or ever? (45,5% out of 11 votes).
a/n: ...In my defense, I had a slight crisis over making changes into previous plans. But I have a new base for a plan, so let's kickstart the Shrimpy once again!
Grunkle. Grunkle. Grunkle. The word sounded strange. Weird. Wrong.
Stan never had any Grunkles. Ford had one, sure, his favourite (even if an only one) Grunkle Dipper. They thought the same, talked the same, and it was clear how they both enjoyed the company of each other.
They could spend an hour just laying on the ground and observing the walking patterns of tiny ant-people as they were taking apart a leftover sandwich.
And Stan only had Great Uncle Mason to shout and scoff and throw suspicious glances at every occasion. For stumbling into danger or catching him in the midst of story embellishing or even trying to help Ford with his new research hobby…
So… Why now? Because Stan apparently was considered dead for some time? Out of guilt or sudden relief?
Evidently. So the real question was what would happen later, when the guilt would pass and relief would settle? What then? Would Great Uncle Mason regret this offer and request to take it back…?
There was a deep exhale coming from before Stan, and the latter flinched. Oh, he took too long with his answer and Great Uncle Mason was once again displeased…
Yet as he looked back, Great Uncle was just staring at the ground with a terrified expression, like he noticed a threat or a new dangerous anomaly or…
“Great Uncle?”
The older man exhaled once again, shook his head and then turned, still kneeling, so that his back was now facing Stan.
Of course, what would he expect…
“Climb on”, Great Uncle looked at him over the shoulder.
“What?” Stan blinked in confusion.
“You said you couldn't walk. So climb, and let's go back. You need to get back and rest, and I hope the stitches didn't get torn off while you ran and…” Great Uncle Mason stopped his frantic rambling and shook his head once again, before looking again at Stan: “Please, just… Just let me help?”
Stan hummed. A small part of him was desperate to scoff and try to get back on his own. And maybe he even entertained the idea of just sitting here for eternity, until…
The chain pulsed, making Stan snap out of his thoughts.
He was tired. He was still a bit cold even despite Great Uncle Mason's coat. And most of all, the pain was rising.
So maybe going back was better? More of those painkillers at least and back to that blissful state of floating?
“Stan?”
“Yeah”, suddenly Stan didn't like how his own voice sounded, raspy and sandy. So he didn't say anything else, just carefully managed to shakingly rise and step away from the bench, only to gracelessly drop onto Great Uncle Mason's back who gasped but held still.
It took a little more adjusting, Stan reaching with his hands to hold on and Great Uncle Mason carefully supporting him by the knees, before the older man finally rose on his feet with more grunting.
“Hell, when did you get so heavy? You used to weigh like a couple of gnomes, no more!”
Stan actually smirked at that, partly in effort to ignore how his chest felt strange and burning upon the firm contact with the other's back. “And you used to carry the Multi-Bear in your arms after your wild parties. Don't tell me you grew too old?”
Great Uncle Mason laughed at that, although a little breathless. But instead of replying he started to walk, definitely slower than his usual stride, but steady enough so the rhythm became almost soothing, letting Stan focus on the constant sound of footsteps instead of his pulsing chest or nagging shoulder or the darker thoughts…
“Stan!”
That shout made Stan straighten his back so rapidly he almost lost his balance if not for Great Uncle Mason who cursed and grasped at his legs tighter, preventing him from falling off.
Yet Stan ignored it, staring ahead at the figure so similar to his own and yet so different, and so long forgotten and yet didn't he hear his voice a little bit earlier?
And Ford already stopped near them, breathing heavily yet staring back at Stan with wide panicking eyes that looked even wider behind the thick glasses…
“You're here too?” Stan blinked. Ford seemed different in new ways from how Stan usually imagined him, and he actually was exactly the same as his latest hallucination, when he was on painkillers and Shermie’s ghost was there. But Great Uncle Mason said Shermie was alive, and now Ford was here, and Stan felt the painful sharpness of this reality, but he had to know… “You're real?”
And maybe it still was some more dream or his brain finally giving up. Because Ford should've scoffed and berated Stanley for making absurd observations, not tearing up and…
Stan yelped as one of his hands was suddenly grasped with such force that there was no way for it to be any other way but real.
Great Uncle Mason shouted something in alarm, but Stan could only stare at his twin’s eyes, shining and determined and hard.
“I am”, Ford nodded, tugging at Stan's hand for another time and releasing. Stan didn't even think before trying to reach back, to grasp back, he needed the reassurance, he needed Ford…
Who exhaled, looked over both of them and then grabbed some trinket on his neck and raised his hand…
Stan felt himself floating. And coupled with how his upper body suddenly felt relief from no longer being pressed or slightly bent, he feared he was slipping. And he couldn't, he refused, not when Ford was finally here! Yet as much as he blinked or tried to focus, the feeling didn't vanish, and Ford before him was blurry and Great Uncle Mason beside him too, and both seemed to be arguing…
Wait, wasn't he just now being carried…?
Stan shook his head, trying to focus.
“...told you to leave it alone! I wasn't joking about this amulet…”
“...said a stubborn old man who got his bones cracked too! You should've called for me instead of trying on your own…”
“And what? Let you use this evil amulet again?! Not on my watch…”
“So, Ford is now magic?” Stan decided he cared only about the fact that it was his twin doing it. “Cool. Can you make a rabbit appear?”
That made Ford glance his way with a long suffering look. “Don’t make me want to slap you so soon. Let's get you back. Does anything hurt? Even slightly?”
Stan carefully patted himself over, then pulled the coat tighter around him.
“Yes”, he repeated in the end. “Everything”. That answer was short and true. “So, telepathic now?”
“That's telekinesis”, Ford pinched his nosebridge and waved his hand. To Stan’s surprising delight he actually felt himself floating through air, so he chuckled.
“What is it?” Ford immediately glanced his way.
“Nice”, Stan closed his eyes and relaxed... “I think that's my preferred way of travelling now.”
But then he felt himself be shaken violently, so he had to open his eyes and immediately see how Ford was staring in panic.
“What? I'm injured! Don't do that!” Stan winced, noticing Ford do the same in return.
“Sorry, but you can't be sleeping for now. Not until the doctors will look at you again.”
“Yes, even though luckily they didn't find the signs of concussion, the extra caution wouldn't be any extra…”
“Grunkle Dipper! You're immediately going to the doctors too!”
Stan glanced at the defeated sigh of the older man. Oh, so Ford now was finally capable of arguing with his Grunkle? He was so proud of his twin!...
…
He wondered when it started.
***
Stan winced as his skin was pierced once again and then the liquid from the suspended bag started to drip, with every drop bringing the numbing sensation.
“What? Does it hurt?” Ford tightened his hold on Stan's hand. Since the latter was brought back to his hospital bed, his twin grasped it and refused to let go, even as the doctor started his check-up, pulling the bandages away and shaking his head in disappointment. Yet apparently none of the stitches or his injuries were really aggravated, so Stan was just bandaged back and hooked back to countless tubes and needles.
He wasn't really liking it… But Ford was here, and Shermie (real! breathing!) was back to sitting near, and also…
“My poor boy, what did they do to you?” their Mom was weeping, sitting right next to her other sons.
…Stan really wished for the ground to swallow him. Sure, he couldn't count the sleepless nights when he ached to see them again, to get them to look at him back, but… not like that? Not when he was so weak and pathetic and needed to be rescued.
Not when his brothers looked one step from crying. Not when his Mom was actually crying.
“Yeah, I know”, he looked away, at the wall. “I got careless and paid for it”.
The hand on his own tightened.
“That's not it!” Ford argued. “Stan, from what I know…”
“You don't know shit”, Stan glared back. “You don't know anything about my life, so believe that I should've been able to handle it perfectly on my own”.
Ford flinched, but didn't let his grasp fall away. But instead of him speaking it was their Mom.
“You shouldn't have”, she sniffled. “Come to think, my sweet free spirit got tangled in this horrible mess…”
Stan huffed and looked away once again. It was too much, it was too intense, he hated feeling so weak and at the same time being an object of their pity.
…He wanted to call Jorge, to ask him for advice, but he was stopped just a while ago when he tried to find a phone and now he was guarded by his own twin and also there was a high chance Grand Uncle Mason was back again in the hallway, keeping watch.
They weren't saying what their plans were about Stan. They weren't saying anything about Shanklin or Jorge, claiming that Stan needed to rest first. And he wasn't in the mood for more asking. At the same time, he wasn't yet capable of planning some for himself. But honestly? Ignoring the rising feeling of unease, it still was better than to wonder if his family hated him.
They didn't, they just…
Stan hummed and turned back, to gather their reaction as soon as it would appear.
“Did you all really think I was dead?” and after a small pause he was nearly deafened by triple ‘yes’ that followed with sincere gazes.
“That’s what I've been telling you!” Shermie cried, leaning forward. “What did you think I meant?”
Huh? What did Shermie…?
“Weren't we talking about our Father?” Stan tilted his head, frowning. “You definitely accused me of his death, although is it really accusing if it's true…”
Once again, the reaction was synchronized, but this time consisting of triple ‘no’.
“You didn't kill him!” Ford exclaimed, adding his second hand to grab at Stan's one. “It was ruled as an accident, as a malfunction no one could predict…”
“Stop assuming you know what happened”, Stan felt his voice hardened. “You weren't there, and I was. I know better than anyone what's really happened, and if I say I was the reason, then don't you dare to try and assume otherwise”.
Ford gulped, glancing at their Mom who briefly shook her head. After a brief moment, Ford deflated and looked away too.
Good, that probably meant…
“I'll prove it to you”, Ford mumbled. “I will find a way to prove this…”
“Don't you have better things to do than waste your time on pointless…?” Stan was interrupted by his twin.
“That’s for me to decide”.
Stan groaned and looked away. “Suit yourself”.
The silence was thickening with every passing second, and Stan focused on the chain on his wrist for support, until their Mom didn't try to speak.
“Stan, sweety, please talk to us…”
“I don't want”, Stan refused. It wasn't even that he didn't want it truly, just… He felt so vulnerable, so weak. And the worst of it?
He didn't trust it. Sure, now they were pitying him and shaking over him, afraid for his state (that apparently wasn't really good).
But… What would happen in a few days when he'd be discharged? In a week when he'd get obviously better? In a month when they'd remember why they left him?
Sure, they thought he died with his Father.
But… he was left long before it. And he couldn't allow himself to be as naive and stupid to believe that this time something would change.
The chain tightened all on its own, as there was some more silent uncomfortable thickness, and then Ford coughed.
“Mom, how about you and Shermie get us all something to eat?”
“But sweety, didn't you…?”
“Mom!”
Probably there was also some nonverbal communication happening, because soon their Mom sighed and left together with her youngest, leaving Stan alone with his twin now.
“Stan”, Ford tugged on their joined hands. “Please, look at me.”
Stan groaned but complied. “What?” and yet he was surprised as his twin shook his head.
“Nothing”, Ford smiled. “Sorry, I think… I just… You're alive, after all those years of me trying… Never mind, not important. I… Sorry, I missed you too, so much. I promise not to ask anything you don't want, but… Can we just talk about anything?”
“Anything?” Stan felt himself smiling in return. He missed him too, so so much! And well, even if Ford would return to ignoring him once again, now they could indeed talk, and Stan would enjoy every second before being thrown out once again.
Yes, he maybe was pathetic and weak, but everyone knew that. He could just as well stop pretending to be someone else for a bit.
Ford nodded. “Anything”.
“Tell me something from your misadventures”, Stan smirked. “You must've kept stumbling in all sorts of troubles even on your own?”
Ford's face trembled for a brief second, but then his smile returned.
“Oh, plenty, let me just…” he took a second to think. “I can assume you'd be bored to hear about the haunted library, so how about me discovering a completely new subspecies of sirens? Or I can just tell you all the new gossips around Gravity Falls? You know, what has changed since you were… there?”
Stan ignored a little pang over the reminder. He also ignored how Ford's own voice stumbled over the last phrase. Stan really wasn't ready to jump into that pit full of emotions and melodramatic talks.
Not when he had no escape planned and no weapons to assure him and no one to trust.
The chain again reminded of itself, and Stan slightly relaxed, sending a little thought of apology, that made the little chain to lessen its hold.
But that made Stan's mood drop again.
Jimmy. That little chain was all that was left of the guy, and it really couldn't compare to the warm reassurance of the Oath, even when it was twisted by Stan's own actions…
But it was something, it was a proof, but of what exactly - Stan didn't know yet, but he promised himself and to the little chain - to find out, as soon as he could.
Because if Jimmy was gone and the chain stayed - it must've meant something! Stan needed it to mean something.
Just not now, when everything was rough and turning upside down and Stan's skin still was crawling with shivers and he felt peeled from any defences he had. Except from the little chain and the reminder that Jimmy cared.
“Stan?” Ford coughed. “If… if you want to sleep now, that's okay too, probably would be better…”
“No”, Stan shook his head. He didn't want to go to sleep. He really wanted to talk to his twin. Pretend that everything was alright. That he didn't condemn another one to death just because Stan was near. That he wasn't afraid of thinking about his future. That he wasn't afraid of what his remaining memories of the captivity truly meant. That he wanted to drop to his twin's feet and beg to accept him back and yet he also was afraid of Ford's answer. Of him refusing. Or worse - agreeing before breaking his promise once again.
What was Ford saying? Stan forced himself to smile.
“Well, now I'm intrigued. What's with the haunted library?”
“New kind of sirens? Hit me with it!.. just not literally.”
“Never can resist a couple of nice gossips. Go for the juicy stuff!”
It’s here!! Damn the long awaited reunion. Stan is so awkward with his family. He just doesn’t know to act after spending so much time being ignored, being left behind.
thinking differently to other people is more of a good thing than a bad thing because herd mentality has killed millions throughout history so it's okay that my thoughts don't make sense to most people i share them with
I try my best and thats enough. Just because someone dislikes me doesn't mean everyone does. I'm not a hypocrite I'm not a hypocrite I'm not a hypocrite I'm not a hypocrite.
i can make my own decisions and use my voice now, not people-pleasing anymore ☺️
I am sorry if i didn’t tag you, there are some of my wonderful mooties where i always forget the name but i think of you <3
@the-house-is-on-fire @hardbulimiarecovery @alw4ysc0ld2 @imdoingitagainn @a-boy-made-of-yellow @youdeservesooomuch @jesusfreakette @that1emogirllll @caffeinated--trauma-ferret @mthnt67 @moth-boyyyy @lyssieslife524 @dari4lovesart @dylannsfreakettee and yeah my brain is dumb sorry i forget some people :(
SAY SOMETHING NICE ABOUT YOURSELF RIGHT NOW 🦀🦀🦀 OR ELSE 🦀🦀🦀🦀
im good at my hobbies :D
@idiotysseus @princess-of-morkva @leahnardo-da-veggie @entropyofmadness @randomguy0ntumbir and open tag to everyone. and im sorry i cant remember more moots. and no pressure also.
Apologies for being AFK for so long--was dealing with very difficult health issues. I'm still working on my genderbend Stan twins au. Meet the PINEY BUNCH, circa 1960s!
FILOMENA PINES- the matriarch of the Pines household. Traditionally minded, not easily impressed. Would like for her daughters to find good husbands in the future.
CALEB PINES- A bit of a huckster, runs Pines Pawns along with a few other business ventures on the side, including fortune telling on the boardwalk.
SYBIL PINES- an introverted little girl who prefers books to people, who treat her like an outcast because of her hands. Ma is worried for her future because of her 'deformity' and strange interests.
SYLVIA PINES- the little firecracker, loves getting into trouble and taking shortcuts. Ma finds it frustrating, Pa finds it endearing. Very loyal to Sybil.
Caleb is the one with the Pines name and Shermie remains male in this universe so their last name is preserved lol
first, you almost successfully gaslit me into thinking your names been evilien this entire time and i just had it double wrong (my brain kept reading emilien and emily for a while for some reason...) until i checked your ao3, you wont get me like that!!!
second, i read the restraints chapter, and im not religious and not even christian but i audibly said jesus christ after reading that, i needed a good expletive
LIKE DAMN. DAMN. MAN I DONT HAVE WORDS HOLY SHIT
anyways, im here cause a bit after reading that, i wondered about the scars and if ford would notice during the portal incident (i decided his sleep deprived ass would have no idea) and then thought of irony of getting the shoulder burned again. Thought that would give a nasty flashback for sure and IT GAVE ME AN IDEA
magic curse scar, every time stan has suicidal thought the live scars flare up again. i rest my case.
First let me say: thank you for letting me enjoy your confusion ^^ won't lie - I changed recently for a number of reasons, one of them is playing to confuse people (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Second: I'm so glad you were as impressed by the Restraints fic! And ohhh, such ideas! I can say that personally I'm leaning towards some scars fading with time, but some would left.
And... Hooo, hoooooooooooo.... And that's why NO ONE SHOULD MENTION TO ME TASTY IDEAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T ASKING BUT HERE I GO!
The reminder did stay.
'live'.
Stan would wake up with seeing traces of once gentle fingers on his cheek and neck and with remembering his body and soul burning.
'live'.
He would went through the day hiding the burns under long sleeves and some stolen scarves and telling wild tales about the burns still visible.
'live'.
He would tremble at night and looking at the ceiling and glancing at bottles or knives and whimper and stare away.
'live'.
Worst thing? Stan tried to look for Jimmy, at times - with anger, at times - with shacking hope, at times - with just questions, but there was nothing. No one saw him that day, no one knew about him since the day he left the first time.
And at times Stan was even tempted enough to try again, to see if Jimmy would come again, but the memories would just surface, of that night, of scorching pain, and Stan would take a step back, lower his hand, look away.
And with time scars started to fade. Not all of them - just the lightest ones. Most of the words, some of the palms. Enough to stop wearing long sleeves...
Until one bad night, until Stan's hand found a razor, until one stray thought of just being quicker...
Then the scares flared up, each one burning as if received a moment ago, making Stan curl and curse everything, everyone, himself, Jimmy, the world...
And everything would start anew, with scarves and sleeves, and until another bad night...
And again... And again...
***
Stan turned around and tried to check his newest burn in the mirror.
It was looking startling, a raised geometrically-symbolic shape in-between the fading words.
Figures. Everyone Stan ever loved left some scars on him.
But at least Stan could bring that one back.
***
Ford's scar began to fade, and Stan went and payed to tattoo its shape right over. It was painful, and he got tired to explain all the other words around.
But he needed them, needed a reminder to keep himself going.
