A small drabble about the Stan twins at sea and hidden memories. No trigger warnings for this one, other than the mention of scars. There'll probably be a second part too. Thank you so much to @babyblankyerror for encouraging me to post this <3 Enjoy!
There’re a few scars that Stanley doesn't remember getting after the memory wipe.
It makes sense, of course, but it is a reminder of the parts of his life that he's missing. Part of him tries to convince himself that it's better this way; the last one he remembered was the one at the base of his left foot, and boy that memory sucked. He could've gone the rest of his days without ever feeling that glass again.
However, these remain a mystery. Ford asked him about them as soon as he saw them, worried about their size. Stanley simply made a joke, as he usually did whenever he found it difficult to talk about something. Seeing Ford's expression, Stan shrugged and admitted that he had no clue.
Obviously, that didn't stop his hypochondriac twin from writing down every single detail about them. Stan wasn't happy about it, but obliged, probably because he knew Stanford would otherwise interrogate him relentlessly. In his new journal, next to their encounters in the last months at sea and some sticky notes courtesy of Stan, there was a page dedicated to their injuries, a way to keep track of the damage the creatures (or the stove, in Ford's case) had dealt them. The new text read:
I have discovered some new scars on Stanley's body, although they are not the product of any recent altercation. He has not regained that memory yet, which is most definitely worrying: his worst ones are those that take longer to come back, as I have been noticing lately. If I had to guess, I would assume they belong to his decade away from home; this part of his mind is still locked away somewhere in his mindscape, and I’m fairly certain that it is more than just the effects of the memory gun.
They are located on both sides of his torso: two sets of semi-even parallel lines over his ribs. On each set, the upper scar is around six inches below the armpit, and the remaining two are three inches apart from each other. What concerns me about these scars in particular is their size: they are about eight inches long, horizontal, not straight but parallel between them. Their even distribution leads me to believe that each set was done at the same time, probably with a sharp object with three blades, like a trident of some sort. I have yet to figure out what could’ve caused such strange markings. Stanley said he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Wolverine during his 20s, quote “he didn’t take it well when I told him we should break up”. As stupid as the joke might’ve been, it made me think about the possibility of some animal-like creature being the culprit of the scars. However, as I said before, it is highly unlikely that Stanley encountered supernatural creatures before arriving in Gravity Falls, whether he remembers it or not. Therefore, I believe it is more plausible that whatever happened occurred before we reunited the first time.
The “animal” theory would make sense, if it weren’t for the way the scars look. They are nothing like some of the others I’ve previously seen on him. The first one that comes to mind whose size resembles these new ones is the one above his left kidney– or rather, where his left kidney used to be. It is a long and poorly healed line that, even 30 years later, still looks like it was heavily infected, forcefully done and clumsily stitched back together, probably several times. These new, unknown scars are completely different: they're roughly the same color as the rest of his skin, which usually means it wasn’t a deep cut, but they have a slight relief, which means that it was. They don’t have any noticeable stitch signs, even though cuts this big would almost definitely need them, and judging by some other scars on his body, I doubt he ever managed to get suture thread and/or staples. Although wobbly, they look neatly done, which makes me skeptical to believe it was some vicious animal.
The nature of these scars remains a mystery for the time being. Even though I would like to ask him more questions until we figure it out, I don’t want to force him to remember something that his brain is obviously trying to lock away. I will keep my inquiries at bay. In the meantime, I will do some research to at least figure out what the weapon was.
It's a rough night for the Pines twins. Ford's latest research had led them further from land that they had expected, and it was too late to turn back. Now they are right in the middle of a storm, a pretty wild one at that.
Both men are doing their best to keep their ship afloat. Even though the boat is resilient, the waves are slamming hard against its side and crashing onto the deck, making it almost impossible to stand straight.
"There's no reason for a storm of this size to have formed in such a short time! There must be some sort of climate irregularities of supernatural ilk, otherwise–”
"Sixer, does it look like the time right now?!" Stan's voice roars over the storm, cutting his brother's train of thought. He cannot afford to have Ford distracted. "Go downstairs and get the life jackets, now!"
"Are you insane? I cannot leave you here by yourself, the boom is too heavy!"
"Well you better hurry the fuck up, then!"
"Stanley, you can't handle this on your own, if a bigger wave hits it'll—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE LIFE JACKETS!" Stan's voice is now impossibly louder, and desperate. "If I let go, the boat will overturn. If you stay, we'll both die out here. Get the damn jackets before the big wave hits, now!"
Stanford is quick to puff his cheeks in annoyance, but as stubborn as he is, he's not an idiot. He runs to the cabin, rushing downstairs to get the only thing that might keep them alive in case the sea decides to eat their boat for dinner. As he reaches their bedroom, lightning crosses the sky outside their window, and he makes out the shape of the life jackets, their color heightened by the sudden light. He quickly puts on his own, damp hands shaking with cold, and makes his way out of the room.
He barely has time to process where he is when the boat shakes, almost as if it had collided with another at an intersection. The crash is so brutal that it sends him almost flying against the opposite wall, falling to the ground unceremoniously. Thankfully, the cabin has a good few layers to protect the ship from impacts like this, so he isn't too worried about the hull.
The exterior will be fine. What won't be is whatever is on it.
Ford's vision goes tunnel in an instant. That was the Big Wave, and it was hard enough to make him lose his usually impeccable balance. But Stan isn't as agile, and he's outside, on his own, and without a life jacket.
He's out of the cabin in a matter of seconds, although in his mind it might as well have been hours. His eyes scan the deck, finding only a pool of water covering it and some broken boxes they didn't manage to put away in time, as well as Stan's fishing chair stuck in a corner.
STANLEY. WHERE. SEARCH. NOW
His mind, usually as eloquent as his speech, is now screaming the words he can’t manage to get past his throat. Another bolt lights up the night, and Ford can clearly see everything for a few moments.
Everything and nothing. His brother is not on the deck.
Stanley was holding the rope when he left, making sure the sail wouldn’t turn around and disrupt the ship’s balance— or worse, break the mast with its weight. Ford’s eyes follow the mast, then the boom, then the rope Stan was gripping. He stares at the spot he was at, noticing that the rope is now securely tied around a cleat. No trace of his brother.
Ford’s ears are starting to ring from how hard his jaw is clenched. He walks around the deck, checking every single corner behind the cabin, the only place that was out of his view when he exited. Stan is nowhere to be seen.
With his right hand still firmly gripping his twin’s jacket, Ford makes his way to the gunwale and looks around the water. The boat isn’t shaking as violently as before now that the sail is tied in place, but the waves haven’t stopped hitting the hull the whole time. His eyes stare at the infinite mass of water in front of him, which now resembles more a deadly trap than the freeing space they both have loved since childhood.
He wants to shout his brother’s name, but the screaming words in his mind can’t seem to make their way to his vocal cords. Instead, all he manages to emit is a sort of roar that emerges from his guts. It isn’t entirely animalistic, but it definitely isn’t human either. His vision is getting blurry, and he quickly wipes his eyes. There’s no hint of Stan anywhere, the waves making it impossible to discern any shapes on the surface.
The smallest voice at the back of his head, the only remnant of his non-wild persona, keeps him from jumping overboard and swimming until he finds Stan. It would be useless; the waves don’t appear to be slowing down any further, and the water would be too turbid to see anything regardless. Besides, even though they’re not far from the equator and it’s spring, the water might still be cold enough to provoke hypothermia if exposed to it for too long. The risk is too high.
A bright red spot appears on top of the next wave. Stanley’s beanie.
Ford’s inside voice stays complicitly quiet as the man jumps overboard.
dededos
germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
