So. I saw @babyblankyerror 's post about Stan dying and being reborn in another Stan's body. And I thought of the potential this idea has. Like, Gravity Falls has countless AUs, Stan could have ended up in any of them! So, I decided to write a little something for the soul. Hope you enjoy :P
TW: main character death, passive/mentioned suicide ideation
Stan is prepared to die. He isn't happy about it, not like he would have been a few months ago, but prepared. The portal is dangerous, Stan is old, and those two factors don't really leave him with the best chances of survival. And that's okay. As long as Ford and the kids aren't hurt, everything would be fine.
His back hurts like Hell, though, and he can't feel his legs, which... Probably isn't good, but Stan can't bring himself to care because Ford is back. Through a slowly spreading haze, Stan can see the man approaching rapidly, six-fingered hand hurriedly pulling the hood off his head. The mask slides down his face next, and Stan can finally see Ford in all his sci-fi glory.
It's weird, seeing a face so similar to his contorted into such a desperate frown, while feeling the corners of his own lips pull up in a tired smile. A cascade of footsteps sounds from somewhere to his left, two skittish sets followed by a heavier, sturdier frame. Ford whips his head towards the noise, cracked lens of his glasses glistening in the dimming light of the portal. Stan tries to speak but can only manage a pathetically quiet wheeze.
"Grunkle Stan!" The voice is muffled, but distinctly panicked. It sounds shrill. Mabel? Maybe Dipper if he's scared enough? Stan's attempted laugh turns into a cough so strong that it feels like his ribs are cracking with the force of it. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth and latches to his very much fake teeth. Ouch. That can't be good.
"Mister Pines?" Stan starts to turn his head towards Soos's trembling voice, but six stern fingers pull his face back to stare into the terrified eyes of Stanford Pines.
"Stanley? You have to stay awake, alright? Please, you have to stay awake." Ford's gaze trails lower, down to Stan's numb legs, and he doesn't manage to swallow a stuttering gasp. "Just- Just listen to my voice, okay? I need some time, please."
And Stan tries. He really does, but he's just so tired. His vision is blurry, even blurrier than it was before he finally gave up and bought himself a flimsy pair of glasses. His hearing isn't any better, getting fuzzier by the second despite his hearing aid. His brother's – Moses, his brother is finally back – voice feels far away, as if muted by a thick layer of cotton. But there's something else too.
"Grunkle Stan?" It's pretty obvious that it's Dipper this time, tone uneven with stress and puberty. He sounds scared, helpless, and... Guilty. Stan knows what that sounds like just as well as he knows that Dipper has no reason to feel that way. He's just a kid, scared of an unknown, gravitational-anomaly creating device under the house he was living in. Rightfully so, Stan might add. He can't be mad at Dipper for doing what he thought was right, now can he? Well, as tired as he is, the least he can do is tell the kid his last ever truth.
"C-c'mon now, ya gremlins. 'S nothin' worth cryin' about." His voice came out small and raspy, and it earns a stiffled whine from Ford. Maybe not just Ford. Stan can't really tell anymore. "You- you should meet the author 'f th' journals. Ya been excited 'bout it. He's my brother, y'know." Another coughing fit rattles his entire body, sharp pain flaring up in his side.
"Stanley?" Ford's hand touches his chin, six fingernails digging into the skin with a desperate urgency.
"Mister Pines?!" Soos's voices crackles, as if coming through a faulty radio.
"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel's panicked face appears above him, blurring rapidly even through his newly cracked glasses.
"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper's hand finds his, and try as he might, Stan doesn't quite manage to squeeze back. The poor kid sounds and looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown. He's shouldn't look like that. At least not for someone like Stan.
"S'okay. Don' cry. Ford'll take good care o' ya." His breath feels shallow, and the world feels too far away. Everything hurts. Everything's numb. He's so tired. "'M sorry I didn' do better."
He let's his eyes close. He's okay with this. He deserves this.
Time to put an actual body in his grave, huh?
***
He's... Somewhere.
Or maybe nowhere.
He doesn't know.
He doesn't care.
Something is here.
Or maybe someone.
It calls itself the Axolotl.
It's saying something.
He doesn't know what.
He doesn't care.
He closes his eyes and plunges into the unknown.
***
He didn't expect to ever open his eyes again, and yet here he is, staring wearily at the blazing Sun above him. His head hurts. So does pretty much everything else. He's still utterly exhausted, limbs heavy with the weight of probably recent events.
Where is he, anyway? It seems terribly familiar-
"Lee? Lee, are you okay?" Woah, he hadn't heard that voice in decades. Little Ford's face swims into the view, blurry, but clearly concerned.
"Mmm," Stan hums noncommittally. His voice sounds squeakier than he remembers it being even at this age. That's weird.
"C'mon, you gotta get up," Ford huffs, hauling Stan into a sitting position. His face is red with sunburn, and judging by the ache in his cheeks, Stan's isn't any better. "Ma's gonna be so mad that you got into a fight again."
"At this point, it's kinda her fault if she wasn't expecting it," Stan snorts, stray hair tickling the junction between his shoulder and his neck. His hair wasn't that long at this age, was it? He couldn't quite remember anymore. "And at least Pa will approve."
"No matter how many times you say it, he really won't. He always says that girls shouldn't fight, you know." Ford doesn't seem to notice Stan's puzzled look, choosing to stare intently at his palms instead. He looks strangely ashamed, with his hands laid against the thick fabric of his jeans.
"What does that gotta do with anything?"
"Well, Pa's definitely not gonna be happy with you fighting someone for me again. He says that I should stop being such a sissy and that you should stop enabling it." Just as Stan is about to protest, Ford looks up at him with a smallest grin on his lips. "And Ma's pretty tired of patching up your skirt. I'm actually pretty sure it's more patch than skirt at this point."
His... His what now? Stan's eyes trail down to his legs, which are, in fact, covered by a white skirt with what looks like jeans peeking out from under it. Long curls spill over his shoulders, bouncing lightly at the disturbance. The wheeze he lets out sounds shrill.
Oh.
That can't be good.
***
And that's it! As a little note, Lee's name is supposed to be spelled Li since it's actually a Hebrew name, but the nurse wrote it down as Lee, and neither Caryn nor Filbrick bothered to correct it.
