The Pines Protection Society, Chapter 1: Dipper’s Log #082812
Rating: T+ (Graphic Violence)
Characters: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Bill Cipher, Wendy Corduroy, Soos Ramirez, Pacifica Northwest
Word count: 626
Summary: In a universe where Bill Cipher lives to become ruler of not just Gravity Falls, but the entire world, the Pines family and their friends fight to survive. They create a group called the Pines Protection Society, which acts as a first-responder organization in the post-apocalyptic planet they now live on. The Pines find a new purpose in helping victims of the apocalypse, as they've accepted there is nothing else they can do to fight against Bill.
Note: Hey everyone! This is the first new fanfiction I've written since last summer, and I'm excited to return to writing about Gravity Falls. Just to preface the format of this piece: each chapter is written as a journal entry, from a certain Pines' perspective. The title of each chapter will tell you which Pines is authoring which chapter, and every chapter is written from first-person perspective. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.
AO3
This is Dipper Pines, logging an entry for the first time in Dr. Stanford Pines's official Weirdmageddon Log.
Current date: August 28, 2012, 4:38 PM.
Current location: inside the Mystery Shack.
Current weather: bloodstorms (thunderstorms, with blood rain), gusts, and occasional hailstones made of stone.
Who am I, you might ask? Well, I consider myself to be a researcher, paranormal investigator, a scientist's apprentice, a great-nephew, a twin brother, and a survivor of Weirdmageddon, so far. You see, we are currently in the midst of an apocalypse brought on by an otherworldly demon known as Bill Cipher. This apocalypse was dubbed Weirdmageddon by Dr. Pines, who happens to be my great-uncle. He created this log out of an empty journal he had, in hopes of recording our thoughts and experiences as we live through Weirdmageddon. And maybe one day in the future, where everything is hopefully back to normal, this journal can act as a time capsule to the past.
But anyway. Together, with my great-uncles Stanley and Stanford, my twin sister Mabel, and a group of our friends, we attempted to defeat Bill before he could take over the world.
Unfortunately... we were unsuccessful.
It's a complicated story, but I'll try to summarize it here. Pretty much, my Grunkle Ford had this interdimensional rift, which was essentially a small tear in the fabric of our dimension. It was kept in a glass globe, and he had to keep it out of Bill's hands so he wouldn't break it open and unleash the monsters of his dimension into ours. When Bill somehow managed to get the rift and smash it, however-- we still don't know exactly how that happened-- he created the apocalypse known as Weirdmageddon, and Gravity Falls became a dystopian world. However, when Bill tried to take over the rest of the world, he was confined to the town limits by a "weirdness bubble". He only had control over Gravity Falls itself. The rest of the world was normal.
Grunkle Ford knew a simple formula that could collapse the barrier around the town, which Bill demanded he give him. Bill planned to go into Grunkle Ford's head and find the formula himself. My Grunkles Stan and Ford had a brilliant idea of swapping clothes so that Stan appeared as Ford, and so Bill would go into Stan's head. The plan from there was to erase Stan's memory, completely wiping out Bill as a result.
But... their plan didn't exactly work out the way they wanted it to. Bill saw right through the scheme, and Ford was ultimately forced to give up the formula.
Now the world is essentially a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It's anarchy everywhere. The government's fallen apart, gangs roam the streets, buildings crumble due to abandonment and disrepair, and there are constantly gun- and knife-fights occurring in alleyways or even in plain sight. Everyone's scared of each other. Nobody knows what to do. We've all accepted that Bill is the supreme overlord of our universe, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it.
At least, I didn't know what to do until the events that occurred just this morning... we found one of our... friends? Enemies? Frenemies? I'll just call her one of our allies. Her name is Pacifica, and we found her in the forest, lost and clearly injured from a knife fight. A gang had jumped her, and while she'd managed to fight them off, my Grunkle Ford still had to--
Alright, alright, my twin sister Mabel is telling me that she wants to tell the story herself. So I'll let her tell it. She was more involved in the matter, anyway. I'll be back with another entry soon. This is Dipper Pines, signing out for now.
Characters: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Bill Cipher
Summary: Stan and Ford watch Bill give chase to Dipper and Mabel. They watch each other swap clothes. They watch Dipper struggle in Bill's grip. They watch Mabel's life drain from her eyes. They want to make a deal. With every deal, however, comes an insurmountable cost.
Note: So this chapter comes one year and two months after the first chapter was posted. Good god, I am sincerely sorry this took so long. I honestly don’t expect many people to read this, but I put a lot of time into it, so I hope whoever reads appreciates it. This will be the last chapter of this AU. Thank you for reading.
AO3 | Chapter 1
Stanley Pines was a broken man.
Haven't you always been broken? a voice whispered in his head as he'd watched his great-niece fall dead silent, in time to the sound of his knees hitting the floor. Time had seemed to slow down, all senses on mute. It didn't feel real; nothing jarring had ever felt real to him. Despite the slowness of reality around him, three words were moving through his head at the speed of light.
Mabel is gone.
Never had he expected to see Mabel Pines, the jubilant, sweet ray of sunshine that she was, meet her death before his own. If anyone deserved to die today, it was him. The plan was for him to ultimately die today, wasn't it?
He felt his hands twitching uncontrollably before anything else. He looked downwards to find the six-fingered gloves, the ones with the awkward fit, trembling at a dangerous intensity. What a shock. Everything he felt was just shock.
Stanley Pines pulled off his brother's gloves to take a look at his hands in the flesh. There was an imprint of the bandage from a few weeks ago, and on the back of his right hand, the cut he remembered getting when the portal had shone blue, a sign that after thirty entire years his efforts had not been for naught after all.
In that moment, standing in front of the portal, he felt like a fixed man. All the lies he'd spun, all the smiles he had to fake, all the failures he'd taken like a punch to the face had all culminated into that moment of euphoria.
When he saw his brother step out of the portal, he no longer felt like a failure. He felt complete.
When he felt the bitter sting of his brother's fist against his face, his brother's harsh words against his ears, he fell apart.
What good was having him back if they were suddenly at each other's throats? Bringing up bad blood after decades-old conflicts?
Stan was broken, all over again.
He drew his hand away from the cut in his skin, remembering himself. The twitching in his wrists had died down to a faint buzz.
Stan turned to his brother, who was now on his knees beside him. They were soundless, but they shared the same broken look.
They were fractured together.
Stanford Pines didn't realize tears were falling from his face until he saw the droplets hitting the ground.
How long had he known Mabel? A month? Less? Yet she was the sun at the center of his universe, providing light when he'd trapped himself in his own dark world.
The sun had just met her death, yet it took barely a second for Stanford to feel a suffocating sensation.
Suffocating. The word was so, so bitter to him. He remembered the very words that had passed his lips not a week ago.
"And isn't it suffocating? Having to be by her side all the time?"
He'd called Mabel's company suffocating. He almost wanted to laugh at his ignorance. Mabel was never suffocating.
The sensation now was wrapped around his throat like a phantom fist, trying to cut off his air intake. It was cruel, the way karma stung.
Maybe if he put his hands over his eyes, none of it would be real. He could float in his own dark, pitch black universe, and pretend nothing was happening. Everything would be at a blissful constant.
All he'd done behind the portal was fighting off monsters that were out for his blood. All he'd ever done was fight. Now here he was, trying to hide inside himself and escape his biggest fear of all.
Ford buried his face in his hands. He could feel the fez, the borrowed one that didn't belong to him, slip off his head and hit the ground with a soft thud.
As much as Stanford tried to distance himself from reality, a cold voice snapped him directly back into it.
"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?! COULD IT BE THAT YOU OLD PINES TWINS TRIED TO DO A SWITCHAROUND ON ME?!"
Stanford's heart dropped into his stomach. The fez was on the floor next to him, abandoned and almost forgotten.
Oh no.
Bill let out an earsplitting, demonic laugh. "You two really thought you could outsmart me! Priceless!"
Ford's mouth twitched. The demon's arrogance, his insensitivity, filled him with fizzling rage.
"Come on, lighten up, you three!" Bill shrieked, addressing all three living Pines. "Death is inevitable, at my hand, at least! Surely you should have seen this coming!"
"She didn't deserve to die!"
The words left Dipper's mouth before he could think twice. He was near blind with fury.
"Well, here's a lesson for you, kid." Bill approached Dipper very suddenly, towering hundreds of feet above him. With his one eye, he cast a glaring beam of light onto the boy and his sister's cold corpse lying beside him, the glow akin to a stage spotlight. "In this world, no one gets what they want. No one. How long's it gonna take you to figure that out, Pine Tree?
"What? What do you have to say to me?" Bill challenged, upon noticing the wild animal-like look in Dipper's eyes. "Go ahead, kid! Let it out!"
Dipper swiftly aimed a punch at the demon, but Bill slid out of the way with ease.
"You'll have to try a lot harder than that!" Bill shrieked, clearly amused. Dipper growled and tried with all his might to punch or kick the Bill, over and over, but the demon was quick to dodge every time. This only outraged Dipper even further.
"WEAK! YOU WEAK, SPINELESS SORRY EXCUSE FOR A DREAM DEMON! FIGHT ME LIKE THE MONSTER YOU SAY YOU ARE!"
Dipper expected an immediate dismissal of his words. It was of Bill's nature, of course, to do so.
But no, it seemed this wasn't the case. Bill was silent for mere milliseconds before turning completely bloodred.
"WEAK?"
Bill's huge hand plucked Dipper off the ground. Without warning, his cold touch was relentlessly digging into the skin of the boy's neck. He gasped for air, limbs flailing, and eyes darting like mad.
"YOU DARE CALL ME WEAK? I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU ALONG WITH YOUR WEAK-WILLED SISTER!"
Dipper desperately struggled for air, but the demon was absolutely murderous. He was determined to make the boy's death as slow and agonizing as possi--
"WAIT! STOP! BILL, STOP!"
Bill froze. Stanley and Stanford Pines were each waving their arms like mad, in hopes of catching Bill's eye.
"We... we'd like to make a deal with you."
Now this attracted Bill like a moth in the path of a light. A smug smile spread across the creature's lips, and Dipper was released from the death grip that was Bill's massive fingers. He gasped and inhaled uncontrollably, falling to his knees as he refilled his lungs with air.
"A deal, you say?" Bill chuckled evilly. "Tell me more."
Bill shrunk significantly so that he was only the size of the cage imprisoning the elder Pines twins. He casually crossed his arms and gestured for one of the men to speak.
Each Pines shot each other a momentary glance before Ford spoke up. "There is... something I'd like to give you. But if and only if you comply with the terms of the deal I will propose to you."
"Go on," the demon urged.
Ford took in a shaky breath. "I am willing to give you the formula that will collapse the weirdness barrier surrounding Gravity Falls."
Bill's eye lit up suddenly and intensely. The matter of the barrier, caging him and his powers within the boundaries of the small town, had nearly slipped his mind.
"Ohoho, so you've had a change of thought, have you?" Bill chortled.
"Yes," Ford said, shame clear on his face. "You simply have to uphold your end of the deal."
"That being?" Bill seemed amused.
"Bring Mabel back to life."
Bill raised his single eyebrow.
Then... he laughed.
"Bring Mabel back to life," he repeated, between chuckles. "You're willing to give up the entire universe... just for your Shooting Star."
"She means the universe to me." Ford's voice was choked.
It should never have been this way, Stan thought. It should have been Bill that died, not Mabel. She never deserved this.
Stan and Ford shared a look, communicating a thousand words by not saying anything at all.
How selfish I am, Ford thought. How horribly, awfully selfish I am.
"If you really are serious," Bill said, shrinking down to his normal size, "then we have a deal. The formula to the rest of the world in exchange for her life."
Bill snapped his fingers, and his hand became engulfed in rich blue flames.
Ford extended his hand toward the demon. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life."
Their hands were just about to connect when Ford hesitated and pulled back. "Hold on right there," he said. "By bringing her back, you promise that you will never hurt her again. You also promise that you will never hurt me or my family again. Do you understand, Cipher?"
"Yeesh, I get it, I get it." Bill laughed. "I don't need you all anymore. I've finally gotten what I've wanted all these years."
Before Ford could hesitate again, Bill reached forward and harshly grasped his hand. Ford's grasp was tight as the fire spread to his fingers.
With one shake, the agreement was sealed.
Bill's body appeared to turn to stone. A holographic, almost clear version of himself rose from the triangular statue.
"I'll see you on the other side, Stanford Pines." He smiled demonically.
"Take only the formula and nothing else," Ford said, but Bill Cipher had already dove into his mind. Ford dropped to his knees, and then there was nothing.
The barrier was breaking.
From the atmosphere, there came a massive, ear-splitting, creaking-groaning sound as if the world itself was falling apart. Outside the Fearamid, the sphere of weirdness was dismantling, dissolving into the air. Black clouds thick as cinderblocks covered the sky, infecting the surrounding cities whose skies were once healthily blue. Bill's minions could be seen rising from the ground and flying in all directions, eager to spread their madness to the rest of the world. Electric lightning shocked the atmosphere; thunder roared; otherworldly demons screamed. Hell was coming to life on Earth, and Bill was at the center of it all.
Bill Cipher was now known as the supreme overlord of Dimension 46-apostrophe-backslash. He was ruler of everything within the galaxy; everything succumbed to his needs; everything he'd ever wanted was now within his grasp.
The demon had reinvented his appearance; he'd replaced his yellow hue with the color of electricity, and his eye was now deep red rather than white. His bow tie had changed into a real tie the color of blood. He'd increased in size; his voice decreased in pitch. His words boomed louder than the thunder crashing outside.
"How does it feel to finally have your dimension liberated?"
As Bill laughed, the Pines shared the exact same look of horror. The universe was falling apart all because of them. No longer did they live in a free world. They would have to be fighting for their lives every single day in this apocalyptic galaxy. Chaos would run rampant, crime would ravage entire countries, stars would explode, solar systems would crack open.
And yet... wasn't there a silver lining?
"You know the rules, Cipher," Ford said thickly. "I give you the formula, you give me Mabel."
"Of course, Six Fingers. I know how this works."
And for the first time, Bill Cipher upheld his end of the bargain. No tricks, no loopholes, no games. He snapped his fingers, and Mabel's lifeless corpse suddenly levitated in the air. Dipper backpedaled away, trembling.
"Just this one time, Stanford Filbrick Pines. Just this one - last - time."
Another snap, and suddenly, a pink, glowing aura surrounded Mabel. Dipper's eyes bulged as Mabel's body appeared to absorb the light. A single tremor traveled through her body, and then - without warning - she jerked upright, her chest filling with air, her eyes shining bright as day. She floated back down to the ground, landing on two feet. Flexing her hands, inspecting every part of herself, she was incredulous.
Mabel Pines was alive.
"MABEL!" Dipper cried out. The tears came quickly as he threw his arms around his sister, and at once, he was complete again. Never mind the world falling apart outside; his twin sister, his other half, was alive.
"Oh my god, Dipper," Mabel squeaked out, already sobbing. She held Dipper closely, tears streaming down her face. "I-I died. I died! How- what happened-"
"Mabel, Ford made a deal with Bill." His voice cracked so frequently, Mabel could just barely understand him.
"He-- he what?"
"He agreed that he'd give Bill the formula to dismantle the barrier so you could come back to life," Dipper choked out. "He gave up the world just for you."
Mabel turned to Stan and Ford, but with the cage around them gone, they were already sprinting toward the twins. In one fell swoop, they'd gathered Mabel and Dipper in a tight, bone-crushing embrace.
"Mabel sweetie," Stan said, his voice hoarse. "I can't believe you're back."
"I can't believe it either," she sobbed. "Grunkle Ford, you really- you really-"
"Yes, sweetheart, I sacrificed everything for you," Ford said, his voice now thick with oncoming tears.
"But- you shouldn't have," she sniffled. "My life isn't worth the universe..."
"To us, it is," Ford said firmly.
"The world's falling apart," Mabel whispered.
"We'll get through it together," Dipper reassured her, and Mabel said no more.
The Pines family stayed huddled in their embrace as long as they could. Storms and destruction were breaking their world apart, and they all knew that sooner rather than later, they'd have to start running. Life would be one battle after the next after the next, but with each other... it was all worth it.
With their universe falling to pieces, Dipper and Mabel Pines held each other close.
Summary: Stan has just emerged from the hell that is his fearscape.
Unfortunately for him, Ford has seen it all.
Note: Please remember to follow @authorlxilani for the latest updates on my writing! Thank you!
AO3 | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Stan! Stan, are you conscious? Can you hear me?
Ford's own words sounded distant, as if they weren't even coming from his own mouth. Except they were; he felt it more in his vocal chords than in his tongue.
When he heard no response from his brother, he closed a fist around the hem of his sweater, trying to control the nervous panic swelling inside of him. It was heartbreaking, seeing Stan slumped forward in the metal chair, with his face in his hands. He had just broken his brother with his own fears. And now, he refused to even say or do anything.
Worst of all, he'd seen everything. It had played in front of him on the screens like a movie.
The first fear had, admittedly, heightened his heart rate a little, but slowed quickly once he realized Stan had managed to save himself. The second fear, though, was more painful. More ongoing. His brain churned as Stan had dealt with the problem. It especially stung when the discussion of Bill and their nightmares arose.
When Mabel had blurted out the details of the dream that was bothering her, Ford's head quickly leapt into the situation itself, thinking about whathe would have done to relieve Mabel's pain. But when he saw Mabel snuggling into Stan's embrace, he was awed. Stan had comforted Mabel so quickly, seemingly without much effort.
Maybe he'd overthought it. Ford would have solved it with logical reasoning. Stan solved it with emotional connection.
And anyways, the fearscape had quickly proven that logical reasoning didn't work on Mabel. Not the way it worked on Ford.
The third fear, the worst of them all, was like a stab in the gut with an electrically charged knife. The way Simulation Ford had spoken to Stan, it sounded exactly what real-life-Ford would have done if they were ever in that situation in reality.
Ford watched the simulation version of himself die with a particularly painful hitch in his throat. He watched his blood stain the blackness of the fearscape with dizzy eyes. When he'd turned back to Stan, however, he could feel a phantom fist around his throat. Ford didn't want to see Stan cry, but he watched. He didn't want to hear him sob, but he listened. All his senses were trained on just one thing, Stan, until the fearscape shut down and the screen flickered off.
The sight of Stan slumped over in the metal chair, just like the way he was after he'd dropped the gun in the simulation, was a sight that prickled Ford's eyes. He turned away from the metal chair again. His head pounded, and variations of the same thought flowed through his head:
You are a coward.
The thought, coming from out of the blue, was a punch to Ford's ego. Yet the more Ford thought about it, the more he realized that it was completely true. He was scared of watching his simulation self getting shot by a simulation gun. He was scared of watching Stan fall to his knees. He was scared of watching Mabel cry, of the conversation about his own nightmares, about the truck thundering towards the simulation Stanleymobile.
How would he ever survive his own fearscape?
He was also scared to face real-life Stan. He was scared of how he'd respond to Ford's words, if he ever chose to respond. He was scared of whatever expression would be written in the lines of his face. Fear, both rational and irrational, pressed in on him from all sides, like a million airbags surrounding him at once.
Stan's voice cut into the heavyweighted silence of the room suddenly.
"Didn't expect it to be that bad," he murmured, his words choked.
Ford looked over at him, a broken look in his eyes.
"I... didn't either."
Stan, wide-eyed, looked over his shoulder, clearly not having meant for Ford to hear it. Ford didn't want to look at him, but he did. The look in his twin's eyes made the clench of the phantom fist around his throat tighter. He swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the lump in his throat.
"What do you mean, you didn't either?" But Stan, he realized exactly what Ford had meant when he caught sight of the dark screens on the wall.
His face paled even further, his words not far above silence. "You.. saw it all. Didn't you?"
Ford shook his head, curling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The last time it pained him this much to see Stan's expression was back in the Fearamid.
A breath hitched in his throat at the thought of the Fearamid. In a flash, it all came back- the pure horror on Stanley's face as Bill dove into his mind, the emotion draining away from his face as he sunk to his knees, his eyelids already shut. The blue rays stealing every last piece of Stan from himself, and it was all Ford's doing. All your fault, all your fault, all your fault.
Ford didn't realize he was on the floor until Stan's shouts reached him through the fog clouding his mind. Suddenly his brother was kneeling directly next to him. "Whoa, Poindexter! It's okay. I'm right here. Don't black out on me, okay?"
The room still spun around Ford's head. This was worse. Much, much worse. He fixed his eyes on a single point on his brother's shoes, trying to relieve his dizzy spell.
At last, he spoke, but his words weren't nearly as solid as he would have liked them to be. "I'm sorry for putting you through the simulation. All this is my fault." With those words, the taunting, hiss-like voice returned. All your fault, all your fault, all your fault.
Ford looked up to see his twin brother staring at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Now I know how to deal with those fears! Besides, it wasn't even that bad. Really."
Sure, he made a good point with the whole fear-conquering thing. Yet Ford could just see through his lie:
"It wasn't even that bad. Really."
Ford had known Stan all his life. Nothing in his body language right then gave away that he was lying, but how else was he supposed to explain Stan's behavior just minutes ago, when he jerked awake and then put his head in his hands, as if attempting to shut out the world?
Ford hesitated before responding.
"That doesn't explain you waking up and looking like you'd just seen a ghost."
A ghost. Who was he kidding? Stan had seen himself murder Ford. No way did seeing a ghost equate to something as scarring as that.
Stan looked back to him, his expression made of stone. Ford held his gaze for two long, silent seconds, watching the cogs working in Stan's brain.
Ford sighed. "Stan... you know I saw you. I saw everything. Frankly, you looked like you were as scared as hell."
His voice was darkly low at this point. Ford, still knelt on the ground, tilted his head at Stan, who was avoiding his brother's eyes. Yet again he was shutting himself off, refusing to share the obvious.
Ford bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said again, voice almost inaudible.
Stan didn't respond.
He didn't try to counter his statement either.
Ford, sitting on his legs, inched closer to Stan just a little. "Stan, believe me when I say that I was.. horrified to watch you go through that simulation." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Particularly your latter fear."
Stan's voice, preceded by a dry laugh, was just above a whisper. "Yeah, no kidding."
Stanford sighed a little as Stan continued to bore a hard stare into the floor.
"Stan, I know you're reluctant to talk about this. But please, just talk to me. I know that look on your face. It's that look you get whenever you fall and the twins try to help you up. Or when you wake up from a bad dream yelling and everyone in the house can hear you."
Stan looked up with wide eyes at the statement, too many emotions swirling around in them for Ford to place with a single word. It was.. oddly very similar to a look of betrayal.
Hurt, probably.
One side of Ford strongly wanted to break eye contact with his brother, but he barely even blinked. "Stop hiding your pain, Stan. If you're, you know, hurting or need help, just tell me. I won't have a problem understanding."
Stan scoffed quietly. "As if that's the problem," he lamented.
Ford furrowed a brow. "What do you mean?"
Stan clenched his fists and turned his whole body to face Ford directly. Apparently Ford had set off a spark in him, but how?
"Are you really that blind, Sixer? You think I'm not telling you what's up because you think there'll be some sort of issue with you understandingwhat my problem is?"
Ford blinked, suddenly very confused. "I'm... not sure I understand what you're saying."
Stan threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Alright, let's see if this is understandable enough for you. Ever thought about the reason why I never come running to anyone when I have a nightmare? You think that someone could stand hearing my fucked-up dreams? Especially at three in the morning?"
Ford blinked, his brother's words slowly starting to sink into him. When he didn't say anything, Stan continued. "You don't know what's in my dreams. Nobody knows what's in my dreams. And you think people would want to know?" He shook his head, dropping his eyes so they met the floor again. "It's too much," he murmured. "Just.. too much."
The elder twin visibly reeled as Stan's words hit him at full force, his suspicions confirmed. Suddenly, all the little details made sense: Stan laughing off a lapse of memory loss. Stan waving away two concerned twins after he'd screamed himself out of a nightmare. Stan refusing to talk about the fearscape.
It was simple, really. Stan was trying to hide his pain for the benefit of his family.
Something akin to lead weighed Ford down at this late realization as he wondered: just how much pain had Stan been through in the past few days? And how much of it had been successfully hidden from those around him?
Never mind the past few days, what about the past months or even years? Decades?
The words left Ford's mouth before he could think them through properly. "Have you always been this way?"
No clarification was needed. Stan looked back up to his brother before responding. "Of course I have. Ever since Crampelter punched me in the jaw in the second grade." He bitterly laughed again.
Ford almost winced at the mention of the old schoolyard bully. So it had been literal decades since Stan had started hiding his pain.
He could almost feel a crack being opened in his chest. That's how much it hurt him to think about it.
"Stan, that's awful," he whispered, unable to bring himself to say much else.
"No, don't worry about it. I'm fine. You know it." Stan tried at a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"See? You're doing it again!" Ford half-exclaimed. "You're lying. You're not fine. I can tell, Stan."
Defeated at last, Stan sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Was it really that obvious?" he asked, words muffled through his hands.
Ford considered the question. "More so now than when we were younger, that's for sure."
Stan sighed in response. "I had a feeling it wouldn't work." He gave a bland chuckle. "But since when do things ever work for me, right?"
Ford laid a hand on his twin's shoulder, letting some silence pass between them before speaking again. "This isn't good for you, Stan. It's not good for you, for me, for the kids, for anyone. Hiding your pain will only come back to bite you in the future. Why hide something from the people who love you when they're most capable of helping you?"
Stan dropped his hands, but his face was contorted, as if he'd just swallowed something sour. He didn't answer.
"We're here for you, Stan. Dipper, Mabel, and I. You don't need to hide it. Trust me, we've all felt pain before. We know how to deal with it. We're family, remember?" Ford chuckled.
"Sounds like something I'd say," Stan mumbled in response. After a few seconds, he looked at his brother's eyes again. They were wide, silently pleading.
The look alone prompted Ford's next words. "Can you promise me something, Stan? Promise me that whenever you're hurting- I don't care whether it's physically, mentally, or emotionally- you'll talk to me about it. Or any one of the kids, if you want. They deserve to know. Can you promise me that, Stan?"
Ford watched Stan ponder, deep in thought. What was he considering? Was he really so conflicted about this?
"..alright," Stan said at last. "But be warned, I might be bothering you a lot." He chuckled.
Ford barely gave his latter words a second thought. His chest swelled with warmth. "Thank you, Stan. It means a lot."
They stayed that way for a long time, with Ford's hand on Stan's right shoulder, sitting on the ground together. The silence was not awkward. It was satisfactory. It was peaceful.
Characters: Stanford Pines, Stanley Pines, Bill Cipher
Word count: 1783
Summary: Ford has a nightmare, and Stan swoops in to comfort him.
This is a prologue to a “Divergent”-like story where Stan and Ford enter this thing called the “fearscape” to prepare them for the nightmarish anomalies they may encounter aboard the Stan O’ War.
This is a re-upload due to the title change, and the fact that I can now be found on AO3, woohoo!! My user on there is Lxilani.
AO3 version
“So we meet again, six fingers!”
Stanford Pines stood in a desolate wheat field streaked with gray skies, the bellowing voice sending chills down his spine. The field seemed to stretch on for infinity, the wind whisking the plants around gently. Ford quickly recognized this place as his mindscape (or was it dreamscape?). The mindscape was empty save for three monuments, all grayed and faded: a swingset for two, a sailboat worn by time, and a decrepit portal. The hairs on the back of Stanford’s neck stood on end; every visit to this place was a fresh nightmare. What a shame he hated his own mind.
Anxiety brewed in the man’s stomach as he balled his fists, ready for whatever disaster would occur this time. He knew Bill Cipher was there, watching him. He knew the demon was just dying to unleash a new terror on Stanford, he knew it, knew it, knew it. He supposed Bill was wreaking revenge on the one who’d figured out a way to destroy him.
The triangular demon’s sharp laugh rang out across the mindscape suddenly, causing Ford to tense. All at once, the air filled with the smell of smoke and charred grass, and large electric blue lines suddenly traced their way through the wheat fields. Bill was most probably waving his finger around somewhere above Stanford’s head, drawing on the canvas that was his mind. He spun around, dizzying himself, in an attempt to wrap his head around what Bill was creating.
Once Bill was finished burning the ground at Ford’s feet, he exclaimed sardonically, “Take a good look, Fordsie!”
With those words, Ford felt his feet lifting off the ground. His stomach dropped as he ascended, forced upwards by the demon. After just a second he was halted, frozen several miles above the ground. Mind whirring, he cast his glance downwards.
Stanford’s face twisted in horror as he saw Bill’s writings: the fez symbol, the pine tree, and the shooting star. All drawn to perfection. All with angry red Xs slashed through them.
Ford became even dizzier then; his heart dropped and his arms trembled with fury and revulsion. He whipped around to confront the conjurer of the images.
“Stop this right now, Cipher! T-they’re alive; you’re dead! You can’t hurt them!” Stanford yelled, voice not as steady as he would’ve liked it to be. Surely Bill could sense Ford’s fear, no matter how far inside his core he tried to stow away the feeling.
Bill laughed a cold, chilling laugh. “That’s what you think, buddy! You have no idea what I’ve got planned for you and your weak family!” He snapped his fingers and in an instant, Ford’s feet were back on the ground.
Stan, Dipper, and Mabel suddenly appeared in place of their respective symbols. Their expressions were absolutely blank.
They looked disturbingly real.
One after the other, they all called out Ford’s name, starting with Mabel.
“Grunkle Ford.”
She stated his name simply.
Then, Dipper.
“Great-uncle Ford!” he called, with noticeable emotion. It seemed as if Ford’s great-nephew was reaching out towards him, trying to grasp at him without moving.
Ford twitched, but then he turned to Stan. His brother, his twin, his counterpart.
“Stanford?” Stanley asked, the one-word inquiry loaded with a mixture of desperation, confusion, and sorrow. It reminded him of a lifetime ago, when they were both standing in that portal room, just twenty-eight with no knowledge about what would happen next.
Was that really thirty years ago?
Stanford could feel something drop in his chest- it was the feeling of his heart breaking. What had he done this time? What had made Stan feel so sorrowful?
“Aaw, look at Fordsie getting all emotional,” Bill mocked. Ford mentally cursed himself for poorly hiding his emotions.
“I know what’ll make this even more fun,” the demon said, and on that last word, his eye turned completely red. A sick, pulsing blood red.
“You wouldn’t–” Ford mumbled in horror, his already broken heart sinking to his feet.
“Oh, but I would!” Bill interjected loudly. He shrieked with laughter as he obliterated Ford’s family members, one by one. They were each reduced to dust, each echoing Ford’s name as they disappeared:
“Ford!”
“Ford!”
Stan’s voice sent chills down his spine.
“Stanford!”
Ford jerked awake, heart pounding loudly in his ears, his head, his hands. He’d toppled off the couch he slept on in the spare room, the blankets in a tangled heap around him. The maroon sweater and simple black pants he wore seemed sticky with cold sweat. He grasped at his mouth, throat raw as if he’d been screaming. His other hand flew to his heart, like it might burst. His once stiff posture shuddered into a slump as dry sobs began to wrack his throat. Never had a dream been this fear-invoking. Never in his life had he felt so scared of losing his family.
“Jeez, Ford, you could’ve been a little quieter getting your midnight snack,” came Stanley’s gruff morning voice from down the hall. Ford froze in his fetal position, not daring to breathe.
“Well, you managed to wake me up- luckily the kids are still asleep. I swear, nothing gets them up before morning.”
Ford’s shoulders twitched. Stop that, he snapped at himself; no way was he going to let Stanley see him in his state. He tensed his muscles, but it was uncontrollable- one, two, three twitches.
Stan shuffled down the stairs. “Sounds like you dropped a pot or somethin’; really, Ford, didja have to scream when you dropped it? Jeez–”
He froze as he was just about to pass by the room Ford slept in. He flicked on the hallway light, catching sight of his brother on the ground. All he could see was the top of Ford’s bent-over head and his twitching shoulders.
Ford desperately tried to steel himself, but to no avail.
He could almost hear his brother’s heart sinking, realizing then that he’d never cried in front of his brother.
..When was the last time he’d cried?
“Ford!” Stan whisper-cried, racing into the room and over to the couch. “Oh my god, Ford, are you okay?”
Ford looked up with glassy eyes to face his twin brother, who stood over him with genuine concern. Pure embarrassment burned on his face as he shook his head, burying it in his hands. Every inch of his body trembled with an irrational fear of the nightmare he’d just lived through.
Stanford’s face flared. He knew he looked so helpless, so terrified. And he knew that he was scaring his brother half to death, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, he knew that his twin’s head was probably racing, struggling to grasp at an explanation for Ford’s unnatural behavior.
“…was it a dream?” Stan asked, barely audible.
Ford’s train of thought halted. Oh, his brother knew him well. He nodded wordlessly, wiping his face and letting his hands drop. His gaze fixated on the floor.
He could feel Stanley flinch. “Do you… want to tell me what it was about?”
No, said Stanford to himself, no way was he going to tell him what he had just witnessed. It would only strike more fear into Stanley, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted right then.
But he had to.
Ford inhaled, making a choking gasp of a noise before whispering, “B-..Bill. And.. a-and the kids. You. H-he..” Stop stuttering, it’s doing you no good.
“Goddammit, Stanley, it was Bill!” he cried out suddenly. And the fuse had been lit; he was rambling now with no sign of stopping. “He came back, he tortured you, he tortured the kids, and oh god, I witnessed it all, h-he burned you and Dipper and Mabel to the ground, and you all cried out my name and he literally burned you, he–” Stanford was promptly cut off by a tight embrace from Stanley. His voice trailed off, his eyes widened. A wave of coolness washed over Ford, relieving the feverish feeling that stung his skin.
Ford tensed for just a second before returning the hug, leaning his head into Stan’s shoulder.
“Ford, I want you to repeat after me,” Stan mumbled, voice low yet stern. “Bill - is - gone.”
“Bill,” Ford said, voice shaking, “i-is gone.”
“Alright. Why is he gone?”
It felt like routine, the way his brother drilled him. “I… I killed him,” Ford said, voice more solid this time. But then his voice broke. “I… but I erased your memory, oh my god, Stanley, I erased your memory to kill him.” A fresh wave of sobs came back, violently shaking Ford’s shoulders.
“Hey, my memory’s back now, thanks to those kids. It’s not your fault, Stanford,” Stan said, patting his brother’s back. “Can you repeat after me? Not your fault.”
“It’s not my fault,” Ford murmured. “Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault.”
“Repeat after me again: Bill is gone,” Stan said again.
“Bill is gone,” Ford said. And then he said it again and again and again. “Bill is gone, Bill is gone, Bill is gone.”
He repeated that mantra over and over until he drifted off into a half-sleep, letting himself surrender to a fuzzy blackness. How peaceful the blackness was. How empty it was, devoid of any disturbances.
“I’ve got you,” Stan whispered, almost absentmindedly, sensing his brother was about to doze off. “I’m right here, Stanford. Don’t worry. Just rest your head, I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
In that moment, Stanford felt more secure than he had ever felt before. He let himself succumb to the darkness at last. Fragmented thoughts swam across his mind: too bad I’m not more awake to savor my brother’s company.
Ford’s muscles relaxed at last, his tight grip on his brother releasing. An easy smile fell on Stan’s face then. Ford was sleeping now, and from the looks of it, he was having a pleasantly dreamless slumber.
Stanley carefully removed himself from the embrace, slightly cold from lacking the warmth his brother radiated. He yawned silently, stretching out his arms, feeling his joints crack in various places. Stan could feel his eyelids drooping suddenly, black velvet creeping into the corners of his vision.
He reached down to his brother, plucked Ford’s glasses from his face, and draped the blankets back over him. He half sat, half fell on the couch, angling Ford’s glasses back and forth, admiring the way they caught the light from the hall.
Stan placed the glasses on the couch cushion next to Ford’s head before reaching over and gently tousling his brother’s hair. Before falling asleep beside his brother, he whispered:
