Hey all! This was formerly meant to be part of the fourth week of forduary entry: Hugs, but I didn’t get around to finishing it in time, but I wanted to finish it that takes place in my Lost and Gained AU. Hope you all enjoy it all the same.
Ford sat next to his wife Lucina and his teenage twin daughters Shauna and Shannon on the bed in what used to be his, Lucina and Fiddleford’s bedroom. Most of the room stayed the same as it was fifteen years ago, but there were extra items in boxes that were placed here and there in the room but none of Fiddleford’s belongings can be found Ford and Lucina could recognize. Fiddleford, having since found his own house in Gravity Falls when living in the shack, became too much for his mental health to handle. It hadn’t been a day since they came back to their own dimension and there were problems. Mainly Stan and Ford at each other’s throats as they had unresolved issues.
They were waiting for Stan and Andy to come back with people they wanted them to see. Ford needed to simmer down after his arguing with Stan, anyhow. One of Ford’s teenage daughters Shauna takes a look around the room and examines a pair of glasses out of curiosity. Shauna resembled her mother with her long black hair and medium skin tone. Shauna’s attire consisted of red and black colors Ford and Lucina managed to find for her to wear, but there were signs of wear and tear that have since been mended through stitching with wire thread. Same for Shannon but wearing saturated purple and blue colors.
“Those are my glasses, dear. This room was where me, your mother and second father rested together. Though now it looks more like a storage room than not.”
“This dimension appears to be more… calmer than others, Dad.” acknowledged Shannon. “Besides you and uncle fighting, of course.” Ford frowned, admitting he had a part in why.
“Yes. He’s no doubt still mad at me for tricking him into turning on the portal. I wanted to find your mother lost on the other side, and I couldn’t do it knowing I would be leaving your brothers all on their own. Sure, I had the Corduroys babysit them, but I needed family members to look after them full time. So I sent a postcard to Stan asking for his help. I knew he wouldn’t want me to go, so I had to trick him. I wanted to right at least one wrong, but I regrettably couldn’t with your other father Fiddleford.” Lucina touched Ford’s shoulder. Ford sighed. Shannon perked a grin and stood up.
“That was a long time ago, Dad. Maybe you can make things up with him, you know, talk over drinks, or the other things you used to do together.” Shannon walked over to an old photo of who appeared to be younger versions of both Ford and Lucina, but an additional person with a large nose, dirty blond hair and glasses smiling with the two in front of the shack when it was newly built. And a baby boy, wrapped in a blanket, held in his arms with Lucina, who looked visibly pregnant at the time of the photo.
“Some things,” started Lucina, wanting to be hopeful that her relationship with her second husband and sons can be repaired. Even if it won’t be the same as it was, “can’t always be mended. Especially not in a day. But in time, hopefully they can be.”
A knock was heard at the door and the rough voice of Stan heard on the other side.
“Hey, there’s some visitors who’ve been wanting to see you.”
“The door is unlocked.”
Stan, who appeared in his fez hat and question mark maroon suit, opened the bedroom door and let in three grown men. One was an older, beanstalk of a fellow with brown hair turning white with age, a white beard, large nose, and a pair of spectacles Ford and Lucina recognized immediately as Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, the man they left behind. Fiddleford had long since replaced his white lab coat for a striped patterned shirt with brown pants and black shoes. Fiddleford frowned at Ford and Lucina; it really was them after all this time. But Fiddleford showed a soft smile at the two teenage girls, figuring they must be their daughters.
The second man was younger, appearing in his twenties, with a green hat obscuring his brown eyes, and a large nose not unlike his father Fiddleford. But one thing to note is the six fingers on his left hand. He was tall like his father Fiddleford, and carried himself more seriously and firm, as he crossed his arms and looked directly at Ford and Lucina with emotions swelling in his body and mind seeing them again after all this time. And he did a double take seeing the two teenage girls Shauna and Shannon, not knowing what to think right now of them. The pair recognize him as their oldest son, Tater McGucket.
There there was the third man, younger than Tate, Shiloh. Shiloh was a few inches shorter than his father Fiddleford and brother Tate, much like Ford was in height. Shiloh has his long black hair in a lengthy tight braid, wearing a sleeved black collared shirt under his blue and red flannel jacket with brown pants and black boots. Around his right wrist, where his six fingers are on his hand, was a dentalium shell bracelet. It gave Lucina the impression Shiloh had gotten in touch with his Klamath heritage since her and Ford’s absence over the years, which made her heart proud seeing how much Shiloh and Tate have grown. Shiloh took a good look at his parents, taking in how much they changed physically, and then at the two teenage girls who look to be his sister. There was much he wanted to speak with them about.
“Fiddleford…” Ford spoke to acknowledge his best friend and lover, though former ever since he and him parted on sour terms the last they talked to each other. He could still remember what he told him.
Fine! I don’t need you; I don’t need anyone! I won’t abandon Lucy like you have!
Words Ford has regretted since.
“I… understand you must hate me after what I said back then.” Fiddleford frowned at Ford, he too had his own regrets with the words he told him before he left as well. And Ford’s response to it.
Stanferd, it's too late! Lucy is gone! This machine is dangerous! You’ll bring the end of the world with this. Destroy it before it destroys us all!
Destroy it? With Lucy still on the other side? How could you say that?! She’s legally your wife for fuck’s sake! She has to be alive in there. If you loved her as much as I do, you’d help me get her back.
I can’t, Stanferd… I fear we’ve unleashed a great danger upon the world. One soon I’d rather ferget. I quit!
Fiddleford had left Tate and Shiloh in the care of the Corduroys before he disappeared himself for a while as a result of his worsening mental state at the time; and started the Society of the Blind Eye. But it was better for the boys, at the time, than to be around either of their fathers back then when the situation got worse. And he has since regretted never helping Ford get Lucina back. After seeing what he’d rather unsee, Fiddleford thought there was no way of saving her at the time.
“Fer a long time, I tried fergettin’ you and our fam’ly, but I’d been foolish and been tryin’ ta do right by Tate, Shiloh, our fam’ly since.” Fiddleford showed a smile at Ford and Lucina and their two daughters. “Now, I want ta fergive you and Lucy. No amount of apologizin’ can erase what happened, but havin’ you all back here we can start again, if ya want to. I’d like ta get to know these here kids, too.” Ford, Lucina, Shauna and Shannon exchanged looks of relief. And it was a good impression on Shauna and Shannon to see what their parents mean about Fiddleford having been dear to them as a best friend and a good father to their sons. Then, it was Tate’s turn to speak, choking up before he got a word out.
“I think… it’s time I forgave you, too, Pa. Did a lot of thinking about what I wanted to say… but even I am at a loss as part of me didn’t think this would ever happen.” Lucina wiped tears from her eyes.
“You’re alright. We have a lot to talk about now. And I have a lot to share with you and Shiloh what I saw. I haven’t forgotten my promise.” Shiloh looked away from Ford and Lucina for a second to think through his conflicting emotions until he faced them again.
“I… don’t forgive everything that happened in the past. But I am willing to give you a chance to do right by me and our family, Father. Mother. There’s a lot I want to say and put in the past where it belongs.” Ford and Lucina nodded slowly at him, understanding he likely had mixed feelings seeing them again as well as his new sisters.
“Of course, Shiloh. I’d have mixed feelings about seeing me and your mother again, too. I’ve done you, your brother, and your father wrong among others in our family.” Ford turned to face Stan nearby with his arms crossed and facing away from him. “But now, I want to do right by everyone. Allow me to introduce you and Tate to your younger twin sisters Shauna and Shannon.”
“Hiya!” chimed Shannon.
“Greetings,” greeted Shauna with a shy demeanor.
Fiddleford approached Ford and Lucina with open arms, bringing them in for a big hug. Tate and Shiloh followed in hugging their parents and brought in Shauna and Shannon to join in. After everyone parted, Stan approached Ford to give him a pat on the shoulder and nod. It was a start.
It’s finally here! The next chapter of “Stan-at-Home”, my fic that takes place in an AU where Stan is a stay-at-home dad. And as I was writing this chapter, I decided that, even with these super-long chapters, I can’t tell the story I want to tell in just six of them. So as of right now, this fic will have seven chapters. We’ll see if I write too much and I increase it to eight. Anyways, in this chapter, Ford gets high, there are multiple surprise visits, and brain surgery has side effects. Enjoy.
“Ugh.” Ford groaned without realizing what he was groaning about. He was in a room, somewhere. His surroundings were blurry, so he didn’t have his glasses on.
And…I’m not wearing underwear. Ford groaned again. What happened? Where am I? There was rustling to his left. He winced as someone carefully slid something onto his face. The room became clear. My glasses. Okay then.
“Howdy there, sleepin’ beauty,” a voice said quietly. Ford turned his head carefully. He frowned at the woman sitting by his bed. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. “Stan actually just left to go pick up the kids.” She cocked her head. “Everything all right, Stanford? Doc said the surgery went well.”
“Angie!” Ford burst out suddenly. Angie jumped, startled.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, I just- I remembered who you were,” Ford mumbled. Angie raised an eyebrow in amusement.
“Ya forgot me, huh? At least ya figured it out.” She leaned forward and adjusted one of Ford’s pillows. The paperback novel that was sitting on her lap slid off. “Oh, shoot,” she said in a good-natured tone, picking the book up again. Ford looked at it with interest.
“Is that a Star Trek novel?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Angie replied.
“I didn’t take you for a Trekkie,” Ford remarked. Angie chuckled.
“Don’t think ya can call me that. I only ever seen a few episodes of the show. Mostly just read the books.”
“Why?”
“My older brother, Harper, he works in movie special effects. I like them sci-fi things, mostly ‘cause of the biological implications of ‘em. But I can’t watch a good old-fashioned space shootout without hearin’ Harper’s voice in the back of my mind, blabbin’ on and on ‘bout how they did it.”
“No. There’s no possible way that your older brother worked on Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Ford said immediately.
“He did. His name’s in the credits. Harper pointed it out to me.”
“But that’s- your brother worked on a Spielberg film?”
“Yep. Got headhunted to work on the next one, too.”
“Holy-” Ford shook his head. “That’s incredible. Why did Fiddleford never tell me?” The lighthearted smile on Angie’s face slipped away. “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, it’s- it’s fine, Stanford,” Angie said in a falsely cheery voice. She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, carefully smoothing the fabric of her purple skirt. Ford rubbed his eyes. The room was fuzzy again, but this time not in sight. Rather, it was fuzzy in feeling. He could have sworn his body was lighter than usual, and a question he’d wanted to ask for two weeks suddenly didn’t seem inappropriate.
“I’ve been wondering,” Ford said. “Back when we met with Dr. Carmichael the first time, Stan said something.” Angie frowned.
“He was fairly quiet, though.”
“True. But when she asked him if he had any sons, he said ‘Not right now’.” Ford looked at Angie. “Are you going to have any sons?”
“Is this yer way of askin’ me if I’m pregnant?” Angie asked. “‘Cause I ain’t. Not that it’s really yer business, anyways.”
“No, I wasn’t talking about right now. I mean, in the future, will you?”
“Whether or not I have a son is a bit out of my control,” Angie said. “I know Stan would like one. He’s got grand ideas ‘bout baseball and other stereotypical father-son things. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. There’s a 50% chance that if we did have a son, he’d be more McGucket than Pines, and wouldn’t be a fan of baseball and grillin’ and whatever dads do with sons in movies.”
“You’re dancing around the topic,” Ford said. “I can tell because I do the same thing.”
“Fine, I suppose I’ll tell ya what Stan ‘n I have planned, even though ya don’t need to know,” Angie said shortly.
She didn’t need to be rude about it.
“We’re plannin’ on at least one more kid. Not fer a couple years, though. We want the girls to be in kindergarten before they get a lil sibling. And if that goes well, havin’ a fourth, when the third one is ‘bout two or three.” Angie idly picked at her nails. “It’s a couple more kids ‘n I planned on, but Stan loves bein’ a dad so much. And I love havin’ a big fam’ly.” She rolled her eyes. “And even though the girls were a bit rough on me fer the nine months they lived in me, it wasn’t as bad as I was worried it’d be.”
“Yes, so, what is it like to be pregnant?” Ford asked. Angie eyed him.
“Them drugs are somethin’ else, huh.”
“I do feel a bit strange,” Ford conceded. “You didn’t answer my question, though.” He paused. “But maybe you did. If you’re willing to go through it two more times, it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Angie said, shaking her head. “Spoken like someone who won’t ever have to worry ‘bout bein’ pregnant. It ain’t no walk in the park. I mean, I couldn’t exactly take walks in the park when my feet swelled up.”
“Really. What else did the pregnancy do to your body?” Ford asked. Angie looked at him, perplexed.
“Stanford, yer my brother-in-law, yes. But that don’t really give ya authority to know my medical history.”
“We’re family,” Ford cajoled, the words slurring together. Angie adjusted his pillows again. “You can tell me.”
“I can, but I won’t. Anyways, seems like yer ‘bout to pass out. Get yer rest, Stanford. If yer still curious ‘bout pregnancy when ya wake up, I’ll fetch the books Stan was given by my older brother.” She stroked his head. “Sleep well.”
-----
“Annnnd…done,” Stan said as he wrapped a hair tie around a clump of dark brown curls. “You’re all ready to go, kiddo.” Daisy, who had sat patiently on the floor while Stan braided her hair, jumped up eagerly. She kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy!”
“You got it, sweetie,” Stan replied, poking her nose. Daisy giggled and ran off to play building blocks with Danny and Tate. Stan leaned back on the couch with a sigh. “Ford, those pain meds kickin’ in yet?” he asked idly. There was no response. “Stanford?” Stan looked over. Ford was sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at a blue sippy cup in front of him. He reached out a hand to touch the cup, seemingly engrossed by the cartoon characters decorating the sides. Stan raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Ford, that’s Danny’s drink, y’know. If ya want juice, you need to get your own cup.”
“Mm,” Ford mumbled, not looking away from the cup, which was half-full of apple juice from breakfast. When Ford didn’t say anything, Stan prompted him.
“Do you want juice, Ford?” After a moment, Ford shook his head slowly. “All right. If ya do, lemme know.” The phone rang. Stan stood up, groaning quietly. He walked over and picked up the phone. “This is Stan speakin’.”
“Stanley, did Stanford ever get ahold of you?” Ma Pines asked abruptly. Stan blinked, startled.
“Uh, yeah, Mom. He’s actually gonna be stayin’ with me for a bit.”
“Okay, good. He called me to get your number, but never followed up. And you never called to tell me anything about him, either. I got worried!”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan mumbled. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I was about to call ya.”
“Don’t lie to your mother.”
“No, I really was!” Stan protested. Danny looked up from her blocks to stare at him. Stan winced, suddenly realizing how juvenile he had just sounded.
And in front of my kids and nephew…oops.
“What would make you suddenly wanna pick up a phone to call me?” Ma Pines demanded. Stan rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from his daughter’s judgmental gaze.
“My, um, my wife said I should,” Stan muttered.
“Your what?”
“My wife. Her- her name’s Angie.”
“You got married?! When did that happen?”
“1978,” Stan replied quietly. There was a pause. “Uh, Mom?”
“You got married four years ago and didn’t tell your mother?!”
“…Yes, ma’am.”
“You didn’t invite me!”
“I didn’t want Pops to see the invitation and come,” Stan said quickly. “So I told Angie that you, uh, you weren’t around.”
“‘Weren’t around’? Stanley Pines, did you kill me off?” Ma Pines asked, in a low tone that suggested she was barely keeping her anger under control.
“…Yeah,” Stan said reluctantly. “And, uh, also my- my last name isn’t Pines anymore. I took Angie’s last name,” he added quickly.
“Huh.” That last tidbit of information seemed to take Ma Pines by surprise, calming her anger for the moment. “Well, that’s certainly something.”
“The reason behind it is…complicated. But Angie had no clue you were around, or she woulda called you by now. She- she wanted me to say that. She even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”
“Hmm.”
“I think you’d like her. Angie’s, uh, her family calls her a firecracker.”
“She’d have to be, to be able to handle you.”
“Yeah…” Stan looked down at his feet. “There’s one other thing I need to tell ya.”
“And what would that be?” Ma Pines said cautiously. Stan winced, well aware of how poorly his mother would take the news.
“You’ve got two granddaughters,” Stan said. He fought the urge to go hide in a bomb shelter somewhere.
“What?!” Ma Pines yelped.
“Twin girls. Danica Viola and Daisy Leigh. They’re about three years old now. Funny story, actually, Angie was still goin’ to college when she got pregnant, so her kids went to her graduation. Well, they’re her kids but they’re also mine. I helped make ‘em,” Stan said.
Stop, Stan. You’re rambling.
“Danica and Daisy.”
“Yes.”
“You waited until my granddaughters were three to tell me about them?!”
“I-”
“Your address hasn’t changed since we last spoke, has it?”
“No, I-” Stan felt someone tug at his shirt. He looked down. “What is it, princess?” he asked Danny. Danny pointed at the front door, which was wide open.
“Uncle Ford’s gone,” she said quietly. Stan’s heart stopped.
Ford’s gone. He’s a grown man that had brain surgery two weeks ago and is on a serious pain med high. Shit shit shit.
“Uh, Mom, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said into the mouthpiece, his voice shaking slightly. “Gotta situation over here.”
“With twins, there’s always a situation,” Ma Pines said idly. She hung up the phone. Stan blindly slammed the phone in the general direction of the hook for a few times before he got it right.
“Good eye, Danny,” Stan said. He fought back his panic and scooped Danny up in his arms. “Daisy, Tate, come on, we gotta get shoes on! We’re gonna go on a Ford hunt!”
-----
Angie opened the door to the room they set aside for children separated from their parents at the zoo. Jim, one of the people who worked admissions, walked over to her quickly.
“I got a page sayin’ I needed to pick someone up?” Angie asked. Jim nodded.
“Yeah, uh, this guy’s your brother-in-law, right?” Jim said, pointing to a man sitting on a bench. Angie sighed.
“Yes. That’s him.”
“So do you wanna take him home or…?”
“I’ll call my husband in a minute. Thanks, Jim,” Angie said. Jim nodded. Angie walked over to Ford and took a seat next to him. “Stanford?” Ford looked at her, a wide grin stretched across his face.
“Hello, Dr. McGucket!” he said in a very loud voice. Angie stifled a groan.
“Did ya take yer meds today?” she asked. Ford nodded. “And after ya took yer meds-”
“I left!” Ford said cheerfully. He scoffed. “I don’t need to be nannied by my twin brother. Especially given that he’s the younger one.” Feeling something tugging her pants leg, Angie looked down. She blinked at the goat chewing on her slacks.
“Stanford, do ya know this goat?” she asked slowly.
“Yep! Rented him.”
“Why?”
“Well, Apple is clearly not a dog,” Ford started. “For one thing, he knows about my connections with Bill. This is excruciatingly obvious.”
“How do ya know, did Apple tell ya or somethin’?” Angie asked idly. Ford frowned.
“No. I didn’t ask. I should ask.”
“No, ya should go home.” Ford shook his head. “Stanford, ya can’t stay at the zoo all day. Why did ya come here in the first place?”
“So that the goat I rented could meet the other goats!” Ford chirped. Angie frowned.
“What?” she asked. Ford looked around carefully and then leaned closer to her.
“I’m here to free the other animals,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. Angie stared at him, perplexed.
“With…the goat?”
“The goat is my accomplice.”
“Uh-huh. I’m goin’ to call Stan. He’ll come pick ya up.” Angie stood up. Ford tugged at her shirt desperately.
“Don’t leave me alone with them!” he said. Angie looked at the people he was pointing toward. She sighed.
“They’re ‘bout six years old. I highly doubt they’ll mug ya and steal the goat, darlin’.”
“You don’t know!” Ford protested. Angie groaned.
“Just stay put while I call Stan! Then I’ll come and protect ya from the children.”
“And the goat.”
“Yes, I will protect you and the goat.”
-----
“How did your dog even reach the shelves?” Ford asked. Now officially a month post-operation, Ford’s pain medication had decreased to a more manageable dosage. He was relieved to have his mind clear again, even if that meant he had to pick up some responsibilities. For example, he was keeping an eye on the three children while Stan cleaned up the bathroom.
“It’s a weird dog,” Stan said with a sigh.
“Not only did it dig through the bathroom trash, but it somehow knocked over all the shampoo bottles.”
“Don’t need a play-by-play, Sixer.”
“I’m just impressed by your dog’s appetite for destruction.” The doorbell rang.
“Ford, get it, would ya?” Stan asked.
“On it.” Ford got up from the couch and opened the door. He was face-to-face with two men, both of whom had very large noses. The shorter one squinted at Ford with gray eyes.
“Yer not Stan,” the stranger said.
“Uh, no. May I ask who you are?” Ford asked. The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by a shout.
“Unclute!” Daisy shrieked happily, running past Ford to grab onto the man’s leg. The man chuckled.
“Hey there, munchkin,” he said, crouching down, picking her up, and standing again. He poked her belly. “Gosh, yer bigger ‘n bigger each time I see ya.” Daisy tugged on the man’s dark hair.
“We gotta new uncle!” she said exuberantly. She pointed at Ford. “He’s our Uncle Ford!” The man smiled at Ford.
“Howdy, the name’s Lute, the feller standin’ by me is my older brother, Harper.”
“So this is the mysterious ‘Ford’,” Harper said. He pushed his rectangular glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Howdy.”
“Uh, hello.”
“Who is it?” Stan called.
“Two men named Lute and Harper!” Ford replied.
“They’re Angie’s older brothers, let ‘em in,” Stan said. Ford stood to the side. The brothers filed in. Harper made a beeline for Danny, who was building a very complex vehicle with her Legos.
“Howdy, kidlet,” Harper said gently. Danny beamed at him and, like her sister, embraced her uncle’s leg. Harper laughed. “Yer just as clingy as yer ma used to be.” Danny squeezed her uncle’s leg tighter. Ford could see the family resemblance between Angie and her brothers. Not only did all three have the same nose, but they had similar cheekbones, and Harper’s hair was the same color as Angie’s.
“So, Ford, I heard ‘bout who ya are,” Lute said. Ford turned. Lute had put Daisy down and was now staring at him, his arms crossed. “Yer relation to Tate, fer one thing.” At the sound of his name, Tate looked up from his picture book.
“Uncle Lute?”
“Oh, hey kidlet. Didn’t see ya there,” Lute said. Tate shrugged. “Don’t worry, you ain’t in trouble. Yer dad is, though.”
“Okay,” Tate said, turning his attention back to his book.
“In my defense-” Ford started.
“Don’t care,” Lute said abruptly. “Ya didn’t contact yer college roommate fer so long. That’s yer own dang fault. So is not tellin’ his fam’ly what happened to him.”
“Look, I-”
“Don’t bother arguin’ with Lute,” Stan said. He walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Lute’s too dang stubborn to change his mind ‘bout anything.” Stan smiled at his brothers-in-law. “Hey, Lute, Harper. Good to see ya again.” Lute frowned at Stan.
“I ain’t happy with ya either, Stan.”
“Neither of us are,” Harper said. “Ya lied to our baby sister.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.
“Yeah, I know I did a pretty shi- cruddy thing,” Stan said. “But at least she knows now.”
“The only reason she knows is ‘cause yer twin brother showed up out of the blue,” Lute pointed out. “Ya weren’t even plannin’ on tellin’ her! Is the Pines fam’ly just full of- of dishonorable men?”
“…‘Dishonorable men’?” Stan asked. “Now I’m too amused to be scared of ya, McGucket.” Lute crossed his arms.
“What else am I s’posed to call the two of ya?” Lute asked.
“To be fair, our older brother Shermie is, by all accounts, a decent guy,” Ford put in. Lute raised an eyebrow.
“So he must’ve taken up all the decentness when he was born then, huh?” Lute said. Stan rolled his eyes.
“Look, I get that you guys are upset,” Stan said. “But we’re brothers now, right?”
“Right,” Harper said after a beat.
“Maybe cut me a bit of slack? And I guess Ford, too. He didn’t know about Tate.”
“He should’ve,” Lute said immediately.
“I’m not disagreein’ with ya,” Stan said.
“Thanks, Stan,” Ford muttered. There was a clatter from the kitchen.
“No, Gompers!” Danny said, detaching herself from Harper’s leg. She padded over to the goat, who was digging through the trash it had just knocked over. “Bad goat,” she said, patting him on the back. Lute and Harper stared.
“The goat’s new,” Lute said idly.
“Yeah,” Stan said, walking over to the latest mess to pick it up. He shoved the goat’s head away from him. “Ford rented it when he was on a pain med bender. Somethin’ about proving Apple’s a chupacabra. Of course, since Apple’s a dog, not a Mexican demon, nothin’ happened.” Stan glared at Ford. “Then Apple and the goat had to go and become friends, so the kids freaked out when Angie and I tried to return it.”
“Uncle Ford got upset, too,” Daisy said helpfully.
“Oh yeah. We had to buy the darn thing so that the literal children and my adult twin brother wouldn’t cry,” Stan finished. Ford flushed.
“Stanley, please.”
“Hey, Daisy’s the one who brought it up. You got a problem, talk to her,” Stan said, setting the trashcan upright again.
“Uh, pain med bender?” Lute said slowly.
“Uncle Ford’s brain was broked,” Danny supplied, now hugging Gompers. “Doctors fixed it, but he was a bit funny after.”
“Stanford, you had brain surgery?” Harper asked. Ford nodded.
“Yes. Nothing too concerning, although it was decreasing my quality of life immensely,” Ford said. Stan scoffed.
“‘Nothing too concerning,’ he says,” Stan muttered under his breath.
“If you’d told us, we would’ve been easier on ya,” Lute said.
“…Oh,” Ford said, unsure of how to respond.
“When Uncle Ford ran away, he got ice cream without us!” Daisy said.
“Well, that’s just rude,” Lute said to his young niece.
“Yeah, Ford escaped when I turned my back for two minutes,” Stan explained. “He bought an ice cream cone, rented a goat, and went to the zoo.”
“Why would ya bring a goat to the zoo? Zoo’s already got those,” Harper said, taking a seat on the couch. Lute joined him.
“The goat was my accomplice in freeing the animals from the petting zoo,” Ford said. He let out a small chuckle, remembering the blissful ignorance of his scrambled mind. “It all made perfect sense at the moment.”
“It always does,” Harper said sagely.
“So how long are you two gonna stay?” Stan asked as he finally finished picking up the scattered pieces of trash. “Ya have to stay for dinner. Angie’d be upset if she missed ya. But if you wanna stay overnight, you’ll have to camp in the living room. Ford’s got the guestroom.”
“Oh, no, we were just plannin’ on comin’ down fer a friendly scoldin’ and yellin’ session,” Lute said breezily. “Don’t want to impose.”
Apparently the McGuckets have a different definition of “friendly” than I do, if scolding and yelling qualifies. As though he could read Ford’s mind, Lute turned to Ford.
“Now, this is a friendly session, trust me. If it weren’t, you’d prob’ly be in tears.”
“After the things I’ve seen, not much can bring me to tears,” Ford remarked.
“Aside from separating a goat and a dog,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow.
“In my defense, they had befriended each other. What sort of monster would break apart such a lovely relationship?” Ford replied. Lute and Harper both chuckled. Stan caught Ford’s eye and winked. Ford knew what Stan would say later.
“See? Ya freaked out over Tate and the McGuckets. But ya didn’t need to. They’re good people, and even you can be a charmer when ya try to.”
-----
Ford handed Tate his backpack.
“I’ve packed some pictures I took in the field, as a treat,” Ford told his son. “Not- not the edible kind of treat. Please don’t eat the pictures.”
“It’s okay, Dad, I know,” Tate said calmly. He cocked his head. “What are they of?”
“Our, ahem, mutual friend,” Ford said with a wink. Tate’s eyes widened.
“Bigfoot?”
“The one and only. Well, actually, there is more than one bigfoot. There are whole societies of them, and Gravity Falls has one in the nearby mountain range.”
“Wow. Will you take me there? Please?” Tate begged. The doorbell rang. Ford smiled.
“If your mother gives me permission to take you next summer, or even sooner, absolutely,” he replied. Tate beamed. The doorbell rang again. “I should get that. It’s your mother, no doubt.” Ford walked over and opened the front door. Jenny McGucket smiled politely.
“Stanford. You look well.”
“I feel better than I did last time we spoke.”
“Clearly,” Jenny said. She peered past Ford. “Tater Tot! You ready to go?”
“I need to say goodbye to folks first,” Tate said, running out of the living room. He zipped into the girls’ bedroom, where Stan was helping Danny and Daisy get dressed.
“Did Tate have a good time?” Jenny asked Ford.
“I believe so. He’s quite the smart boy.”
“Yes, he is. I’m awful proud of him,” Jenny said. “The two of you got along all right?”
“Yes, we did. And actually,” Ford said, deciding to be upfront, “I’d like to talk custody with you sometime.”
“Custody?”
“When Fiddleford returns, I assume the two of you will maintain primary custody. But I’d like to have Tate during the summer, at least,” Ford said. “The lion’s share of my research is done then, and Tate has shown a vested interest in my work.” Jenny bit her lip. “What? I thought you’d be happy that I’m trying to be an involved father.”
“Oh, I am. It’s just that…I’m not sure if you’re ready for it quite yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“You watched him for about a month and a half. And you had help, from Stan and Angie, who both have more experience in childcare than you do. On your own, in a different state, for three whole months? I’m sorry, Stanford, I just don’t think you can handle it right now.”
“Tate is-”
“Very well-behaved, particularly for a child of his age. But he’s still a child.” Jenny smiled apologetically. “Maybe we can begin the custody conversation after Fidds comes back. It’s just- Stanford, were you ever left alone, in charge of the kids, during this entire time? Even for ten minutes?”
“…No,” Ford conceded.
“I’m sorry to hit you with this right now,” Jenny said quietly. “So soon after your surgery.”
“It’s been seven weeks; I’m not an invalid anymore,” Ford said, bristling.
“All right,” Jenny said after a moment, in a decidedly neutral tone. “Tater Tot, we have to get going!”
“Coming, Mom!” Tate called, running back to the front door. “Dad, I need to say goodbye to you, too.”
“Oh. Of course.” Ford crouched down for a hug. He squeezed his son tightly.
Don’t think about how long it might be before you see him again. Don’t do it.
“Goodbye, Tate,” Ford said quietly.
“Bye, Dad.” Tate broke off the hug and beamed at him. “Next summer, we’re gonna go find bigfoot, right?”
“We’ll see,” Ford said with a weak smile.
“Bye, Stan, thank Angie for me, will ya?” Jenny called.
“Yep!” Stan shouted back. Jenny and Tate left the house, Tate making a small wave at Ford as he walked away. Ford closed the door and leaned against it.
“Damn,” Ford whispered.
I can’t believe I’ve grown so attached to Tate, given the short amount of time that I’ve known him. Maybe Fiddleford will be able to convince Jenny about the custody arrangement. …No, that won’t happen. Not after what I did. Ford’s musings were cut short by his nieces rocketing down the hallway, shrieking at the tops of their lungs.
“Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!” Danny and Daisy yelled, racing through the living room and into the kitchen like twin tornadoes. Despite himself, Ford cracked a half-smile at their innocent enthusiasm. Stan followed his daughters at a more languid pace.
“Okay, gremlins,” Stan said, picking up his daughters and putting them in their chairs. “Breakfast, it is. Today is Leftover Wednesday. On the menu, we have leftover hashbrowns, leftover pancakes, fruit, and toast. What’ll it be?”
“Corn stuff,” Daisy said promptly.
“Did I say corn stuff was on the menu?” Stan asked.
“…No.”
“It’s Leftover Wednesday,” Stan reminded her.
“Leftover corn stuff,” Danny suggested.
“There’s never any leftover corn stuff. You monsters eat it like a plague of locusts,” Stan said, exasperated.
“What’s that?” Daisy asked. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It’s when a bunch of grasshoppers eat all the crops and don’t leave anything behind,” Stan explained.
“I’m not a grasshopper!” Daisy protested.
“No, you’re pickier than one. If you two don’t make up your minds soon, I’ll choose for you,” Stan said.
“Fruit!” Danny yelled.
“Cakepans!” Daisy shouted. Stan winced slightly at his daughters’ loud voices, but carried on.
“Hot or cold?” Stan asked.
“Cold,” Daisy said.
“Got it. An order of fruit and an order of pancakes comin’ up,” Stan said. Ford, who had been watching the exchange idly, frowned.
Hmm. That’s certainly an idea.
“Uh, Stan?” Ford said, after Stan had given his daughters their breakfasts. Stan walked over.
“Yeah?”
“Could I- could I babysit the girls sometime? So that I have more experience in taking care of children.”
“This is a joke, right?” Stan said. “Sixer, leave the comedy to the pros.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“You really wanna babysit my demon spawn?” Stan asked. “You’ve been around, you know that the two of ‘em are hel- heck on wheels.”
“Yes. I’ve seen the chaos they seem to court, but I’ve also seen the methods you use to calm them down,” Ford said. “Anyways, isn’t it my responsibility as an uncle to help supervise?” Stan eyed him.
“I’ll talk to Angie about it,” Stan said after a moment. “Right now, go do your physical therapy.”
“Very well,” Ford said.
It’s not much, but given how protective Stan is of his children, it’s a start. Ford walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Danny, who beamed at him. Stan placed a sheet of paper and a comically large pencil in front of Ford.
“What’s the task for today?” Ford asked, carefully picking up the pencil. He frowned at the tremors in his hand, which were not brought on from caffeine. Rather, decreased mobility and usage of his dominant hand was one of the surgery’s side effects, along with slurred speech. At his six week follow-up appointment, Ford had mentioned to Dr. Carmichael that, despite no longer using the pain medication, it seemed like he still was experiencing the medicine’s sedative abilities.
“You’ve had this since the operation?” Dr. Carmichael asked.
“Yes, from the pain medication,” Ford replied. Dr. Carmichael shook her head.
“No. These symptoms are from the surgery.” She took out a piece of paper and began to scribble on it. “I’ll recommend you to a physical therapist and speech therapist, who will likely give you exercises you can do at home.” Dr. Carmichael handed the paper to Ford. “These are temporary, but only if you go through the therapy.”
“Understood.”
“You’re doing a drawing today,” Stan replied.
“What am I drawing?”
“As many plants as possible,” Stan said.
“Daddy! Gotta go!” Daisy shrieked suddenly, rocking back and forth in her chair. Stan’s eyes widened.
“All right, kid, let’s do this,” Stan said, picking Daisy up. He ran to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, Stan returned, holding Daisy again. Ford looked up from his shakily-drawn lilies.
“How’d it go?” Ford asked. Stan beamed.
“Daisy’s gettin’ closer to losin’ those nasty diapers. Aren’t ya?” he cooed at his daughter. Daisy giggled, clearly proud of herself. “Can’t wait until I’m done with ‘em.”
“You’ll be dealing with them again, though,” Ford pointed out. Stan frowned.
“What?”
“Don’t you and Angie have plans for more children?”
“Well, yeah, but not for a while, Sixer, geez. Don’t scare me like that. I thought you found a positive test in the trash or somethin’.”
“Unlike your dog and goat, I don’t dig through the garbage,” Ford retorted, returning to his drawing.
“Yeah, and whose fault is it that I have a goat?” Stan said. The doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell, Poindexter.”
“Sure,” Ford mumbled. As Stan went to get the door, Ford focused on his exercise, carefully etching out a lopsided daisy.
“Pretty,” Danny said quietly. Ford smiled at his niece.
“Thank you, Danny.”
“My goodness, Stanley, why is your hair so long?” a familiar voice said. Ford’s heart leapt into his mouth. He turned. Standing at the front door was someone he knew very well. Stan seemed shell-shocked; he took a solid two minutes to croak out his startled response.
Going through college living with these beautiful married bastards must have been extremely tough for Ford. Here they are, using their powers for evil, so they don’t have to get up and interrupt their Star Trek TOS marathon. Poor poor Ford and his enormous confusing crush on both McGuckets.
I came up with this story for @fiddleford-appreciation-month after hearing a few people wanted to see more interactions between Fiddleford and his Wife. Enjoy :)
“Pa, quit sticking yer head out the window before you get hit by a bus.”
Embarrassed, Fiddleford McGucket suppressed the canine instinct that had come over him and sat back down in the rental car at his son’s command. He couldn’t help it. Though he had regained a great many of his memories, McGucket could not recall the last time he’d ever been to the beach, and as they were traveling down the road towards their seaside destination, he was overcome with excitement. It was a lovely, golden spring day, and the ocean was still and shining as they drove past. There was still a chill in the spring air that would forbid swimming in its waters, but it was beautiful to him all the same.
Tate, however, had formed his mouth into a solemn gash across his already stony face. He was concentrating on the road, which, thankfully, wasn’t too congested with traffic since it was still the off season, but it’s hard to drive when so much is weighing on the mind.
“It was awful nice of yer Ma to invite me to Easter dinner,” said McGucket, still bouncing up and down in his seat. He was currently fiddling with the potted lilies he had brought for the occasion. He couldn’t remember if his ex-wife enjoyed flowers or not, but lilies always seemed to brighten up the rooms in his new mansion. How could anyone dislike lilies?
“Now Pa,” said Tate, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he chose his next words carefully, “I should warn ya before we go in, Mom remarried a couple of years back now—you sure you’re gonna be fine with that?”
“Aw, Tater Tot,” said McGucket, flashing his snaggletooth smile at his gloomy son, “I don’t mind none; I remarried loads of times after she called it quits on me.”
“Pa,” said Tate, rolling his eyes as they drew nearer to a secluded house by the beach, “being married to your beard ain’t really being married at all.”
“I know that,” said the old man playfully, “Why’d ya think yer Ma and me split up in the first place?”
“Pa!”
“Tate!”
“Look—I’m glad you’re in a good mood,” said Tate, who turned up the lane towards the beach house with growing trepidation, “But I still want you to brace yourself, for your own sake.”
“Yikes, yer makin’ it sound like some big, scary musclehead’s gonna beat me up the second I walk in the door,” said McGucket, who’s knees began to bounce together out of nervous habit. “Is that what yer tellin’ me? That yer Ma got hitched to some muscle-bound lug and he’s gonna beat me up?”
“I can promise you this, Pa,” said Tate, who in spite of himself was beginning to crack a hesitant, friendly smile as they finally pulled up to the house, “Ma doesn’t have a giant muscle-bound lug who’s going to beat you up.”
The beach house was painted a cheerful, sunny yellow with sea foam green shutters lining the windows, and a comfortable porch with wicker patio furniture on the deck. Sitting on one of these wicker chairs was a woman, though her hair had turned gray and her face still lined with faint wrinkles, she had a youthful quality about her, from the way she smiled at both Fiddleford and Tate when they got out of the car, to the way she jumped down from the porch and practically tackled Tate into a bear hug.
“Baby Tate,” she cried; if she’d had the strength she would have picked him up and twirled him around like a baby doll, “So glad you could make it!” When she broke away, she shot McGucket a beaming smile, and grabbed him by the hand, shaking it firmly.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you too, Fiddleford,” she said with a wink, “I’ve heard tons from Tate, and from the Missis of course. Carla McCorkle.”
McGucket squinted at Carla for a moment, as if trying to read very fine print from a long distance, but, after spotting the ring on Carla’s left hand and the sheepish grimace on Tate’s face, the truth hit him all at once and he let out a barking laugh.
“So you’re the big guy who’s gonna beat me up,” said McGucket, now shaking Carla’s hand in earnest.
“Tate, what stories have you been telling your father,” Carla chastised the younger McGucket man, “It’s not nice to fib on Easter, you know!”
“I ain’t told him nothing,” said Tate defensively.
“Well, let’s get you two inside,” said Carla, waving her hand theatrically towards the beach house. “It’s been chilly all week, and dinner should be ready in about an hour. I’ve got some wine and cheese set up in the living room, you two make yourselves comfy while I get your bags.”
The living room was airy and comfortable, and on the glass coffee table stood a tray of different cheeses, fruits and bread. McGucket grabbed a few handfuls of everything, but a look from Tate told him not to stuff the snacks into his face like he had wanted to initially. It was difficult to control his hunger, the smell of chicken frying wafted in temptingly from the kitchen, and the scent of cinnamon and apple was detected as well. Even if he was a little nervous about meeting his ex wife again after all these years, the promise of good, filling food always makes things a little easier to face.
A fluffy, white cat crept into the room; its wide, squashed in face kept it from achieving true beauty. McGucket knelt down and held out his hand to the tiny creature; she took one look and swatted her paw at him, grazing his hand with her claws.
“Ouch!”
“Lovelace doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” said a voice behind McGucket; he turned to see a woman, her graying brown hair shaggy as always as she scowled at him in that old familiar way he was starting to remember. She wore a dirty apron over her outfit, a heather gray sweater and brown corduroy pants, her arms crossed over her chest as she examined McGucket from across the room, pursing her lips as she did so.
McGucket’s ex-wife was a quiet, secretive sort of person, to the point where I, the narrator, hardly know much about her. I don’t, for example, have a clear idea what her face looks like, having only ever seen a rough sketch of a thirty-year-old photograph of her in Stanford Pines’ third journal. I don’t quite know what her voice sounded like, what perfume she liked to wear, what sort of jokes made her laugh (or, for that matter, if any jokes made her laugh at all), and, I’m embarrassed to admit, I don’t even have a record of her full name. I only know that she was once Mrs. McGucket, and now she’s a Mrs. McCorkle. However, since that name applies to two completely different women in this tale, I have elected to call Mrs. McCorkle-Who-Was-Once-Mrs.-McGucket the much less trying to type “Trudy” instead.
“Well, howdy,” said McGucket, giving his ex a smile she couldn’t return. He got up to scoop her into a tight hug. She had gone stiff in his arms, so he let go early.
“You, ah… you look nice. Pretty house,” said McGucket awkwardly. Trudy said nothing, and merely turned her attention to her son.
“How was the drive,” she asked quietly.
“Easy enough,” said Tate, who shared his mother’s dislike of talking too much. Silence filled the room like heavy smog, and the three McGuckets simply stared at each other, unable to really say anything at all. It was to everyone’s immense relief when Carla came back in holding the potted Easter lilies in her arms.
“Fiddleford, did you bring these?” she asked happily, “They’re beautiful!”
“I grew ‘em in the garden,” said McGucket, the grin returning to his face as he took the lilies from her, “sprouted up once it started getting warmer again. I reckon you’d like to have them!”
He offered the flowers to Trudy, whose scowl only got deeper.
“Lilies,” she explained, “are highly toxic to cats.”
“Oh,” said McGucket, who hadn’t realized this at all. “I’m sorry! Didn’t know ya had a cat when we came to visit! I apologize.”
“You should,” said Trudy, eyeing the flowers resentfully as she bent down to pet her cat, “Even just the pollen could cause Lovelace immense harm if she were to breathe it in or ingest it. Though I guess with all the money you’ve made off of your death robots, I could just send the vet bills to you.”
“Trudy,” hissed Carla, who knew to cut her wife off quickly when she went into these sort of moods, “It was a simple mistake. We’ll just keep the flowers outside; Lovelace is an indoor cat, she won’t even see them.”
Trudy gave them each an unreadable expression.
“I have to get back to fixing dinner,” she said, turning away from them as she did so. “It’ll be up in about an hour.”
With that, she was gone.
The first five minutes into dinner, no one said a word. Tate was never a very talkative person to begin with, and both Carla and Fidds tucked into their dishes in earnest. Trudy, for her part, only picked at her plate, staring dully at her ex husband as he consumed the meal she’d prepared.
“So,” said Fidds, still chewing on a fried chicken leg, “How’d you two meet?”
“Oh, it was actually just a few years back,” said Carla brightly; she grabbed Trudy’s hand and squeezed it gently as she spoke. “I was in a production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf off Broadway—I played Martha, just the most fascinatingly devious role—and one night after curtain call, I get back to my dressing room and find a bouquet of roses from a mysterious admirer!”
“What can I say,” Trudy shrugged, a phantom of a smile briefly appearing on her gloomy face, “I always had an eye out for the great performers.”
“Oh? Since when,” said McGucket, puzzled.
“Since always,” huffed Trudy petulantly.
Carla coughed uncomfortably before continuing her story.
“Anyway,” she said, picking at her salad nervously, “I kept getting roses night after night, until one matinee performance I catch her in the act! I ask her out right then and there, I tell her, ‘no way in heck am I accepting roses from a complete stranger,’ and then, one thing lead to another, and here we are today!”
Trudy blushed; she took Carla’s hand and gave it a quick, affectionate smooch.
“And she’s quite a sweetheart when you prod her out of her shell a bit,” said Carla brightly.
“Well ain’t that just lovely,” said Fiddleford, raising his chicken leg in a sort of toast to the happy couple, “I think I should probably start going to plays if I ever wanna meet somebody as special as you!”
Trudy apparently did laugh at this, a cruel, mirthless laugh that sounded like an icicle through the throat.
“…Why’s that funny,” said McGucket quietly.
“…Nothing,” mumbled Trudy, who began to guzzle down her glass of wine.
Tate spoke up, “This salad is fantastic mom, where did you—”
“No, why is that funny,” Fiddleford insisted, his voice uncharacteristically aggressive.
Trudy finished her glass of blood-red wine in one gulp.
“You at a play,” she said disdainfully, “Come on Fiddleford, don’t kid yourself, theater is for the sophisticated and the refined, you’d stick out like a farm hand shopping at Barney’s.”
Fiddleford glared at her from across the table, a look she returned with tundra-like cruelty. He looked down miserably at his plate, unsure if he could enjoy another bite.
“Now, really Trudy,” chastised Carla, “You’ve been married to me long enough to know that sort of snobbery should have no place in the fine arts. Theater should be accessible to everyone, charging the sort of money they do for tickets nowadays is just robbing the common people one of the greatest joys in life.”
Carla patted Fiddleford on the arm affectionately. “You and Tate should come see a show with us while you’re here! I’ve got some good tickets to see Kinky Boots, and I think you’d get a huge kick out of that show.”
“I ain’t much for singing and dancing,” mumbled Tate, who was giving his mother an icy glare.
“Tate, d’you mind passing the salt for me,” said McGucket, not looking up from his plate. Tate took the saltshaker from the middle of the table and handed it to his father, who began to sprinkle it onto his chicken absentmindedly as Carla continued to chatter absentmindedly about other musicals.
“You’re going to over season the chicken,” snapped Trudy suddenly. Ugly silence fell across the table like a crashed jet engine.
Slowly, Fiddleford spoke up, “well dear, you’ll forgive me I hope, but you hardly used any spice when frying up this bird. It just tastes like plain flour, I just thought I’d liven him up with a little salt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my chicken!” Trudy gritted her teeth together as if she’d like nothing better than to sink them into her ex’s throat, severing an artery.
“Just as there ain’t nothing wrong with me putting a little salt on him. You never were much good at putting spice on things, sweetheart,” said McGucket, sprinkling even more salt onto his plate.
“You’re lucky I even let you eat at all, you filthy bum!” Trudy was standing now; she slammed her fists onto the table violently, rattling the silver wear and glasses upon impact.
“Now really,” said Carla, mortified. “We don’t need to argue like children over dinner—”
“Well,” said McGucket, his voice trembling, “I guess I definitely had worse dinners than this, I did spend thirty years living out on the streets; I don’t know if’n ya ever had to eat garbage out of the can before, it’s really an unforgettable taste!”
“You’re the one who left,” Trudy snarled.
“You told me to go,” McGucket retorted. Faintly, he remembered a difficult conversation in the back of his mind: Think about what sounds better: spending time with your best friend working on a subject you both love, or staying in the suburbs playing house with a wife you have nothing in common with but your son?
“Did I tell you to not write or call for months on end,” Trudy gesticulated wildly at her Ex as she spoke, “Did I tell you not to visit your son?”
“Mom, leave me out of it!” cried Tate, slamming his fist on the table as well.
“Oh,” Trudy continued, not paying a bit of mind to her son at all, “I guess I’m the one who made you send that robot after me when I served you the divorce papers because I was just so done with your—”
“You left me to die on the street!”
Fiddleford had never said this out loud, hadn’t even dared to think it, but had kept this thought buried away in his heart for a long time, hoping it would rot away into nothing. Tate drank from his cup deeply, a guilty glint in his eyes as silence fell over the table again.
Trudy took Carla’s glass of wine and hurled the contents into Fiddleford’s face. He sat there, dripping wet with wine that stained his beard like blood.
“Trudy,” cried Carla, horrified.
“Get out,” hissed Trudy at her ex husband, “Get the hell out of my house right now!”
McGucket scrambled out of the dining room and ran into the night, his eyes stinging from the mixture of wine and tears as he ran.
We like stories because, like magic wardrobes and hidden portals, they take us to a version of reality we want to exist. A place where the lines between gentle, good hearted people and nasty, cruel people are thick and easy to see, where morals can be cut up and fed to us in easy to digest little bites, where all is well and right by the end, wickedness is defeated and kindness is rewarded as it deserves.
In this story, however, there is no wickedness to be defeated, as nobody in this story is truly wicked. Yes, Trudy McCorkle was cold and hostile to McGucket, and she wasn’t without her own small burden of blame, but she had her reasons and resentments that lead to her unhappiness with her ex-husband, something he would come to agree with in time. Forgiveness is a long process that takes a different amount of time for everyone, and Trudy’s time simply hadn’t arrived.
Fiddleford turned over these angry, mixed up thoughts as he fell into a fitful slumber on the shores of Glass Shard Beach. The moon was as gibbous and milky as a blinded eye in the sky above; it seemed to stare down coldly at Fiddleford as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know why he’d thought visiting his ex-wife was a good idea. He should have just stayed home and not bothered people who didn’t want him in their lives again.
“Pa!”
Tate was running towards him from further down the beach.
“There you are,” said Tate, panting as he sat down next to his father, who had curled into a tight ball in the sand. “Come on, Dad, let’s get out of here.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Fiddleford, obviously not fine at all, “I’ll just stay here in the dirt. You Ma’d be happier if I stayed out of her way.”
“I don’t give a crap about what’d make her happy right now,” snapped Tate, “That was—that was inexcusable. I told her that she ought to be thanking you for saving everyone last year, and that she was acting like a jackass.”
“Tate,” cried Fiddleford, popping out of the sand at this, “Don’t go saying such things to your mother!”
“But she—”
“What we’re arguing about ain’t something we should be dragging you into,” said Fiddleford, “and I’m sorry if that ever got taken out on you, Tater Tot.” He gave his son a hug, squeezing him tight.
“Pa, really, I’m a grown man.”
“Hush, you ain’t too old for hugs.”
“Anyway,” said Tate, pulling away from his dad, “Just… look, Carla’s real upset how everything went down. She wants to make it up for what happened. Did… did you wanna go see a play with us?”
“… You sure I won’t embarrass ya none,” Fiddleford asked quietly.
“I think we got all the embarrassment out of the way tonight,” said Tate, who, alongside his father began to walk down the beach towards the boardwalk. “Come on—if we move now, Carla says we can rush into the theater.”
Real life is often chaotic; but there is some comfort in getting to spend a moment away from that chaos, especially if it’s with the people you care about.
Summary: Fidds early years with his wife, the good and bad.
Relationship: Fidds and his wife.
Warnings: None. A deep look into the wife’s character and what she might be like.
Fidds once married a woman and it was a mistake.
Things were going bad when he moved out to Gravity Falls to work with his friend, he didn’t want to talk about her and only wished things had gone better for his son.
But as it was, he didn’t mind forgetting a lot of aspects about her. When his friend asked him if he wanted to forget her, he remained silent and went ahead and used the memory gun anyway because deep down there was a lot to forget about the wife he had a very rocky relationship with.
She left him alone in the dump, presumably to starve to death and never looked back. Not caring what became of him. Knowing something was very wrong with him but not being compassionate enough to try to help.
He later married his best friend Stanford, someone who wasn’t always good to him but was there for him and understood and accepted his mental health problems.
A fic idea I've decided to work on for the last few days of Fiddlefest, inspired by some recent requests for more of McGucket's ex-wife. McGucket's Ex-Wife was a quiet, reserved sort of person, to the point where I, the narrator, hardly know anything about her. I don't, for example, have a clear idea what her face looked like, having only ever seen a rough sketch of a thirty year old *photograph* of her within Stanford Pines' third journal. I don't quite know what her voice sounded like, what sort of clothes she liked to wear, what sort of jokes made her laugh (or, for that matter, if any jokes made her laugh at all), and, I'm embarrassed to admit, I don't even have a record of her full name. I only know that once she was Mrs. McGucket, and now she's a Mrs. McCorkle. However, since that name applies to two completely different women in this tale, I have elected to call Mrs. McCorkle-Who-Was-Once-Mrs-McGucket the much less trying to type "Trudy".
I really wanted to update something last month, but life got in the way. So, here, have an update for my Stay-at-Home Stan AU fic. And I promise, I won’t update this fic until after I finish “Stan Pines, Farmhand”. I really wanna get that fic DONE. Anyways, in this chapter, Ford meets Angie’s absent-minded neurologist friend as well as his own gotdang son. And nightmares for both of the Stan twins start to reach their conclusion. Anyways, enjoy.
“Stanford.” Ford looked up. Angie smiled at him. “May I join ya?” she asked.
“Uh, sure,” Ford said. Angie took a seat next to him on the couch.
“I have somethin’ fer ya,” she said. “Hold out yer hand.” Ford did as he was told. Angie carefully set a necklace in the palm of his hand. It was silver, with a delicate chain that held a replica of the Star of David.
“What’s this for?” Ford asked. Angie sighed.
“Growin’ up, I was always told that the sign of the cross would keep demons and evil at bay.”
“This isn’t a cross.”
“Let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyways, I looked into a bit more,” Angie said. Her knee was bouncing, in much the same way that Fiddleford’s did. “Seems like holy relics or holy symbols weaken otherworldly bein’s. I figured that, since ya were raised Jewish, you’d have a more personal connection to the Star of David than a cross. And that might strengthen its power a bit.”
“Angie…”
“It ain’t a permanent solution by any means. But maybe it’ll help keep Bill out of yer mind while we work on the proper fix.” She nodded at it. “That’s blessed silver, done by a priest. And the necklace has a good history, too. It was a gift from Ma and Pa to celebrate the twins bein’ born. Givin’ expectin’ parents a nice necklace is a tradition from Ma’s side of the fam’ly. There’s nothin’ but good feelin’s and happiness with that lil thing.”
“You’re very thorough,” Ford said softly, running the necklace through his hands.
“I’m a scientist. I’m supposed to be. Go ahead, put it on.” Ford slid the necklace over his head. The moment the pendent settled on his chest, he felt more grounded. A humming he hadn’t realized was in the back of his mind suddenly stopped. Angie looked at him. “So?”
“It works.”
“Really?” Angie said eagerly. Ford nodded.
“Bill’s grip on me was already rather tenuous, given how far I am from Gravity Falls. This seems to have been the final step to break the connection between us. At least, while I’m in San Diego,” Ford said. Angie beamed.
“That’s amazin’! I’m so glad it worked. I am goin’ to need that necklace back, though. Once they turn eight, the girls get to decide who gets that one, and who gets the one with a cross.” She tilted her head pensively. “But I’m pretty sure Daisy’ll get the one yer wearin’.”
“Why?”
“Just seems like it,” Angie said simply.
“Gut feeling?”
“Yup.” A few moments passed. Ford cleared his throat.
“Actually, Angie, while I have you here, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“It ain’t ‘bout more demons, is it?”
“No, it’s-” Ford took a breath. “The reason Jenny is dropping off Tate is so that he can bond with me. Because…I’m his father.”
“I know,” Angie said. Ford stared at her.
“Did she tell you?”
“No. I figured it out on my own,” Angie said, sounding agitated. “I ain’t an idiot, Stanford.”
“I never said you were,” Ford said, startled.
“It’s not what ya said, it’s what ya implied,” Angie said in a slightly calmer tone. She took a breath. “Look, I knew Tate’s other father was out there in the world somewhere. I ‘member when we still called Fidds ‘Viola’, and I thought he was my big sister. Jenny ain’t like he is. I knew someone was out there, who helped make my lil nephew.” She shrugged. “Figured it was some dashin’, handsome young man what swept him off his feet fer a night of wonder or somethin’ cheesy like that.”
“I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or not,” Ford said mildly. Angie rolled her eyes.
“Yer a fine-lookin’ man, Stanford Pines. Any twin of my husband would have to be. But I had no clue who exactly this mystery man was.” She cocked her head at him. “Then I met you. And remembered that Fiddleford met ya fer dinner ‘round the same time Tate would’ve been conceived. And I realized that Tate and Daisy look an awful lot alike, even fer cousins.”
“You caught onto that?”
“Of course I did! Science is all ‘bout drawin’ connections between data. Fer the longest time, the only connection between Daisy and Tate was that I’m Tate’s auntie. I thought the polydactyly was some McGucket trait, maybe an in utero mutated gene my Pa or Ma had, but didn’t manifest in ‘em, or their kids. Polydactyly can do that.” Angie shook her head. “But seein’ yer twelve fingers, well, that was the final nail in the coffin. Yer not just a polydactyl, yer a polydactyl in the exact same way as Tate. And it ain’t a common way. Post-axial polydactyly like that on both hands? Mighty rare.”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” Ford said. Angie nodded.
“Suppose ya would be.” She paused. “I apologize fer bein’ rude just now.”
“Rude? I didn’t think-”
“No, I was. Don’t be polite.” Angie sighed. “I just- I’m so used to provin’ myself. Bein’ a woman in science is rough. Nothin’ I ever did was good enough fer folks at college. No one believed that I was as good as they were.”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” Ford said airily. Angie cracked a half-smile.
“Suppose ya would be,” she said again. She patted his leg in a genial manner. “Now, let’s go get that brain of yours scanned.”
-----
Ford sat in the office of the head of Neurology at the San Diego Teaching Hospital. Across from him, sitting at a desk covered in brain models, was the head of Neurology herself, Dr. Norma Carmichael. Angie, who was to Ford’s right, leaned forward.
“So, ya didn’t see anythin’ peculiar with his results, Norma?” Angie asked. Dr. Carmichael shook her head.
“No. Just what I expected to see from someone with chronic nightmares.” The three of them had decided to not tell Angie’s college friend the source of Ford’s nightmares. “But I do have to admit,” Dr. Carmichael conceded, “the activity was more vigorous than I’ve seen before. Like there were more nightmares, or they were higher in severity.”
Well, obviously my nightmares would be more severe than those not caused by demons. Ford mentally frowned at the sarcastic tone to his thoughts. No, Stanford. Be patient. Dr. Carmichael is doing this at no cost to you, and Angie doesn’t need you to be rude to her friend.
“What do we do now?” Stan (who was sitting to Ford’s left) asked, taking a break from playing with one of the models on Dr. Carmichael’s desk.
“You said that psychological treatments have been unsuccessful?” Dr. Carmichael asked. Ford nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then I do have one treatment I would suggest.”
“What is it?” Angie asked. Dr. Carmichael sighed.
“It’s rather experimental. Actually, we only just got the approval to do a trial for it here. It’s being run by myself and Steve. Steve’s arguably the best neurosurgeon we have here, he’s-”
“Norma,” Angie interrupted. “Please.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
Angie mentioned her friend had a tendency to get sidetracked.
“The treatment is, to put it simply, brain surgery to suppress the portions of your brain causing the chronic nightmares,” Dr. Carmichael said.
“What?” Ford asked, startled.
“Only when you’re unconscious, of course,” Dr. Carmichael said breezily. “We wouldn’t want to block access to a portion of your brain permanently. Which, if we accidentally did, we could fix. Probably. I mean-”
“Norma,” Angie started again. She took a breath. “Is this the only physiological treatment you have for us?”
“Yes. And, to be frank, your brother-in-law is perfect for our study.”
“Ya don’t say,” Stan said idly. He accidentally dropped the model he was fiddling with. Brightly colored regions of the brain scattered on the floor. “Shit! Sorry, Norma.” Dr. Carmichael waved a hand.
“It’s no problem. When my sons come to visit, they do the same thing. You don’t have a son, do you, Stan?”
“Uh, no. Just the twin girls for me and Angie right now,” Stan said.
“Right now”? Hmm, maybe I’ll get another niece or nephew someday.
“Norma, I think we’re goin’ to go over our options,” Angie said. “We’ll be in touch. Thank you, again.”
“Oh, it was no problem at all! Especially if your brother-in-law agrees to be in our study. Hint, hint,” Dr. Carmichael said, winking at Ford.
After cleaning up the brain model pieces off the floor, Ford, Stan, and Angie exited Dr. Carmichael’s office. Ford leaned against the wall. He lost himself in the sterile hospital smell and the voice on the intercom requesting the on-call dermatologist.
“Stanford,” Angie said, breaking through Ford’s fuzzy thoughts.
“Yes?” Ford asked.
“What are ya thinkin’?”
“I think he should do the surgery,” Stan put in.
“So do I,” Angie said. After a moment, Ford nodded.
“I concur.”
“I’ll call Norma tomorrow, sneak ya in that study of hers, then,” Angie said. She dug a pen out of her purse and scribbled something on her hand. Stan peered over at what she had written.
“Who’s ‘Dill Nodno’?” Stan asked. Angie shoved him playfully.
“Oh, you. Quit makin’ fun of my handwritin’. What matters is that I can read it.” She tucked the pen behind her ear. “Did ya want to stop and get a treat, Stanford?”
“Uh, what?”
“When we take the girls to appointments, that’s what we do afterwards,” Stan explained.
“I’m not one of your toddler-aged daughters,” Ford said. Angie grinned at him.
“I know that. But adults like ice cream too. So, are ya in the mood fer a nice scoop of vanilla?” she asked.
“I’m not one to turn down frozen treats,” Ford said. Stan punched him playfully.
“There’s the spirit, Sixer! Let’s get some ice cream.”
-----
Daisy hummed as she skipped alongside Ford, holding her six-fingered hand in one of his. It was the day after the brain scan, and Stan insisted that Ford come with him and the girls on their walk to the park.
“Normally, Angie comes with, since it’s her day off, but she’s settin’ things up for your study,” Stan said.
“I can do that,” Ford interjected. Stan shook his head.
“You’re my brother and I love you, but you’re not a people person, Ford. Can’t risk you making Norma upset by accident.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“Since Angie’s gettin’ things in order, yeah, ya won’t.”
“Uncle Ford, do you like my skipping?” Daisy asked, startled Ford out of his recollection. Ford smiled indulgently at his niece.
“Of course I do! It’s lovely, just like you are,” he said. Daisy beamed. Stan elbowed Ford.
“See, Sixer? You’re great with kids! And Tate’s an angel compared to these troublemakers. You’ll be fine with him.”
“The people at the park seem to know you very well,” Ford remarked to Stan. Stan eyed Ford, well aware of his twin’s not-so-subtle change of topic. After a moment, Stan shrugged.
“I’ve been takin’ the girls there since before they could walk. Folks know the McGuckets around here.” He rolled his eyes. “Not everyone ‘approves’ of me watchin’ the kids and Angie workin’, though.” Stan looked at Danny, who was holding his hand. “What’s the name for people like that?”
“Chumps!” Danny said enthusiastically. Ford chuckled.
“That’s right, princess,” Stan said. He looked up. The blood drained from his face. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Ford asked. Stan stared at the car parked outside his house.
“I recognize that car,” he whispered. “Girls, ya know which house is Mrs. Bell’s, right?” His daughters nodded. “Okay, go over there, now. Take your Uncle Ford with you. Call 911.”
“What? Stanley, that’s a bit of an overreaction,” Ford started. Stan stared at his twin with terrified eyes.
“Remember that dream I had?” Stan asked in a shaky voice. Ford’s blood ran cold.
The one that ended with his wife getting killed.
“…Oh,” Ford said softly. Stan handed Danny over to Ford. “I’ll take the girls. What should I tell the operator?”
“That a dangerous criminal arrived at 435 Farley Street, likely has backup. Now get goin’.” Before Ford could set off with the girls, however, the front door slammed open. A man raced out of the house, clamping a hand to his shoulder. “Cover the girls’ eyes, Sixer!” Stan shouted while he ran to intercept the person fleeing the house. Ford did as he was told and watched Stan knock out the stranger with one punch.
“That’s right, ya best run, ya-” someone shouted from the house. Ford looked in the direction the voice had come from. Standing in the doorway, eyes wild and brandishing a rifle, was Angie.
“Angie!” Stan shouted. Angie dropped her gun to rush to her husband and embrace him tightly. Ford could faintly make out a few words while Stan spoke to her. “-thought he got ya.” Angie’s laughter carried.
“No one messes with my fam’ly. Or threatens to,” she replied confidently. Stan hugged her tighter, burying his face in her hair. Ford looked away. This was a private moment between a husband and wife. After a few moments, Stan came back to Ford and the girls.
“Daddy, what’s goin’ on?” Danny asked curiously. Stan crouched down.
“Nothin’ for ya to worry about. But Uncle Ford is gonna take ya back to the park for a bit. Your ma and I have to…deal with a few things.”
“Can Apple come with?” Daisy asked. Stan grimaced.
“Apple doesn’t like your uncle, remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
“But,” Stan said, “Uncle Ford will get the two of ya a treat, okay?”
“Okay!” Daisy said cheerfully. Stan stood up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. His hands were shaking.
“Stan,” Ford said softly. “It’s on me.” Stan looked at him gratefully.
“Are ya sure?”
“Yes. Positive. Take care of your wife and…your past. Just come by the park whenever you and Angie are ready,” Ford said. Stan took a breath.
“Thanks, Sixer.” Stan kissed his daughters on the tops of their heads before walking back to Angie. Ford watched Stan put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and walk inside with her.
“So, girls, let’s go back to the park,” Ford said in a falsely cheery tone. Danny tugged at his shirt. He looked down at her. “Yes?”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Ford answered. Danny frowned at him.
“Don’t lie.”
Damn. How did she know? Am I that bad at lying? Or is she that good at catching lies?
“Listen, I don’t want to tell you two something that’s inaccurate. Or something that your parents should talk to you about. When your dad comes to the park, you can ask him then. But right now, I can’t tell you anything. Do you understand?” Ford said. After a moment, Danny nodded. “Now, let’s go to the park.”
-----
Ford stared at the polar bear exhibit, trying to suppress his nerves.
What I wouldn’t give to be on the other side of that glass. No, Stanford, you’d get mauled to death. Ford ran a trembling hand through his hair. Would that be so bad?
“Sweet Moses, Sixer, quit freakin’ out so much!” Stan said, exasperated. Ford looked at his twin. Danny was sitting on Stan’s shoulders, braiding his hair, while Daisy clung to his leg and sang nonsense words under her breath. “You’re meetin’ Tate for the first time. You’re not gettin’ a prostate exam.”
“What’s a pot exam?” Daisy asked. Stan looked down at his daughter.
“Nothin’ you need to worry about.”
“Hmm,” Daisy said, wrinkling her nose. She resumed her singing.
“I’d prefer that, to be honest,” Ford said. Stan sighed.
“Seriously, stop bein’ such a drama queen. That’s my job. Right, girls?”
“Yeah!” Danny and Daisy said eagerly.
“Your children are using you as a jungle gym,” Ford pointed out. Stan winced as Danny tugged too roughly on his hair. “Can you blame me for being nervous about meeting my own progeny?”
“‘Progeny’? Geez, you’re a nerd. And you don’t need to be so worried. Angie and I keep tellin’ ya, not only is Tate older than the girls, but he’s the quietest, most well-behaved kid in the world. It’s weird.”
“Still!” Ford said. He looked back at the polar bear. “Why are we meeting Tate and Jenny at the zoo?”
“It’s zoo day!” Daisy said. Stan nodded.
“Since Angie works here, we get in for free a couple times a month.”
“That’s it?” Ford asked.
“Well, the rest of the month, we get a pretty sweet discount. But since it’s just the one income for us, and two toddlers use up a lotta cash, we usually only visit on free days. And anyways, Tate loves it here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He likes the animals a lot.” Stan looked past Ford. “There he is!” Ford turned around. Walking toward them was a tall, slender blonde woman, holding a young boy’s hand. The boy’s eyes were obscured by a thick mass of dark brown hair. Ford felt a hint of a connection.
The Pines family curls. I’ve been there.
“Tate!” Daisy and Danny shrieked. Daisy unlatched from Stan’s leg and ran toward her cousin and aunt. She tackled Tate in an intense hug. The woman, presumably Jenny McGucket, carefully detached Daisy from Tate.
“Stanley, it’s lovely to see you,” Jenny said, once she had reached Stan and Ford.
“Good to see you too, Jenny,” Stan said. He grinned and removed Danny from his shoulders, then crouched down to Tate’s height. “Hey there, buddy. How’s my favorite little man, huh?”
“All right,” Tate said in a small voice. He looked at Ford. “Mom says you’re my dad.” Ford swallowed nervously.
“Yes. I am,” Ford said.
“Why haven’t I met you, if you’re my dad?” Tate asked.
“It’s complicated. I wasn’t in contact with your father, and-” Ford broke off, suddenly noticing the stares he was getting from Danny and Daisy.
“All right, girls, maybe we should go get a snack,” Stan said abruptly. “Let Uncle Ford, Tate, and Aunt Jenny catch up.”
“No, I’ll come with,” Jenny said. “The boys need some bonding time.” Ford stared at Stan with terrified eyes.
Please don’t leave me alone with him!
“…Actually,” Stan said slowly, “I’ll stay here with Tate and Ford. Jenny, mind takin’ the girls to the Axolotl Eatery? It’s the restaurant near the amphibian exhibit. Angie said she would meet us there for her lunch break. Us men will take a short walk and join ya in about, I dunno, ten minutes?” Jenny looked back and forth between Stan and Ford.
“Okay. Come on, girls.” After Jenny had left, singing a song about elephants with Danny and Daisy, Ford turned his attention to his son again.
“So, Tate,” Ford started.
“Yeah?”
“Uh…” Ford realized he hadn’t thought of what he would say.
“How about we walk around a bit,” Stan suggested. “Some of the penguins had babies, wanna go check it out, Tate?”
“Okay,” Tate said. He took a hold of Stan’s hand. The three of them set off in silence. Once they were halfway to the penguin exhibit (according to the zoo map Ford had picked up), Tate spoke. “What do I call you?”
“Pardon?” Ford asked.
“Danny and Daisy prob’ly call you Uncle Ford. But you’re not my uncle, you’re my dad.”
“Well, I think Dad would suffice, then, don’t you?” Ford said. Tate frowned.
“‘Suffice’?”
“Be adequate or sufficient,” Ford said. “Dad is a good thing to call me.” Tate nodded slowly.
“Dad, what do you do?”
“I’m a scientist.”
“Like Aunt Angie?”
“Not exactly like her. There are many branches of science, and I elected to study physics in college, while she studied herpetology.”
“Yeah, he’s a scientist like your Aunt Angie,” Stan said. Tate nodded again.
“What do you like to do, like read, or write, or jigsaw puzzles, or go hiking?” Stan raised an eyebrow.
“Tate, did your mom give ya a list of things to ask your dad?”
“…Maybe,” Tate said. Stan chuckled.
“So, Ford? What are your hobbies?” Stan asked. Ford rubbed the back of his neck.
“Uh, I read a lot. I do my research, so for that I tend to take pictures and draw, as well as write.”
“Tell Tate about your research a bit,” Stan suggested. “I think he’d find it interestin’.”
“Oh! Well, my research is cataloging the strange creatures of Gravity Falls,” Ford said. Stan nodded.
“How do you do your research?”
“Mostly by hiking in the woods and observing wildlife.” Tate looked at Ford.
“Really?!” Tate asked eagerly.
That’s the most energetic he’s sounded since I met him.
“Yes. There are a lot of fascinating things in the forest.”
“I know! There’s birds, and fish, and raccoons,” Tate said. “And! I saw Bigfoot once!”
“Oh, yes, he’s quite the friendly gentleman,” Ford said. Tate gaped.
“You met Bigfoot!”
“Yes.”
“I knew he was real! The other boys in my troop never believed me when I told them I saw him.”
“Ah, well, some people keep their heads in the sand and don’t listen to proof that the supernatural exists,” Ford said. He frowned. “Troop?”
“Boy Scouts,” Stan supplied. “Tate’s quite the ranger, aren’t ya?” Tate nodded eagerly.
“Boy Scouts have to do projects, right?” Ford asked. Tate nodded again. “Maybe one of your projects someday could involve assisting me with my research.”
“That sounds awesome! I wanna meet Bigfoot!” Tate gushed. Ford looked at Stan. Stan winked.
“He’s a lot like you, huh, Sixer? Quiet until ya mention somethin’ he loves.”
“Why’d you call him Sixer?” Tate asked.
“Because I have six fingers on each hand,” Ford answered. “Like you, Tate.”
“Really?” Ford crouched down and held out his hands for Tate to examine. Tate smiled. “I didn’t know there were people like me. Except for Daisy.”
“I am your father,” Ford pointed out. “We’re bound to have similarities.”
“There ya are!” someone called. Stan, Ford, and Tate looked over. Jenny, Angie, and the girls were sitting at a nearby table. The table was in front of a building with a sign reading “Axolotl Eatery”. Ford stood up.
“We’re here already?” Ford asked.
“Yep. Guess we’ll have to go check out the baby penguins after lunch,” Stan said. “Let’s get somethin’ to eat. I’m starving.”
“Stanley,” Ford said softly, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder as Tate walked over to the table. Stan stopped walking and looked at his twin.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. Gotta have my family getting along, right?” Stan said. Ford smiled weakly.
“I mean it. You knew exactly what would help me bond with Tate.”
“Well, I’ve known him basically his whole life,” Stan said. Ford’s smile faltered. “But you’ll get to know him better than I do eventually. I mean, you’re his dad.”
“Yes. I am.” Ford took a breath. “The timing is so awful, though. My surgery-”
“Isn’t for a week and a half,” Stan finished. “You’ve got ten days before the surgery to bond with Tate, plus however long Jenny lets him stay afterward. And so what if you get little loopy from the pain meds? You really get to know someone when they’re high on Percocet. Trust me. After the girls were born, Angie kept yammering on and on about how she swears she saw a werewolf in high school.” Ford shook his head, hiding a smile.
“You’re ridiculous, Stan.”
“Yeah. Come on, let’s go get some exhibit-themed meals. Before I eat one of the animals from an actual exhibit.”
-----
Ford could feel his hands shaking.
“Hon, it’ll be okay,” Angie said quietly, stroking his freshly shaved head. “Steve is a miracle worker. The best neurosurgeon in the west.”
“Stanford,” Stan said. Ford looked at his twin. Stan put a five-fingered hand over one of Ford’s six-fingered ones. “Seriously. Everything’ll be fine.” Ford nodded. He could feel tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, like a nervous child. “You’re not acting like a kid,” Stan said, as though he had read Ford’s mind. “Brain surgery is pretty damn terrifying. There’s a reason we aren’t lettin’ the kids come to the hospital until after you get out.” Ford brushed away his tears, which had yet to fall. The movement jerked his IV, making him hiss. “I know this whole thing sucks,” Stan continued, “but think about how fuckin’ awesome it’ll be when you’re done. No more Bill. At all. Ever.”
“If it works,” Ford said, his voice quavering.
“It will,” Stan said firmly.
“It will,” Angie repeated. She kissed the top of his head. A nurse walked into the room.
“I’m here to take Mr. Pines to the OR,” the nurse said.
“Dr. Pines,” Stan corrected. He winked at Ford. “My twin brother’s got a Ph.D.” The nurse smiled in a patient manner.
“All right. Dr. Pines, it’s time for your neurosurgery.” Stan patted Ford’s hand one last time.
“Not gonna do a high six,” Stan said. “We’ll save that for after.”
“We’ll be right here when ya wake up,” Angie said quietly. As he was wheeled out of the room, Ford looked back at Stan and Angie. They were in a tight embrace, watching him leave. Stan grinned at Ford.
“Go kick some ass, Sixer,” Stan called after Ford.
Holy cow this is probably the longest chapter I’ve ever written. I just had so much content I needed to squeeze into it. There’s a lot of hurt/comfort here, and Stan’s babs don’t really make any appearances. But we do get to meet Stan’s probably-a-dog, Apple! Also in this chapter, Ford realizes that maybe asking your twin brother to abandon his family isn’t the best idea. Enjoy.
“D-daddy, what’s going on?” Stan stared helplessly at his daughters, who were both shaking in fear. He was bloodied and bruised from Rico’s goons roughing him up, but the thing that hurt him the most was seeing his family in danger. At least the girls weren’t tied up, unlike him and Angie.
“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Stan choked out. He tried to hold back his tears. He had to be strong for them. “We’ll be outta here soon. Just close your eyes.” Danny and Daisy looked at him with identical disbelieving expressions. “Trust me, pumpkin.”
“Do what yer daddy says,” Angie said in a quavering voice. Daisy and Danny clung to each other tighter and finally closed their eyes. Stan looked over at Angie. She was biting her lip, shaking from fear, as Rico held a gun to her head.
“Shut up, bitch,” Rico snarled, whacking the back of her head with the gun.
“Cut it out, Rico!” Stan yelled. “Leave them alone! I don’t care what ya do to me, just don’t hurt my family!” He heard one of the girls let out a choked sob. His heart broke.
“Stan, you deserve hell, for thinking we wouldn’t find you.”
“Kill me, then! Let my wife and kids go, then end me.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll do that,” Rico said. “But I know the only way to really hurt you. You’ve never cared about your own life. You’ve always been weak for those you love. We’ll kill you. But you’ll watch your wife die first.” The girls began to cry in earnest. Rico cocked the gun being held against Angie’s head. Stan watched in horror as her terrified eyes met his, pleading for something. Tears finally began to stream down Stan’s face.
“Angie, I’m- I’m so sorry for all of this,” Stan sobbed. “You and the girls, ya don’t deserve any of it.” Tears leaked from the corner of Angie’s eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love ya, Stanley,” Angie whispered back. Rico pulled the trigger.
There was a shot.
-----
Stan sat bolt upright, every part of him shaking from panic.
Angie! Stan shoved the sleeping dog off his legs and fumbled out from the bed he’d made on the couch. He made his way to his bedroom, cracked the door open, and walked over to Angie’s side of the bed. She was fast asleep, her petite face relaxed and calm. Stan stared at her for a few seconds, trying to slow his heartrate. He reached out a trembling hand and tucked a strand of hair behind one of her ears. Angie smiled faintly and mumbled something in her sleep. He blinked away a few tears. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Stan took a deep breath. A pretty damn realistic dream. But just a dream. He leaned over and kissed Angie on the forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered to her. Still asleep, she smiled again.
“Love ya,” she said softly. Stan stroked her cheek one last time before exiting their room. On his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, he checked on the girls.
Still sleeping. Good. He closed the door quietly. It was just a dream, Stan. Just a dream. He walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. Stan took a startled step backward, surprised to see his twin sitting at the table.
“Ford? What are ya doin’, sittin’ alone in the dark?” Stan asked.
“I’m not sure where are the light switches are,” Ford mumbled.
“It’s two in the morning, why aren’t ya in bed?” Ford looked away. Stan sighed. “Nightmares?” Ford nodded.
“Bill won’t let me go,” Ford said softly. Stan joined his twin at the kitchen table. “What about you? Why are you up?” Stan shrugged.
“Same reason.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yup.”
“What about?” Ford asked. Stan drummed his fingers on the table, mentally debating whether or not to tell Ford.
Eh. Might as well.
“I was only a drifter for a few years, but I still fell in with some bad people,” Stan said, looking away. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop thinkin’ they’re gonna find me again, and hurt the girls and Angie.” He took a shuddering breath as he attempted to fight back the vivid details from his dream. “I know what they’d do to my family, and it- it’s real nightmare fuel, Sixer.”
“Have you talked to Angie about this?” Ford asked. Stan laughed hollowly.
“Tell my wife I have nightmares where she gets killed in front of me and our kids? No fuckin’ way. She’s got enough anxiety as it is.”
“Fiddleford struggled with anxiety as well,” Ford said softly. Stan nodded.
“Runs in the McGucket family. Angie and I are tryin’ to keep a close eye on the girls, so that if they end up bein’ the same way as their ma, we can nip it in the bud.” He sighed. “Really hope they don’t, though. My kids deserve better than that.” Stan frowned at the expression Ford was giving him. “What?”
“I’m just…so surprised by how devoted you are to your children.”
“Like me carin’ ‘bout my family is somethin’ new? It’s the same as when I beat up Crampelter for ya, when we were kids.”
“What are you gents doin’ in the kitchen at 2am?” a groggy voice asked. Stan and Ford looked over. Angie stood in the entrance of the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Get some dang sleep.”
“We, uh, needed a break,” Stan said. Angie frowned at him.
“A break from sleep?” Realization dawned. “Did the two of ya have nightmares or somethin’?” Stan rubbed the back of his neck.
“Y-yeah,” he mumbled. Angie walked over and sat on his lap, then wrapped her arms around him.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, nuzzling her head against his neck. “It was just a dream.” Stan wrapped an arm around her torso and squeezed her tightly. Well aware of the intimate nature of their interactions, Ford’s gaze dropped to the table.
“I know,” Stan said quietly. Noises began to come from the living room. “Ah, shit, that dog better not be messin’ with anything it shouldn’t be,” Stan grumbled. Angie gave him a peck on the cheek.
“I can take care of it, darlin’. Try to go back to sleep, okay?”
“No, no, you need your sleep. I’m gonna be up for a while anyways.” Angie stroked Stan’s face.
“Ya sure?”
“Yeah. Go back to bed. Maybe Ford and I can take the thing for a walk.” Stan looked over at Ford. “Not completely sure Apple’s actually a dog.”
“Oh, hush,” Angie said softly. She got up, gave Stan another kiss, nodded at Ford, and left.
“Still can’t believe you even have a dog,” Ford said. Stan stood up with a shrug. He walked into the living room and turned on the light.
“Kids wanted one. They spent a weekend at their grandparents’, and Angie’s folks live on a farm, so they were around all sortsa animals. When we picked ‘em up, the girls wouldn’t stop askin’ for a pet. They wanted either a dog or a horse. Dog seemed like the better decision, what with us livin’ in the city.” Stan looked around the living room. He finally found the dog, digging through a stack of books near the coffee table. “Hey! Cut it out!” Apple barked. “Shut it! You’ll wake up the kids,” Stan hissed, marching over to Apple and grabbing his collar. The dog whined softly and licked Stan’s legs. Stan sighed, his anger gone. “Damn dog knows how to charm everyone.” Stan looked over at Ford. “Come on in here and meet the pooch.” Ford stood hesitantly.
“I don’t know, Stanley. I’m not that good with animals.”
“C’mon, this thing’s the nicest dog ever. Hasn’t even growled at anything yet,” Stan said. “Likes to make messes, but other than that, pretty well-behaved.” Ford cautiously approached the dog. It was a living, breathing small mound of gray and black fur.
“Is the dog somewhere under all that hair?” Ford muttered. Stan chuckled. His laughter was cut short by Apple suddenly bounding at Ford.
“Apple, what the hell?” Stan said. Ford stared at the furry muzzle in front of his face. Apple emitted a low growl. Ford tried to move, but stopped when Apple snarled at him. “Apple, cut it the fuck out!” Stan barked, pulling the dog off Ford. Apple continued to growl at Ford. “Hot Belgian waffles, Ford, what did ya do, roll in about twenty other dogs?” Stan demanded.
“I’m- I’m wearing your clothes, Stanley,” Ford pointed out. His heart was racing, something he was not pleased by.
I can go toe-to-toe with an actual dragon in Gravity Falls without my heartrate rising, but I get nervous about my brother’s small dog not liking me?
“Huh. You’re right.” Stan stared at the dog he was still holding back. “Maybe this dog just…doesn’t like ya. Which I guess means ya shouldn’t join me on its walk.”
“Probably not,” Ford agreed. Stan sighed. He picked up Apple and carried him out of the living room. A few minutes later, Stan returned, Apple safely secured on a leash.
“All right, we’ll be back in, I dunno, fifteen?” Stan said, opening the front door. “Don’t wait up.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Ford replied. The door closed with a firm thud.
Now is the perfect time to investigate. Everyone is asleep or gone. Ford looked over at the pile of books Apple had been pawing through. That seems like a good place to start. He picked up a binder and turned it over to look at the cover.
“Danica and Daisy,” he read out loud. “Hmm.” Ford flipped the book open to the first page. He frowned at the blurry black and white image plastered onto thick paper. “What is that?” It was clearly printed off from somewhere. He scanned the page for hints. Below the image was a simple caption.
“Twins!” it read, in excited, neat handwriting. Ford blinked.
This must be the first sonogram. He examined the sonogram with a bit more interest, managing to make out the fetuses that would become the girls. A small smile played at his lips. This is the first picture ever of my nieces. He could picture Stan and Angie at the appointment, excited and surprised.
Ford flipped through the binder, which he now realized was a photo album chronicling Danny and Daisy’s childhood thus far. After the sonogram were various pictures taken of Stan and Angie preparing for their children. Ford stopped at the page with Angie’s baby shower, catching a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. His heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of Fiddleford excitedly hugging his younger sister. He tore himself away from the picture of his former partner, exuberant and healthy. His gaze instead landed on an adjacent picture, clearly taken after the party. Stan was sitting on a couch, his heavily pregnant wife leaning against him, asleep. Ford swallowed at the loving gaze Stan was giving Angie.
Dammit, Stanley. Ford wasn’t sure why he was cursing Stan’s name. Envy, maybe? Or perhaps he was just frustrated, knowing how much more difficult it would be to convince Stan to leave. He turned the page, agitated. The next few pages were devoted exclusively to pictures of Danny and Daisy, presumably short after their birth, judging by their reddened, wrinkled skin. Ford skimmed the photos of Angie and two young men, likely older brothers of hers, cooing at the infants. He turned another page. His heart stopped.
“Damn,” he whispered. The page had one photo. It was of Stan holding Daisy. Even though all infants looked the same to Ford, he could tell which child it was, given that Stan was holding her six-fingered hand. A single tear was sliding down Stan’s cheek as he stared at his newborn daughter.
I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind, or what all he’s feeling. Ford stared at the picture, wondering if he could interpret the complex expression on Stan’s face; one of joy and love but also sadness, regret, and nostalgia. After a few minutes, Ford closed the photo album. I…I can’t ask him to leave, can I? He’d never do it. He loves this family he’s built. He loves them too much to be away, or to leave them all alone. The front door opened.
“Ford, I’m back from the walk!” Stan called.
If I can’t give Stan the journal, what am I going to do? Ford continued to stare silently at the photo album as Stan put the dog away and eventually joined him on the floor.
“Whatchya lookin’ at, Sixer?” Stan asked. Ford handed the photo album to him without saying a word. “Oh. This thing. Yeah, Angie insisted on makin’ a photo album for the girls.” Ford put his head in his hands. “Is somethin’ wrong?”
“I-” Ford started, but he didn’t finish. Stan frowned.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“I haven’t told you why I came,” Ford said.
“Uh, yeah, ya did. Ya came here because ya got mixed up with some bad guy named Bill, and ya needed to lay low, get some help, whatever.”
“That’s not the entirety of it. My intent was…to ask you to take my research, and leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes. Leave. Go somewhere far away. The ends of the Earth. Somewhere Bill’s minions wouldn’t find my research.” Ford shook his head. “But I can’t ask you to do that anymore. You- you have a family. And your kids, your wife, even that thing you call a dog, they’re your entire world now, aren’t they?” After a moment, Stan nodded.
“Yeah. They are,” he said softly.
“I don’t know what to do,” Ford whispered, tears beginning to run down his face. “Bill, he- he’ll follow me anywhere I go. He’ll never leave me. This- this was my last chance, the only plan that might end with Bill finally breaking his ties to me.”
“Ford…”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan, Stanley.” Ford chuckled hollowly, feeling his exhausted mind finally begin to unravel. “In my state, I wouldn’t be able to come up with one, anyways. Bill won’t let me sleep. He won’t let me enjoy spending time with you and your family. He’s pulling my strings, turning me into his puppet whenever he wants and I-”
“Ford. Stop.” Stan wrapped an arm around his twin and pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re havin’ some sorta breakdown. Followin’ your thoughts will only make it worse. Just take a few deep breaths. Don’t think of anything.” Stan could feel Ford gradually get calmer. “Better?” Ford nodded silently. Stan let go. Ford looked away, hurriedly rubbing tear tracks off his face.
“How did you-”
“Angie’s had breakdowns before. After the girls were born, she- she went through a really rough time.” Stan shrugged. “Doc told me what to do to calm her down.” He eyed his twin, concerned. “Ford, how bad are things for ya?”
“I-” Ford started to say that he could handle it, but thought better. “I’d say I don’t know how they could be any worse, but that feels like tempting fate,” he said quietly. Stan nodded. “And I legitimately have no idea how to fix what’s gone wrong. Asking you to flee with my research, that was my last hope.”
“I’m no scientist or paranormal researcher or whatever,” Stan said, “but it doesn’t seem like that would actually have helped ya.” Ford was silent. “Look, Ford, I- I don’t like seein’ ya like this. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, but we’ll figure somethin’ out.”
“You’d do that?”
“Stanford, you’re my twin. We have our issues, yeah, but I’m not gonna watch ya have some sort of prolonged mental breakdown and do nothin’ just ‘cause my dog doesn’t like ya.” Stan looked at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t ya go back to sleep, and we can talk more in the mornin’.”
“I can’t sleep,” Ford whispered.
“Then read a book or, I dunno, lay on the floor for a while and stare at the ceiling. Ya need rest, Ford, even if it’s not sleep.”
“Very well.” Ford reluctantly got up. Stan watched him leave, dread building in his chest. After the door to the guest bedroom had closed, Stan stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Rather than getting a glass of water from the tap, like he had planned, he opened the topmost liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky.
-----
Ford woke up at 4:50, like usual. As he sat in the dark guest room, waiting for…something, his gaze slid over to the bookshelf by the window. Unbidden, a memory surfaced.
“Don’t store yer books on the floor, Stanford,” Fiddleford grumbled, after having stubbed his toe against a thick volume on particle physics.
“There’s no space in my room,” Ford said without looking up.
“Then keep ‘em in the guest room. That’s what my fam’ly does, when the bookshelves in our rooms get too full.”
Ford stood and walked over to the bookshelf. He squinted at the titles before realizing that he probably should have turned on the light. After a moment, he grabbed a random book and went back to the bed, where he turned on the bedside lamp. The book he had selected was, of all things, a novelization of the second Star Wars film, The Empire Strikes Back.
That’s my favorite film. Why would Stan have it in his guest room? Ford shrugged his curiosity away and opened the book.
Ford had just finished reading the book when he heard the distinct sound of an alarm clock going off. He glanced at the clock. It was now 6:45. He placed the book on the bedside table and made his way to the door. Ford opened the door at the same time that Angie, looking near-delirious, opened hers. She blinked owlishly at him for a few moments.
I can practically hear the gears turning in her head. Does she not remember me? Finally, recognition dawned, and she smiled sheepishly.
“Mornin’, Stanford,” she said in a voice thick from sleep. “Were ya up long?”
“…No, I woke up when your alarm clock went off,” Ford lied.
No sense in making her concerned about my sleep schedule. That’s my own burden to bear. Angie grimaced.
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
“It’s no problem,” Ford said reassuringly.
“Hmm. If ya say so. How’s ‘bout some breakfast?” she said. Ford nodded.
“That sounds excellent.” He followed her down the hallway and into the living room. Stan was still fast asleep on the couch, but the dog must have been put in its kennel, as it was nowhere to be found. Angie gestured at the table, indicating for Ford to take a seat, before walking over to Stan and kissing him on the forehead.
“Mornin’, sweet potata,” she said gently. Stan stretched.
“Mornin’,” Stan said. Ford smiled absently at the tenderness between Stan and Angie, as they continued to talk in low tones. He looked around the kitchen.
Where’s the coffeepot?
Everything went black.
-----
Ford abruptly came to. He was face down on the kitchen floor, his nose squashed against the linoleum. Someone was pinning him to the ground.
“Stanley?” Ford said, his voice muffled. “Why are you holding me down?”
“Ya grabbed a fork off the counter and started stabbin’ yourself,” his twin replied.
“That wasn’t me. That was Bill.”
“How was that Bill?” Angie asked.
“Bill can…possess people who have given him permission,” Ford explained.
“Why the hell did ya give him permission?” Stan demanded. Ford sighed.
“It’s complicated. Now, are you going to let me up or not?”
“Until ya can prove it was Bill who did that, I’m not lettin’ ya go.”
“Stanley, please,” Ford said desperately.
“His voice is back to normal,” Angie added.
“…Fine.” Stan let go of Ford. Ford pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the painful wounds on his arms.
“Never thought I’d have to clean blood off my kitchen floor,” Angie said. Her attempt at a lighthearted tone was marred by her voice quavering. Ford looked at his sister-in-law. She gasped. “Yer eye!” Ford gingerly touched his eye. His fingers came away damp with blood.
“Damn,” he whispered. “It’s- it’s a side effect of Bill’s possession. Nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, right,” Stan scoffed. He helped Ford stand up. “Let’s get ya to the ER.”
“No!” Ford said immediately. “I can’t go to the hospital!”
“Ya stabbed yourself with cutlery and your eye is bleedin’,” Stan said. “You’re goin’.”
“Stanley, what would the doctors do if you told them I entered some sort of fugue state, wounded myself, and then blamed it on a demon?”
“They’d have ya institutionalized,” Angie said softly.
“We don’t mention Bill,” Stan suggested. Angie shook her head.
“If we told ‘em he harmed himself, they’d place him under observation, at least. At most, they’d still institutionalize him.” Stan rubbed his face, frustrated.
“And we’d be dealin’ with cops if we say he got attacked. And no one would believe it was an accident. Well, shit.” Stan looked at Angie. “You’ve got first-aid trainin’, right?”
“Yessir,” Angie replied. “I’ll get the kit, see if I can’t patch him up. In the meantime, Ford…”
“Yes?” Ford asked. Angie smiled apologetically.
“Would ya mind standin’ over the sink? I hate to ask ya, but yer drippin’ blood all over the kitchen floor.”
“Oh. Right.” Ford walked over to the sink and watched bright red liquid drip onto the white porcelain.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan said, joining him at the counter. “Angie can have…issues if things aren’t clean enough. Especially when guests are visiting.” Stan sighed. “Pretty sure it’s another thing that runs in her fam’ly.”
“Fiddleford was similar,” Ford said softly.
“‘Was’?”
“The last time I saw Fiddleford, he clearly didn’t care about cleanliness any more.” There were footsteps.
“I’m back,” Angie said. “Stanford, go ahead and take a seat at the table, would ya?” Ford covered his eye to prevent further dripping on the peach linoleum. Stan gently guided him to a chair next to Angie. Angie was busily unpacking the first aid kit, setting aside bandages and antiseptics. She looked at him and pursed her lips.
“…What?” Ford asked. Angie sighed.
“I just ain’t sure what to do ‘bout yer eye. I could try to bandage it, but I don’t want it to fester,” she replied. After a moment, she took out a roll of gauze. “Here, hold this under it until it stops bleedin’.” Ford did as he was told. Angie scooted her chair closer to his and took one of his arms, then began to dab a damp cotton ball on his wounds. Ford hissed slightly from the stinging. “It hurts?” Angie asked. Ford nodded. “Good. That means it’s workin’.”
“So, Ford, does this possession thing happen very often?” Stan asked. Ford shrugged, making Angie cluck her tongue disapprovingly at the movement.
“It happens when Bill wants it to happen, essentially. Though it normally would only happen if I was unconscious.”
“Hon, the bags under yer eyes are big enough fer me to use as a purse,” Angie said. “Usin’ common sense, I’d say that yer at risk in this state.” She tilted her head. “Sort of like the immune system. Sometimes yer more sensitive to attacks, sometimes yer less sensitive. ‘N times when yer exhausted, malnourished, or ill, yer more sensitive.”
“I didn’t think about it that way,” Ford said after a moment. Angie cracked a half-smile.
“Stanford, I’m surprised ya can think anything with how much of a wreck ya are right now.”
“So we need to fix this problem yesterday,” Stan said. Ford nodded. “Okay. How do we do that?”
“Well, first, we need to break any ties I have with Bill,” Ford said. “Then, I can go to Gravity Falls and dismantle the portal, as well as block off the way I initially came into contact with Bill.”
“And help Fiddleford,” Angie added.
“Yes. Of course.”
“All right, the second and third thing seem pretty easy,” Stan said, rubbing his chin. “But how do we do the first part? Some sort of ritual?”
“I’m not quite sure. Maybe.”
“No, sir. No witchcraft in my house,” Angie said immediately.
“Then what are you suggesting?” Ford asked warily. Angie put aside the cotton ball, which was now a light pink.
“How does the possession work?” Angie asked. “Does he take control of a specific portion of yer brain, or all of it, during possession? Can he access yer memories? Are there certain control centers in yer brain that he can’t play train conductor with?” Ford stared at her, his mouth open.
I’ve never thought of the possession from a neurological standpoint before. Why haven’t I?
“I’m…not sure,” he said.
“Then that’s where we’ll start.”
“What?” Stan asked.
“I’ve got a friend what works in Neurology at the hospital,” Angie said. “I’ll call her up, see if I can’t get her to give ya a brain scan.”
“I doubt you’d be able to do a brain scan during a possession,” Ford said. Angie stilled.
“Yer right,” she said softly.
“Then do it while he’s asleep,” Stan suggested. Angie and Ford looked over at him. “You said ya get nightmares from him whenever you fall asleep, right?” Stan asked Ford. Ford nodded. “So he’s in your brain then, right?” Ford nodded again. “I guess it’s not as good as gettin’ the scan while he’s possessed, but it’s a start,” Stan said. Angie beamed at her husband.
“Yer so clever, love,” she said. Stan grinned back at her.
“Not as clever as you.”
“Just as clever,” Angie insisted. “Only in dif’rent ways.” She began to bandage Ford’s arms. “So, Stanford, since yer the guest, and yer ill, what do ya want fer breakfast?” Ford blinked, taken aback by the rapid change in topic.
“Oh. Um, hashbrowns?” he said hesitantly. Angie nodded.
“Stan, would ya get breakfast started while I finish up here?”
“On it,” Stan said. As he walked by Ford on his way to the fridge, Stan clapped a heavy hand on Ford’s shoulder. “See, Sixer? Told ya we’d work somethin’ out.”
Two days later, Ford sat in the living room of his twin’s house and flipped through his journal idly. He looked up at Angie, who was standing at the entrance of the kitchen, on the phone. Ford could hear splashes and chatter coming from the bathroom, where Stan was giving the girls their nightly bath.
“Jenny, are ya adjustin’ to things all right?” Angie asked. “I’ve told ya, Stan ‘n I can take the lil feller off yer hands fer as long as it takes to set things in order.” Ford looked back down at his journal.
I’ve already been here three days. When is the brain scan going to happen? I have to return to Gravity Falls at some point. But even though he was eager to dismantle the portal and finally remove Bill’s grip on his dimension, Ford was hesitant to leave his twin’s home. It’s just so…warm and welcoming. And I hadn’t realized how starved I was for interpersonal interactions.
“Oh, did my ma tell ya ‘bout that? Yes, apparently Stan had an estranged twin, that he never told anyone in my fam’ly about, and that twin is the same person what hired Fidds to work up in Oregon! Ain’t that wild?” Ford shrunk into the armchair he was sitting in, well aware of the fact that Angie was looking directly at him. “Hmm? That’s how I found out, was meetin’ him, yes. Is he still here? I’m lookin’ at him right now. Really?” Angie covered the receiver with her hand. “Ford, Jenny’d like to talk to ya. She’s Fiddleford’s wife.”
“…Oh,” Ford mumbled. Angie pursed her lips.
“Get yourself over here, Stanford. It’s the least ya could do. Jenny don’t have her husband and Tate don’t have his father no more.” Ford nodded reluctantly and stood. He walked over to Angie. “Here he is.” Ford took the phone from her. He cleared his throat.
“Hello, Mrs. McGucket.”
“Stanford Pines.” The voice was smooth and soft, nothing like Fiddleford’s rather rough southern accent. “I’ve been wondering if I should reach out to you. But I decided to wait for a sign. You ending up at my sister-in-law’s house definitely qualifies.”
“Look, I’m sorry for what happened to Fiddleford, I-”
“This isn’t about my husband,” Jenny interrupted. Ford blinked. “It’s about Tate.”
“Y-your son?”
“Your son.” Ford’s heart stopped.
“I, uh, I think I misheard you or-”
“No, you didn’t,” Jenny said in a tired voice. “It’s something Fiddleford and I discussed before we even got engaged. The identity of his son’s other biological parent.”
“But I- it’s impossible for-”
“Tate’s a smart lil boy, with far too much brown hair, pretty blue eyes, and twelve fingers.” Ford’s blood ran cold. “He’s also a bit over six years old. Do you remember meeting Fiddleford for dinner about seven years ago?”
“Y-yes.”
“And do you remember that dinner going very well, and waking up next to Fiddleford the next morning?”
“…Oh. Oh, no.”
“Here’s the thing. Tate is your son, Stanford. And now that his pa is out of the picture, you really need to step up. He needs a father figure in his life.”
“Stan is-”
“-his uncle,” Jenny finished. “Not his dad. No, that’s who you are.” Ford swallowed. “I was going to turn Angie down on her offer to have Tate stay, but if you’re there, well…”
“I’m not planning on staying long,” Ford said hurriedly.
“Then you take him with you when you leave. You’re going to be there for your son, Stanford.”
“I-”
“It was nice to meet you, even if it was just over the phone. Give the phone back to Angie, please? We’ve got to figure out how and when I’m dropping Tate off,” Jenny said pleasantly. Completely numb, Ford handed the phone back to Angie, who had been hovering nearby, trying to act casual.
“Hey there, Jenny,” Angie said cheerfully. “Oh, Tate is goin’ to visit after all? Why, sure! We’ll take good care of him.” Ford walked to the guest bedroom, completely empty. Stan found him sitting in the dark, staring at the wall, an hour later.
“Uh, Ford? What’s goin’ on?” Stan asked, turning on the light. Ford shook his head. Stan closed the door to the hallway and sat down next to Ford on the bed. “Did Jenny really tear ya a new one that bad?”
“She didn’t yell,” Ford said hoarsely. “She- she told me that Tate is my son.” Stan squinted at Ford for a few seconds.
“…What?”
“Stanley, I- I have a son that I didn’t even know about!”
“Tate is your…? Well, now the twelve fingers makes sense.” Ford didn’t say anything. “But holy fuck, Stanford. You’re knockin’ up your assistants?”
“I- Fiddleford wasn’t my assistant back then. Just a dear friend,” Ford said quietly. Stan scoffed.
“Sounds like he was a bit more than that.”
“I- I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a father, to a child I didn’t even know about,” Ford whispered. He groaned and put his head in his hands. “This- this wasn’t a situation I ever expected to find myself in.”
“What, ‘cause you’re gay?”
“No, because I’m the responsible one.”
“Really?” Ford looked at Stan, startled by the venom in his twin’s tone. “You’re the responsible one? Ya knocked up your old college buddy, and didn’t talk to him in years. So ya never figured out that his son, your son had twelve fingers and was born nine months after you two knocked boots. You’re sittin’ in my damn guest room, just across the hall from where my happy and healthy daughters are sleepin’, stewin’ over how you’re not ready to be a father, and ya can’t do this. But sure, you’re the responsible one.”
“Stanley, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No, ya did,” Stan snapped. He took a steadying breath. “You didn’t think you’d be the one with a surprise kid. You thought it’d be me. Hell, that’s what I thought, too. But then I fuckin’ manned up. Which is what you need to do now.”
“I can’t.”
“Bullshit. I’m the dumb twin. I don’t know squat. But I figured out how to be a good dad. You, the fuckin’ genius, should be able to do it in half the time it took me.” Stan glared at Ford. “And ya don’t have a choice. Ford, do ya want your kid to have an absent father? Do ya want your son to have a shitty dad, like we had?”
“…No.”
“Then don’t let that happen,” Stan said firmly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, and if ya need help, well, stayin’ at home and helpin’ with kids is in my job description. But seriously. Whether ya like it or not, you’re gonna be there for Tate. You have to. Understand?” Ford nodded silently. “Good.” Stan stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it, but just before leaving, turned back to Ford. “And Stanford?”
