so because i enjoy suffering i wrote a lil blurb on jimsdeadbones‘ ghost stan au (based off of these posts) pls try not to cry a lot
(chapter 2)
Stanley’s eyes flew open.
“Oof…” he muttered to himself. “What the H happened?”
He looked down. He was neck deep in a pile of bird seed. Befuddled, he could only stare straight back at the audience in front of him, eyes wide and jaws to the ground. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into a hearty cheer. They all shouted in unison, “Mayor Pines! Mayor Pines! Mayor Pines!” Stan couldn’t believe his ears.
‘I… I actually won? I ACTUALLY WON!’ he screamed in his mind. He excitedly turned his head to his sides as Dipper and Mabel emerged from beneath the seed.
“Kids, I–” he started, but was cut off by Mabel.
“Grunke Stan, you did it!” she shouted, her toothy grin spread wide across her face.
“Heh, yeah sweetie, I di–”
“Stan, that was amazing!” Dipper shouted with elation. “We would have died if it weren’t for you!”
Stan smiled. “Yeah, well, a grunkle’s gotta do what a gru–” he was cut off once again by Mabel.
“Grunkle Stan! …G-grunkle Stan…?” her voice tailed off at the end as she reached over to Stan, tugging on his arm.
Stan didn’t feel a thing.
“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan, are you okay?!” her voice became more shrill and choppy.
“Mabel, what’s wrong?” Dipper said as he cautiously treaded across the seed to Mabel’s side.
“Dipper, he won’t get up!” her voice was beginning to crack.
“Wha…? Stan? STAN! WAKE UP, STAN!” Dipper kneeled down and pushed Stan’s fez out of his face.
“Hey! Don’t touch my–” Stan’s arms flung up to grab onto his fez.
But Stan didn’t move at all.
“Wha…what’s happening?!” Stan yelled. The kids didn’t react. The crowd began to murmur incoherently, turning their heads amongst each other, trying to gauge what was happening.
“KIDS! Can you hear me?” Stan bellowed at the top of his lungs. He began to stand up. He kicked his foot off of the seed, but instead of feeling impact, he simply swooshed backwards, flying into the empty space behind him. Stan gazed in horror as he watched his body shrink away from him as he floated away.
“Woah, woah!” he shouted, flailing his legs in panic. Like a swimmer, he pushed his arms through the air to return to the earth.
“DIPPER! HE WON’T WAKE UP, WHAT SHOULD WE DO?!” Mabel cried.
“I… I DON’T KNOW!” Dipper’s voice croaked as it echoed off the mountains.
“MR PINES!” a voice suddenly pierced through the tension. Soos sprinted forward, tripping over his feet. He stumbled up the seed pile as he flung himself by Stan’s side.
“MR. PINES! OH MAN, DOODS, HE’S NOT MOVING!”
Stan gasped. The reality of his situation had suddenly hit him like a freight train. He swooped down to his grandkids, trying to reach out to them for help. He cringed in horror as his hand seamlessly passed through both Dipper and Mabel’s bodies. A faint, cackling laugh echoed through his mind, but he chose to ignore it.
“Oh man, oh man! T-this can’t be happening to me! I– I finally won something! I–” he struggled to find the words. He refused to believe that he was actually…
“This is all a dream, isn’t it? Or some kinda… out of body experience? I’m gonna wake up in a hospital! A-and I’m gonna be mayor and Ford’s gonna be there and–”
He stopped himself mid-panic. Ford. He would know what to do!
Stanley looked down. Multiple crowd members were now gathered around his body. He squinted as a tiny glare caught his eye. Powerless, he watched the tears stream down Mabel’s face. Dipper was running from person to person, asking if they could help. Soos was shaking his body, hoping silently that a sudden jolt would wake him up.
A lump formed in Stan’s throat, thoughts whipping through his mind like a hurricane. The work and pain he had endured to please his family… gone in an instant. It was his fault the kids had gotten so caught up in the nonsense. If he had listened to their suggestions sooner, none of this would have been happening. He had gotten his family into this mess, and he was going to be the one to fix it. Wendy had now arrived on the scene, frantically tapping at her phone to try and get help. Stan let out a small hmph.
“I’ll be back, kids. I promise.”
“Now, how the hell do I work this thing– whoa!” Stanley fumbled as he tried to propel himself through the air. Laughter iterated softly once more, but he paid no attention to it as he took off in the direction of the Mystery Shack.
As the town flew by underneath him in a blur, feelings of remorse melted into feelings of anger. He had spent the last week trying to make his family proud. For once in his life, Stanley Pines was going to mean something.
Now, it was all gone. Though, stubborn by nature, he refused to come to terms with it. Not before putting up a fight.
He flew into the thick of the woods, swerving in and out of the way of trees, unaware of the fact that it was an unnecessary gesture. He lunged downward as the totem pole came into sight, whizzing towards the shack at top speed. His eyes widened as he realized that he didn’t know how to stop himself.
“Where are the breaks on this thing?! Oh man, Stan, brace yourself…!” he shut his eyes tight and covered his face with his hands as he crashed through the door of the shack… without a sound. His body crawled to a stop, and he slowly lifted his arms away and blinked his eyes open. He turned his head, expecting to see the door in pieces behind him. It was perfectly in tact. The laughter became louder.
Stan raised his eyebrows, but didn’t give it any extra thought as he zipped over to the vending machine. He began to punch in the code, but stopped once his fingers phased right through the thick metal.
“Oh yeah…” Stanley said, turning towards the floor and soaring down through the wood. He found himself right in the middle of the portal room, facing the control room.
“Now, where is he…” Stan muttered to himself, looking to his sides. He heard a loud clink! behind him. He turned his head sharply to find Ford salving over scrap pieces of metal, the portal all but dismantled. Stan was shocked by what he saw, but it was his last concern. He flashed over to Ford. It felt like an anvil was resting in Stanley’s stomach; his situation was irreversible, and he knew it. Ford would think even less of him than he had before. How could he possibly face him like this; in worse shape than when they had met 30 years ago?
He took a long, deep breath before letting the panic take hold of him.
“Ford! Ford, can you hear me? Oh man, I don’t know what happened! One second, I was giving a speech, and then, the kids, they were in danger! I went to go help, you see, and I– I was holding onto them– the mountain exploded– and suddenly… you–you gotta be able to fix this! Right? I’m not ready to… Stanford?”
Ford continued his work, humming merrily, as if nobody else was in the room with him. Stanley sulked towards the ground, his feet starting to sink through the earth, He jerked back up, gloomily hovering inches from the ground he could no longer stand on.
The laugh now cackled at full volume.
That blasted laughter again! Raging, Stanley turned away from his brother and faced the darkness.
“WHO KEEPS LAUGHING? C'MON PAL, I ‘AINT AFRAID OF NO GHOSTS!” Stan bellowed, raising his fists into the air.
The laugh continued for a few seconds before a shrill, high pitched voice spoke up.
“Me? A ghost! You’re hilarious! If anybody’s the ghost, it’s you, isn’t it Stanley! Haha! Welcome to the mindscape, pal!”
this is the first fic i’ve ever done and i put a lot of work into it so i’d really appreciate if you took the time to read it! it’s pretty long but oh well thx friends (*＾▽＾)／
Through Different Eyes
The glasses wouldn’t leave him alone.
The space behind the scratched lenses no longer showed the amber gaze of curious eyes. With no proper fit on a face anymore, the only purpose they seemed to serve was one of haunting.
Yet Stanley couldn’t put them down.
It had already been two and a half weeks, but wherever Stanley went, the glasses were sure to follow. Even making breakfast in the morning, he would stick them in his jacket pocket. There was something strangely easing whenever he held them close.
Ever since that day, Stanley liked to wake up early. He savored that moment where the sun would begin to peek through the thick forest wood. He would slip into his boots, throw on his coat and trudge his way across the house, weaving in and out of now-abandoned science projects. He would limit himself to a banana and cheerios for breakfast, and save the rest of his appetite for a peanut butter sandwich for dinner; but on days like today, after staying up half the night trying to decode the journal, Stanley would treat himself to a nice omelet. Reaching over piles of unwashed dishes, he retrieved a pan off the hook before lighting the burner to warm it up. He stretched his free arm over and pulled the handle to the refrigerator.
But today, the fridge was empty.
Stan quickly shut off the burner before the pan became too hot.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.
“Mother fucker.”
It was inevitable that he was going to run out of food, but he wasn’t quite prepared for a run-in with the townsfolk yet; Ford should have just stocked some more food in his apocalypse bunker. Grunting, Stanley stuffed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the contents: a sugar packet, a paper clip and a coin that he thought was long lost in a Colombian jail cell.
Stan sighed. He started to reach into his other pocket, but pulled away as soon as his fingertips brushed against the smooth surface of an eyeglass. He could only hope the streets of Gravity Falls had enough stray change to buy a loaf of bread. If not, he’d probably just steal it. He was used to stuff like that.
Stanley hadn’t left the house since that day. Every second spent away from the portal was another moment he let Stanford slip away from his rescue. Huffing, he tiptoed through the ray guns, animals skulls and unfinished papers that were strewn about the floor of the main room. He slipped out the front door and anxiously stumbled down the front steps. He had forgotten just how out of shape he was.
The path leading from Stanford’s house into town was extensive and tricky. Dozens of branches and rocks littered the floor of the woods, and the only remnants of actual travel were faint tire tracks that were definitely past their prime. Even so, the walk was rather enjoyable to a man of adventure like Stanley. The ambient sound of the singing birds and relentless woodpeckers was a calming melody.
“I can’t believe that jerk got to live this every single day,” Stanley mumbled to himself. A small grin crept onto his face. “We could have gone on so many crazy adventures…”
“…too bad he couldn’t have bothered to find me sooner…”
Eyes darting to the ground, Stan exhaled and shoved his hands into his pockets. He felt his knuckles hit the glasses– for a moment he had forgotten they were there. Slowly he pulled them out, turning the front towards him and wiping off the dust covered lenses with his thumb.
“If only I got to see what you saw, Ford…”
Through the glass Stan was able to see the enhanced ground below him as he walked. Everything looked sharper, clearer, more inviting to observe.
“Should I…” Stan whispered to himself.
“No, no. I- I can’t…”
But it was so tempting. The glasses felt so right in his hands, like they had always belonged to him.
And in a way, they did.
Stanley instinctively looked to his right, then to his left, before slipping the glasses onto his face. Stan couldn’t help but gawk at how brilliant the woods looked through his brother’s eyes. In an instant, the once dull color of the pine needles sparkled a deep and beautiful green. He could make out the details on the bark of trees a hundred feet away. The glow of sunlight suddenly became more detailed, each ray illuminating the life that danced through the air.
And, best of all, he felt a hundred times smarter.
“I wonder if these things got some sort of laser beams on ‘em or something,” Stanley joked to himself, running his fingers along the brim.
He let out a hearty laugh. “You definitely rigged these somehow, right Ford?”
Stan turned his head, awaiting some nerdy lecture from his brother about how it was “scientifically impossible for glasses to have lasers on them”.
But all Stan saw were trees. All he heard were birds.
Sighing, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and continued his trek. He turned a bend, and started to make out the shape of buildings off in the distance.
‘Huh, finally,’ Stan thought. ‘I just wanna get this over with…’
Ironically, the closer he got to town, the more debris littered the forest floor. Sticks cracked underneath his muddy boots, and rocks skipped along the path, clicking and clacking against the contorted roots. Even the noises in the bushes were getting louder.
A clamorous rustle in a nearby shrub caught Stanley’s attention. He thought he had heard a swoosh of air follow, but he was just being paranoid. As he ventured closer to town, however, the rustles became louder and more prolonged… like he was being followed.
“Okay, this is DEFINITELY not normal,” Stan grunted to himself. “The sooner I can get him back, the sooner we can–”
“Oh, heavens, did you LOSE something, Stanford?”
Stanley whipped his head around. Standing behind him were three men, all wearing crimson red robes. They all bore heavy hoods.
“I told you to shut that wretched experiment down, Stanford. But you really couldn’t help yourself, could you…”
The voice, soft but with a slight southern twang, sounded like it was coming from the figure in the middle. It was much lankier and shorter than the other two.
Stanley didn’t know what to say. Were these friends of Ford’s? Or enemies? Either way, he wanted nothing to do with it.
“L-look, pal, you’ve got me confused with somebody else, I–”
The figure let out a sharp cackle as the pack drifted closer. “Oh, Stanford! You’re such a delight! I may have forgotten what lies beyond that portal, but there’s a reason I didn’t want to forget you…”
Stanley threw his hands up in front of him for protection. They fell numb to the bite of the winter cold. “Listen, buddy, I’ve really got no clue what you’re talking about– I– I’m not St–”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Ford. All that brain you got up in there couldn’t begin to tell you how my machine works!”
“Wh-what are you–”
“I’ve seen you around my house,” the person sneered, inching closer and lowering his voice. Stan stumbled backwards, nearly flipping over a root.
“I’ve seen you with that dastardly book, pryin’ around our meetings and jottin’ things down. If you wanted to know what it’s like so badly, well… you coulda always just asked… I’d be simply delighted to show you!”
“W-Whadda ya talkin’ about– what’s going on-!”
The person let out a screeching laugh before shouting, “You’re a curious one, Stanford! I know that!”
Stanley felt his back bump into a tree. He was cornered. Slowly, the lanky figure reached out his arm and touched him on the arm. He tried to shake him off, but to no avail. Any more movement and Stan would trigger one of the buffer figures to leap on him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make out the faces that lied beneath the hoods.
“Take a good look at these woods, Stanford… before you forget that they ever existed…”
Ever so calm, the hooded man ran his hand down the remaining length of Stan’s arm before turning his back and walking away. The lanky figure let out a sudden snarl, and a loud pa-TOO as he spit into the tangle of roots. Stan let out a quiet “Eugh” and shivered uncomfortably. Suddenly, the other two closed in on him, grabbing both of his hands.
“Hey, hey! Watch it!”
“Pipe down, Pines,” one of them gruffed. “It’ll be much easier if you don’t resist.”
“WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT’S GOING– mmmmmph–!”
One of the figures had thrown a brown bag over Stan’s head. He thrashed and violently swung about, but to no avail. He felt his feet suddenly lift off the ground before being flipped upside down, uncomfortably slung over what he assumed was the guy’s shoulder. He tried to scream for help, but the cloth of the bag absorbed nearly all of the sound. Sweat began to condense on his face with every short breath he drew.
‘I’m going to suffocate in this goddamn bag!’ Stanley frantically thought.
After what felt like hours of travel through the woods, they finally stopped moving. The musty smell of mold and water damage was so strong that it flowed its way into Stanley’s nose. He wanted to cough, but he didn’t think he had much air left to do it.
He was nearly choking on the smell before he was finally freed from his cloth prison. The scene before him was something straight out of a horror movie. The only illumination was a series of flickering white candles scattered about. Stains and moss covered the dimly lit cement walls. There were several other figures standing in the shadows, all facing a chair with a rope looped around the back, quietly chanting a foreign mantra in eery unison. The room was no bigger than the portal room of Ford’s house.
“Tie his hands. He’s got some real strength,” the southern voice demanded.
“Hey, wait! No! Stop–!” Stanley cried, but it was useless. Everybody in the room was against him.
Without order, the two figures that had carried him began to push him backwards towards the chair. Stanley jerked his head around, only to see another hooded figure emerging from the shadows, pulling the rope over the back of the chair and untying it.
“Let. Me. GO!” Stanley yelled as he staggered backwards. His foot slipped from underneath him and, with no arms for balance, fell straight back into the chair. He gaped up as the rope fell over his head and wrapped around his torso, sealing him tight.
“Will somebody PLEASE tell me what is going on?!” he cried.
The slender figure strode forward. “Stanford, your voice sounds different. Has it really been so long since we’ve seen each other?” He let out a howling laugh.
Stanley was trembling. “I-I’m not– who the hell are you freaks?!”
Another ugly laugh.
“Really, trying to force me out of your head, aren’t you? Oh, how quickly we forget…” the voice said softly.
Out of thin air, the figure appeared next to Stanley and gently touched his arm.
“But if you must insist…”
With his free hand, the figure grabbed the top of his hood and threw it back. The first thing that caught Stanley’s attention was his hair. It was a mocha brown, with a cream like stripe cutting around the middle. Clumps of hair had looked like they had mysteriously fallen out, but there was still enough left of it to make it look like a matted bird’s nest. His nose was extremely long, with small, round glasses comfortably sitting on the brim. The look in his eyes was strangely calming, yet fiery and wild. A crooked smile was present.
“Fiddleford H. McGucket, pleasure to make your acquaintance! Backupsmore College, class of 1974! …or wait, was it '76… did I even graduate at all…?
“Ah well! That’s all in the past, isn’t it?”
Stanley couldn’t take any more.
“Listen-tuh-me, pal! I don’t know WHO you are, I don’t know WHAT this is all about, and for the last time, I AM NOT– AAAAH!”
The rope suddenly tightened around his chest. He could feel it ripping through his clothes and itching his skin. His breaths became choppy.
“Ford. Dear, dear old Ford..” Fiddleford cooed, slowly leaning in. “I saw you start up that portal again… I knew I couldn’t trust you to keep away…”
Stanley, eyes wide with terror, found himself face to face with the quirky man. From inside his robe, Fiddleford pulled out a strange looking instrument. It looked like a metal water gun with a lightbulb screwed into the front, with a glass tube sticking out of the top.
“I made this device to help people, Ford. Why live with scarring memories when you can simply wipe them away?”
“It… wipes memories…?” Stanley stammered to himself.
“You see, Ford, I’m simply trying to help you. That portal is a grave danger to this world… one you’d just as soon forget.”
Fiddleford took a long look at Stanley before leaning away. He began to turn a knob on the side of the gun, lighting up the screen that was above it. With each little beep it made, the fear of the impending sunk in deeper.
“No! NO! You can’t do this to me! I- I can’t forget this! I WON’T!”
Stanley tried to rock back and forth, hoping to tip the chair over, but it was locked to the ground. Fiddleford laughed to himself the whole time. A wide grin spread across his face like a stretching centipede.
“Well Stanford, I’m afraid you simply don’t have a choice.”
The bulb in the front began to glow a brilliant blue. Small sparks of lightning fell from the side. Stanley closed his eyes as the light became brighter.
“For the last time: I! AM! NOT! STANFORD!”
Zap.
The energy from the ray gun created a deafening crack as it collided with the glasses. Stanley yelled as the lenses went flying off, spinning off to the side and eventually crashing into the wall. The sound of vibrating metal wire echoed violently off the concrete walls. Silence followed as Fiddleford stared blankly at Stan. Suddenly, he spoke.
“Wait a second… y-you’re not… you’re not Stanford…!”
Stanford. Stanford Pines. His brother. His brother who had gone missing.
Missing through a portal.
Stanley couldn’t believe it. He… remembered. Was this whole thing a joke? Was this guy just spewing nonsense to scare him?
His manic thoughts were interrupted by the footsteps of Fiddleford. He ran across the room and picked up the glasses, which were now littered with even more scratches than before.
“Hey!” Stanley yelled. “Give those back!”
“You’re… not… Stanford…” Fiddleford stuttered.
“Well, I TRIED to tell you that, but you just kept interrupting–”
“Who… who ARE you?”
The young inventor had a look of terror in his eyes. He was truly confused.
“I’m his brother,” Stan said bluntly.
“He… he has a brother? He never mentioned a brother…”
Stan’s stomach clenched. Ford had really tried to forget he ever existed.
“I… I don’t understand, I–”
“Listen, pal. I know this probably makes zero sense right now. But I’m not trying to trick you. I’m NOT Stanford. Can you PLEASE untie me?”
Fiddleford nodded and shakily untied the ropes. For a brief moment, he paused and clutched Stanley’s hands.
“I should have seen… only five fingers…”
Stanley shook him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m normal, I’m normal. Can I have the glasses back?”
Fiddleford sheepishly handed him the roughed up glasses. He looked solemnly down at his machine, awkwardly fiddling with the controls. Stan could barely make out the teal lettering on the screen:
G R A V I T Y F A L L S
Fiddleford spoke. “I- I’m truly sorry I had to put you through this, Mr…”
“Stanley. Stanley Pines.”
“Ah, yes. Stanley. I do apologize, this must have seemed quite out of hand.”
“Huh, yeah, you’re tellin’ me. I don’t think I’ll ever be forgetting this! Haha, right? See what I did there?”
Fiddleford started to chuckle.
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that…”
“What? Whadda ya talkin’ ab– WOAH!”
A streak of blue light barely missed Stan as he ducked out of the way. He looked at Fiddleford with his mouth agape.
“I can’t have you opening that portal, now can I? And I certainly can’t have you live with the burden of this traumatizing experience. What kind of first impression would that leave?”
Fiddleford pulled the trigger, releasing another beam of energy. Stan rolled to the side, barely avoiding getting hit. He frantically looked around and spotted the shape of a threshold directly behind the chair. He stumbled to his feet and made a break for it.
“I wouldn’t run if I were you, boy!” Fiddleford called from behind, shooting another bolt. Miss.
“Get him before he escapes!”
The hooded figures that once stood in the shadows leapt out at Stanley. He threw a punch at the first guy he saw and watched as he crumpled to the ground. He juked around the outstretched hands, leaping side to side to confuse them. More bolts of light followed, but they missed wildly.
“Oh heavens, why are you Pines so stubborn?!” Fiddleford cried, shooting more and more beams as he ran after Stan.
Stanley had his eye on the exit. He sprinted as fast as he could before he was forced to skid to a stop. Out of the dark, a huge figure jumped out in front of him.
The same one that had carried him here.
“Looks like this is the end of the line, palie,” the man gruffed.
Stanley looked up in horror. There was no way around him. Suddenly, the man pulled out a device from inside his robe.
“Say goodbye to your memory– AAAAAAGH!”
In an instant, a flash of blue light hit him square in the face. His hand immediately went to his head, dropping the memory device. It landed right in Stanley’s hands.
Fiddleford’s voice rang out from behind. “Oh sweet sugar! How did I miss–!”
Stanley didn’t stick around to hear the rest of it. He hurdled over the man on the floor and bolted right through the threshold. The wind whipped his hair around in a frenzy as he ran wherever the hallway took him. He eventually emerged into some kind of museum exhibit, but didn’t stop. He burst out the front door and flew down the steps, ignoring the stares he received from passersby. He gasped his way to the path, breaking sticks and tripping over rocks as he frantically made his way back to his twin’s house. He fumbled up the steps and slammed the front door behind him, twisting every key and sliding every lock in place. He turned his back to the door and caught his breath, slumping down to the ground in a sweaty heap.
Stanley took several staggered breaths. He had never ran so much in his life. Sighing, he closed his eyes, hoping to let his mind settle.
But all he kept thinking about was Fiddleford. All he could picture was the sadistic, condescending look on his face. All he could hear was the sound of his crazed laughter, the sound of the memory gun being fired.
The memory gun. The portal. The glasses.
Stanley reached his hand in his pocket, and let out a breath of relief when he wrapped his fingers around the glasses. Stolen memory gun in one hand and glasses in the other, he shakily got up and dragged himself into Stanford’s room. He flopped onto the couch and sat in stillness, scanning his eyes around. There were a few scattered objects with the tag “Experiement #” hanging from them, but they looked to be in no particular order.
'How many experiments did Ford do while he was here?’ Stanley thought. He began to wonder what experiment number the portal was.
The portal.
He looked down at the memory gun, turning it over in his hands. He stopped when his fingertips hit the dial and the screen. He had seen Fiddleford use the knob for something…
Beep.
Beep beep beep.
He frantically turned the knob over and over until he was finished. Slowly, Stanley got up and walked to the door, taking another look around before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the glasses. Stomach churning, he slowly placed the glasses on the wooden table resting to his left. They stared back at him in innocent placidity.
“Huh. I’m always messing with your things, aren’t I?”
Silence. Sighing deeply, he creaked the door closed. He made sure it was locked before taking one last look at the screen of the memory gun:
S T A N F O R D ’ S R O O M
