feeling in a bleg mood so Ima make a bleg Stan about it.
Stan stared down at the book in his hands, golden hand shimmering as he tilted it back and forth and red cover sturdy.
To the ends of the Earth Ford had said, like the genius had forgotten it was round. Maybe he had, he'd looked pretty rough when Stan had rolled up. Not like Stan could have made it if there was, not with his lack of anything but the car parked behind him and the book in his hands.
Where no one could find it.
Well, if Stan knew anything it was that the only way to make sure something was never found was to make sure it didn't exist. It'd be easy enough to take his lighter to the dry pages, or chuck it into the ocean below him and let the water damage do its work. Then Ford wouldn't have to worry about his research falling into the wrong hands for someone to start the apocalypse.
But despite the rage and heartbreak warring in his heart, Stan couldn't make himself do it. Not when this book meant more to Ford than his own twin brother. Ford trusted Stan to take it, and the last time Stan messed things up Ford had ruined his life.
He couldn't risk it getting any worse than it already was.
So instead of throwing the book into the ocean, or ripping the pages into tiny pieces for the wind to scatter across the grass of the cliff side, or pull out his lighter and warm his chilled hands with the book in them, he sighed, put it back into his coat, and trudged back towards his car.
The ends of the Earth.
He had a few ideas.
He couldn't go down south, not with all the gangs after his sorry mug. Couldn't go north either, not with his busted heater and limited funds. Couldn't afford a ticket on a plane, couldn't afford to go most anywhere without someone recognizing his face or without having to scam his passage.
But he could go to the coast, sell his car, and sail away into the sunset. Live the dream Ford decided once and for all he'd left in the dust.
It felt like he was betraying Ford and their childhood, even as he was more alive than he'd been in ten years. The sea had always called out to him, was the place he'd felt most at home and held all the memories he held dear. Ford had moved on from them, had left Stan behind to reach for the sun. Why should Stan be miserable for a brother who didn't even care.
Why give up on a dream just because his co-captain had decided to wake up.
In the end he couldn't bear to sell the Stanley Mobile, not when the old girl had taken care of him for so long. Thinking of another persons hands on her wheel made his chest clench in ways he didn't know it still could after Ford had stomped it to pieces. But he also couldn't take her with him where he was going, and pushing her off a cliff seemed a bit much.
But it felt right, pushing his car over the edge, like he was finally cutting off everything that made him Stanley Pines, failure of a twin from Glass Shard Beach, the kid everyone looked at and only saw all the things Ford wasn't. Wasn't smart. Wasn't popular. Wasn't cool headed. Wasn't successful.
Wasn't wanted.
As the Stanley Mobile sunk below the waves, emptied of everything worth keeping and full of all the junk he'd tried to make a name for himself with, Stan felt lighter than he had in years.
And even dumber. That car had been in pretty good condition, he probably could have gotten a good price if he'd sold it, or put it into storage if his plan to disappear forever fell through like all his other ideas.
"Welp!" Stan dusted his hands off and put them on his hips, gazing out at the setting sun, "I'm sure it'll be fine. No way this'll come back to bit me in any way!"
It was dramatic after all. Like a poem. The Stanley Mobile sank, taking Stanley with it, and now he was a new man!
A man named Leyston Spruce, who was off to live his dream of sailing on the seas, leaving his old life far behind him. No family, no friends, just him, living for himself.
Alone.
Bwah! Stan forced a grin as he stepped onto the deck of his new home for the next few months, nodding at his fellow sailors and listening as they prattled away. He didn't have the money to buy his own boat, or the experience to captain one, but that was fine. There was no rush now, not burning need to get as far away from home as possible, to escape the scornful glances and find someplace to belong.
He had his whole life in front of him now, and he could do whatever he wanted. Who needed to buy their way back into a family that only cared about what you could do for them, when he could kick back and enjoy his own life, weighed down with nothing but his own worries about doing a job and finding his own place in the world.
And the book, burning a hole in the bottom of his bag, wrapped up in a plastic bag with its cover hidden by one of his own making. No one would ever suspect he had some super genius's forbidden research, not when Ford never wanted to see it again and wouldn't come looking.
Not when Stan wouldn't come running even if he did. He wasn't a dog to call and send away at Fords whims. Stan had tried and failed, and Ford's words were clear.
The ends of the earth. Where no one could find it.
The first worthwhile thing in his life.
Well, Stan could do more worthwhile things. Better things. He'd sail into the sunset, live his own adventure, and forget he ever was a twin brother.
Let Ford live his life in his fancy lab in the middle of the woods, getting awards and recognition and fame. Let Ford be the favorite son, the better twin, the only one between them who ever had a chance of going anywhere. Sta-Leyston wouldn't let someone named Stanford Pines hold him back from living his life the way he wanted.
Not ever again.
The deck swayed and creaked under him. Seagulls called out above, sailors yelled and shouted, passing cargo and pulling rope, getting everything ready to set sail. Leyston breathed it all in, the salt in the air, the smell of fish, the blue sky above and the dark sea below.
Yeah, he'd be alright.
Just as soon as he made his way to the closest railing and emptied his stomach.
Ten years later (and stomach stronger for it), Leyston Spruce kicked his legs up and leaned back in his chair, smirking at the newest letter from one Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD. It was another demand to stop publishing his papers.
Another demand to stop stealing Stanfords own work.
With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Leyston set the paper in the drawer with the rest he'd received the last three or so years. Ever since his notebook full of observations about the island he'd learned to call home over the years had been found by some of his fishing buds and they'd pushed him to organize and publish it, he'd been getting nonstop letters from the man, each one hand written and full of rage.
He was thinking of hanging them up somewhere. Make a collage of it.
Gravity Falls wasn't the only Weirdness hotspot it turned out, and Stan had nothing else to do but read his-Stanfords old book and compare what was inside to what the island of Magnetic Cove had to offer. Most of Stanford's book was full of mushrooms and funky flowers, so how was he supposed to know his brother had other work on gnomes, weird birds, messed up animals and magic.
Really, if Stanford wanted the credit, he should have published his work on the weird first, instead of focusing on his inter dimensional portal he swore up and down years ago was going to end the world.
So much for that.
But it was fine. Stan had gotten some classes done, some real schooling, and was now working on building a reputation as the expert on strange and abnormal, the man who knew every secret the world tried to hide. Or was on his way to knowing them at least.
It was driving Stanford crazy. Especially as he'd lost most of his original research, and so now had no way to prove his own discoveries as predating Leyston's published papers. That and his combined work on the dimensional discoveries meant the man probably barely had the time to actually look for anything substantial, and that gave Leyston even more time to make even more discoveries.
Stanford was already known worldwide for his work on his gateway to other dimensions and his advancements in technology with his science partner, and now Leyston was making him famous for his inability to prove he'd been researching weirdness longer than Leyston had existed as a person. He'd shown no interest in trying to expose weirdness as a world wide phenomena, how was Leyston supposed to know he'd be so prickly about the similar creatures he didn't know existed until he'd settled down on the first remote island with a town he could find?
His sudden interest in studying them had nothing to do with the jolt of petty rivalry that arrived with the first and only polite letter Stanford had ever sent.
In twenty years he'd have his own Phd under his belt, and have his own small following of scienentists eager to learn everything he had to teach. In thirty he'd have his own lab and work space on the island, small and greatly overshadowed by the work done in the main Institute of Oddology located in Gravity Falls, but focused on the weirdness found in their own dimension.
In the summer of 2012 two twins and a miserable but fury filled man would wind up on his doorstep, trying to get their Grunkle to engage in the world by finally confronting the man who'd stolen his work for the last thirty years face to face. Both parties were equally surprised to see the other, as Leyston- as Stanley, had made sure to keep his face out of the public.
The rage was replaced by shock, then rage again, as Stanford had the nerve to be angry at Stan for not telling him he was alive.
But how was Stan supposed to know he'd faked his death on accident?
No one had invited him to the funeral after all, despite being the guest of honor.
