He doesn’t develop the condition until his early 20s. It starts as just feeling more tired than usual. But slowly over weeks and months, he becomes more and more sleepy during the day, and taking naps is only helping briefly before the sleepiness returns.
It keeps progressing. He swears his eyes have been on the road the whole time but suddenly he jerks and realizes he’s swerved into the other lane. His dreams are vivid and sometimes when he’s falling asleep or just waking up he finds his body paralyzed.
The naps he used to voluntarily plan to take become involuntary. Stan finds himself just suddenly falling asleep sometimes no matter where he is. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes longer.
It freaks him out a bit. With his lifestyle, he can’t afford to just fall asleep suddenly, it’s not safe. Who knows what could happen to him while he’s vulnerable like that. Plus, driving becomes harder. Stan has so many near accidents that getting behind the wheel of his car starts making him anxious.
And he hates that. His car is his home, his escape. His life depends on it.
By the time Stan starts experiencing bouts of muscle weakness and loss of control when he experiences strong emotions, he knows he should see a doctor. The problem is he can’t afford one. He doesn’t know what to do, so he tries to handle (ignores) the problem as best he can.
And that’s how he ends up in the hospital after a bad car crash.
He fell asleep at the wheel, and the ensuing wreck totalled the Stanley mobile. Doctors tell him it’s a miracle he survived, but Stan can’t find much joy in that, knowing his only stable home—and everything he owned in it—is gone.
But it’s during his recovery in the hospital that Stan’s condition gets noticed, and he ends up diagnosed with narcolepsy. It’s also in hospital that he ends up reuniting with a twin brother he thought wanted nothing to do with him.
Ford’s phone number was found in his pocket, and the hospital had called Ford while it was uncertain whether or not Stan would pull through. They were trying to find relatives to contact in the case that Stan died.
Miraculously, he survived. Even more miraculously, Ford shows up, angry and panicked and worried about Stan. Stan almost can’t believe it. He hadn’t thought Ford would want anything to do with him ever again, but it turns out near-death experiences can make people change their mind about you.
Anyway, I don’t really know where else I’m going with this. But Ford takes Stan to live with him in Gravity Falls once he’s released from the hospital. Ford maybe becomes slightly paranoid of Stan ever driving again, considering what happened, but tries to help Stan deal with the narcolepsy as best he can.
Stanford stumbles upon his own dimension somehow, the time however... it seems it isn't up to date. In fact it is a few years prior to what he remembers.
His hair has begun to grey and with the worry some time guard will find him, he decidedly keeps his face covered with his scarf and goggles.
He isn't quite sure where he is heading, just that he can't stop. He can't let the idea of being homes fester, not when he knows it isn't his present.
Something makes him stop though. A man.
The man sits dangerously on the rails of a bridge and his shaking arms spark Stanford's righteousness and humanity into action. Whatever the man was bound to do was none of his buissness but Stanford couldn't just walk away from it.
The man he finds is familiar, mullet a little shorter but just as unkept, his eyes look down below with longing despite the clear fear of heights. He silently cries, Stanford notes as he steps closer, muttering to himself as he looks to the void below.
That is his brother. His twin.
But this is his home dimension, just a previous time...
That would indicate that-
Stanford talks Stanley down from the edge, ignoring the shake in his own hands and the way his mission turned from something to avoid guilt over to desperation. His voice remains level despite the tremble, it remains soft despite the fear.
Stanley, for all his misery, manages to get off the rail. He looks awful, Stanford notes, but then again...only someone who'd look it could be standing here.
His brother openly cries, it's raw and broken and it strikes a sprt of panic over Stanford's heart. Never in all his life had he heard his brother cry in such manner. Hyperventilating, coughing sobs as though the very action of tears were so painful.
For a moment Stanford thinks he can feel his pain too, his own chest tightening painfully as though something had trapped him, trying to squeeze his ribcage until it breaks.
Stanley turns to him and for a moment he forgets Stanley doesn't know who is with his weak request. It isn't until he is pressing his brother close against his chest, his body acting before he was even aware of it, did Stanford process the fact that Stanley shouldnt be able to recognise him and yet he had just asked a random stranger-
“oh but we never get to SEE them be friends” you people can squeeze romance out of a rock, but you can’t extrapolate the platonic devotion and motivation behind an action or character arc? okay.
I've been teaching Belphie not to jump on Pangur, cause she's old and arthritic and doesn't like it. and as part of my "training", I've been giving him a treat every times he stops his evil actions and trots over to me.
I thought I was training him to come when called. in actuality, I've been training him to bite Pangur. so now he'll jump on her, chew her ear, and then make bird-of-prey eye contact with me from across the room. and the worst thing is I'VE ALSO BEEN GIVING PANGUR A TREAT EACH TIME (so she doesn't feel left out). which means that she'll whimper pathetically from Belphie biting her, and then also make intense eye contact with me, because she's been conditioned to expect treats afterward.
I have accidentally made the most fucked up dynamic possible with both of these cats.
AU in which Stan fakes his death way ahead of schedule and keeps on surviving alone until one day years later he turns on the TV in his dirty motel room and sees his 17year old self grinning back at him.
“The Stanley Pines Home & Shelter Project for Wayward Teens was founded almost 8 years ago by Filbrick Pines and the rest of the Pines family after the tragic passing of their beloved son and brother.”
WHAT THE FUCK?! What kind of scam is this? Stan would be almost impressed if he didn’t feel like throwing up.
As it turns out, while Stan completely forgot about that one time he faked his death his family built up a whole charity in his honor. They can’t get Stanley back but at least they could make sure his story wouldn’t repeat again.
Stan's whole family is on screen talking about how great Stan was and how they failed him.
Filbrick is crying.
Sobbing about how he killed his little boy and how he never expected Stan to leave for real.
Stan throws up.
Definitely a scam. His Pa figured out a way for Stan to make them money after all. All Stan had to do was die.
[Stan vehemently ignores the voice in his head telling him that neither Ford nor Filbrick could act to save their lives. And that no amount of money would be enough to convince his Pa to cry on camera.]
So it’s a scam. And they put Stan's name on it. Which means all the money they make from his sob story belongs to him.
Robbing a charity for homeless kids isn’t even in the top 10 worst things he’s done.
I'm just seeing it. Stanley dressing up as nerdy as he can. Going to the charity. Proudly entering and...
"Oh, Stanford! We weren't expecting you this week!"
So, his twin was a regular here. Okay, he can roll with it. Nerdy talk, being awkward etc - easy as pie!
But then Stanley is taken to a classroom with a dozen of children who look up at him with stars in their eyes.
"You are here to continue to teach us about stars?"
"Ummm yeah? I mean, get comfortable, I'm gonna tell you all about these bright basta... Baskets!"
And then when real Stanford arrives a week later and hears the children telling each other in excitement about "car constellation" or "sixer's nebula" he just immediately knows.
[Heh and then the tax agent who always hunts Stan down and never believed his fake death enters and ropes Stan into investigating Stan and the charity together. Hes so glas he's found another dedicated colleague]
But I need at least one person thinking moustache!Stan is just Ford once again dealing badly with the loss of his twin. And when Stan leaves and Ford comes back they're like:
"Oh thank god you've shaved" and dont elaborate further. So thats how Ford starts feeling self concious about his shaving habits.
Im also thinking about Stan running into Filbrick disguised as Ford and Filbrick doesn't recognize Stan.
Instead he thanks "Ford" for coming and starts talking about Stan and how hes not sure if what theyre doing is enough and Stan just
snaps
For the first time in his life Stan has the guts to shout at his Pa.
This whole charade is fucking bullshit and how dare Filbrick even thinks anything he does could make any difference!
This charity just an excuse for Filbrick to pat himself on the back and tell himself he's a good father while earning sympathy points from others.
Throughout his whole childhood Filbrick never so much as pretends to like and care for Stan and now Stan is supposed to think he didn't want him to leave in the first place? The Bag. Was. Already. Packed!
Oh boo hoo poor Filbrick Pines, now that his son died in a ditch somewhere he's suddenly sad and feels sooo bad about it.
It doesn't make anything better. Stan still was a homeless, starving kid on the streets having to do awful and disgusting things to survive and make money.
[Stan might not be dead] but Filbrick definitely killed the boy he raised with stoic indifference and tough love.
Filbrick is a murderer and Stan would hate him and never forgive him even if he was still alive!
[Which is a lie. Stan would always forgive his family but in this moment Stan wants it to be true. He wants to have some form if self respect and not forgive the bastard who destroyed his life]
The worst part is Filbrick just takes it. All the insults and accusations Stan throws at him. He just takes it and accepts it.
It makes Stan even madder. Thats not what Stan wants. He wants Filbrick to fight back. To make it easier for Stan to hate him.
This his broken old man silently crying in front of him is not his Pa.
Stan can't take it anymore.
"You can't even tell us apart. How am I supposed to believe you ever cared about me?" He asks quietly and leaves before Filbrick can put the pieces together.
Wait I’m sorry parent/child incest fic?????? Why does that exist? Why do you KNOW that exists?????? What the fuck 🤢
I feel like you can sort of tell how long (or not) someone has existed in fannish spaces by how outraged they get about things like this. Like rings in a tree trunk lol. I've been in so many fandoms. At least one, but often multiple at the same time, since I was a teenager. I've seen just. Everything.
Sex pollen. Mpreg. Incest. Monster fucking. Tentacles. Pairings like Snape/Hermione that would be crazy abusive and illegal if they were real. Wild kinks. The babygirlification of all kinds of villains. So much RPF (the 'I sincerely believe they are secretly a couple' kind and the 'this is fictional but it's fun to imagine they're in love' kind.)
You learn to just scroll past shit you don't like or unfollow people or filter tags. The tldr of fandom is that humans are weird as fuck. And creative, and unhinged, and traumatized, and talented. And amazing. And every single thing that you clutch your pearls about 'well surely someone doesn't want to read/write THAT!' - someone does. Probably lots of people do. And those people are perfectly normal. In their offline lives, they're parents and siblings and they have jobs and friends and they go about their lives and they don't cause any harm. And that's the sticking point. There's this really concerning, frankly highly Evangelical idea that if someone enjoys the wrong kind of fiction, they are obviously a Bad Person. But nothing is that simple, and thought crimes aren't real, and you definitely have some thoughts or ideas that someone else would find fucked up. You don't have to like every kind of fic that exists. I certainly don't. But shaming people for their harmless fantasies about fictional characters is so boring. I saw Goody Proctor enjoying a Toxic Ship! Good for you, I'll alert the pope.
The sun was shining, blinding him completely, as he tried to make a wall between him and the sun. He lifted his hand through which the golden light escaped pouring over his face in streaks.
His mother walked along side finally catching up to him as his father moved as if he being fined by the second he stepped foot on the pavement sidewalk. He was not reallly into this 'family outing' as much as his mother wanted him to be.
His father was very much trying to 'set things as how they used to be' and very promptly failing in doing so. Nothing could be set right after what had happened.
His mother still acting very indifferent to his father after what he had done didnt even bother to ask him if he had put on jis sunscreen. She seeemd to be walking in a state of trance, as if she was on auto pilot.
Why was he even thinking about that. He loved being in the burning sun walking to who-knows-where. It was all fun. Why would he miss him ? Its not like they were a crucial part of his life.
His thoughts came to a screeching halt as he heard the voice of two boys happily giggling to themselves, only to see next what exactly were they laughing at ? He turned his head to witness the object of ridicule.
Turned back on them was a hunched man scurrying to pick up his dropped goods, in a hurry that seemed as if something or someone was gonna kill him if he doesn't.
Judging by his clothing and hair he seemed to be a man in his mid thirties to early forties. He rocked a head of hair his father bore on Sundays when he hadn't colored his hair in although the greying on his head wasnt that bad.
He was properly taked back after he witnessed who exacted was the man. He was spliting image of him. He was his brother, the flip side of the coin. He was sta-.
He stumbled on the sidewalk as the realization hit and it seemed like he wasnt the only one. The boring friday's silence was broken by none than their mother who seemingly ran to his boy elated to see him again and so stanford realized who exactly was the man running from.....
(It was them if you couldnt tell)
Carlyn has a backbone : the au
Or chab for short. Will write more if enough people like it. Send asks I would be happy to answer. (Please do)
There are two boys on the beach. At first glance, and perhaps second and third, they are identical. Both are wearing matching overals, with the same white shirt underneath and no shoes. Square frames rest on their noses, identical faces stretched wide with identical grins, while the same curly brown hair bounces on their heads. Their cheeks are both pink from the sun and play.
Closer inspection would reveal their differences. Their freckles laid across their noses in different patterns, and while one of them had five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot, the other had six.
Still, the sun shone on both equally, the water lapped at both of their feet, and the sea air filled both their lungs (although one was breathing harder than the other)
Not a cloud was in the sky, and no one else was walking the beach, leaving them both alone to run and play.
A perfect day really.
"I win!" Stanley shouted, jumping onto the deck of their boat with both feet. It creaked underneath him, firm and sturdy, and he whipped around to grin at his brother.
Stanford, panting heavily and drenched in sweat, flopped against the boat next to Stanley's feet, "No- no fair- you- ah- you got a- a head start."
"Not my fault I knew we were racing before you were, now come on!" Stanley pulled his brother up onto the deck, then led him to sit down against the rail, "I'll get you some water, you catch your breath, and then we're off!"
"Together?" Stanford said, shooting his brother a shaky smile.
"Together." Stanley nodded, before disappearing below deck to grab a bottle of water. They were tucked in with the rest of their supplies, piled over the lump on one of the beds, and he took a swig for himself before darting back up to give it to Stanford.
Once the bottle had been dropped off, Stanley got to work. He pulled rope, tied knots, and eyed the crystal blue water next to them. Stanford joined him once he'd finished cooling off, and in short work their vessel was ready to brave the deadly sea.
"There!" Stanley stepped away from the last knot, then turned to stare at the full sails in wonder. The wind was starting to pick up, pushing them near full, and the tide was starting to rise. He could feel the sand shifting below the boat, and his heart swelled with the first burst of wind that inched it forwards.
"I'll man the helm!" Stanford yelled, scrambling to the back of the boat, "Keep an eye on the rigging!"
"Aye-aye, Co-Captain!" Stanley shouted back. He hollered at the next inch the boat made, then whooped when a sudden gust launched them into the ocean.
Stanley ran to the railing and grinned. A wave splashed against the hull, spraying sea water across his face. It did nothing to quell the bubbling energy working its way up him, just made him grin wider.
The ocean sparkled under the sun, the waves dancing as the horizon blended together, blue on blue.
And endless horizon of possibility.
"Where to first Sixer!" Stanley called, pulling a telescope from his pocket, "Hidden islands? Mermaid coves? Or maybe we can-"
"Stanley."
Stanfords voice made Stanley pause. Something sounded off about it, something about the tone and the way he spoke. It was deeper than it was a moment ago, full of hurt.
And maybe anger.
A sudden certainty hit him. He knew, without a doubt, that if he looked at his brother, he wouldn't like what he saw. That this perfect day would come crashing to a halt, and he'd be-
But it was fine. As long as he kept his eyes on the forwards, everything would be fine.
"Yeah Sixer? What is it?" Stanley replied, sweeping the telescope across the horizon. He could see faint glimmers of distant ships, untouched islands, and beckoning mermaids. All he had to do was get Stanford to tell him where he wanted to-
Stanford sighed, and it was definitely angry this time. It made Stanley tense, the mood shift unwelcome and unwanted.
"I'm impressed," Stanford said, and the confusion it gave Stanley almost made him turn around to give his brother a quizzical look, "Of all the rooms We've come across, this is the first one that truly gave the illusion of going on forever. I'm honored you thought to go into such detail for me."
"Huh?" Stanley pulled the telescope down and squinted around. None of what his brother said made sense. There wasn't any rooms except for inside the boat, and the world did go on forever, "What are you talking about?"
Stanford didn't answer, but he could hear his brother step away from the helm and walk around the boat.
His footsteps came down harder, like he was carrying something big.
Or-
"Anyway," Stanley pushed on, lifting the telescope back to his eye, "You didn't say. Mermaids? Treasure? Island? What kinda adventure should we start with?"
"A door?"
Stanley sighed, letting the telescope drop. There was no forcing it back, was there?
He faced his brother.
Stanford was in the middle of the deck, staring at the Stan'O'War with a pinched expression. He looked nothing like he did on the beach, but Stanley knew his brother.
He was taller now, almost as tall as their Pa, with rounded glasses, a thick tan coat, sturdy, mud stained boots, and a square jaw. His hair cut was the same, just as curly and untamed, and the way he studied the boat was just like how he used to stared at math problems.
In one of his hands was a book, which he glanced at occasionally to scribble something, before looking at the boat and the ocean around them.
His fingers, all six of them, were white with how hard he was gripping it.
"We're in the middle of the ocean Sixer," Stanley said, and he pretended it didn't hurt when his brother barely spared him a glance, "There aren't any doors. Now come on!"
He marched up to his brother and tugged at his coat, trying to push him back to the helm, "You're supposed to be steering! Its the perfect day for adventuring! I wanna do somethin' exciting!"
"Despite what you may think," Stanford said, brushing him aside, "I'm not so easily fooled by something like this."
"Fooled by what!" Stanley threw his arms in the air, gesturing at their tiny boat and the very, very empty ocean, "There's no doors! Why would you want a one anyway! This-"
"Perhaps down below?" Stanford muttered, ignoring him.
Again.
It made something dark spark inside him, that grew with every step his brother took. This was supposed to be the perfect day, and they were supposed to go on an amazing adventure, just like they always did.
Why was StanFord so determined to leave him behind ruin it?
Before Stanford could make it towards the stairs, Stanley jumped forwards to block the way. He put his hands on his hips and glared up at his brother, angry and mad and irritated and-
Buzzing.
He was buzzing beneath his skin, itchy and bursting with the need to grab Stanford and throw him back to where he was supposed to be.
This Stanford wasn't supposed to ignore him, or try to run off, or do anything but decide where they were going, and follow Stan's lead when they got there. They were going to go have fun, laugh and play and fight pirates and everything would be perfect.
"You can't just abandon the helm!" Stanley shouted, shuffling to block Stanford whenever he tried to walk around him, "What if theirs other ships! Or rocks! Or- or- other things! An island! And the only door down there is the one for the bathroom!"
With a final, decisive nod, Stanley puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. There was no way he was letting Stanford wander around down there and waste the day away snooping, when they had things to do.
Stanford crouched down so they were eye to eye, gaze boring into him. He swallowed at the sudden attention, but held firm. The brown of his brothers eyes looked brighter than they had in some time, like he was picking Stanley apart and looking at the center of him.
It made him want to squirm away and hide, but he was Stanley Pines, brave adventurer of the sea.
He wasn't going to let a little eye contact bother him.
"You're much pushier than anything else here."
"Hey!"
"Is it becoming desperate?" Stanford muttered, ignoring him (again), "Or is it taking your personality from my own memories, and I-"
A sudden light next to them caught both their attention, and they turned to see a glowing rectangle floating in the air above the deck. A man poked his head out, twitchy and pale. He had limp brownish hair and a long nose, and he locked eyes with Stanford immediately, slumping against the side of the door glowing light.
"There you are!" the man said, wiping his brow, "Ya can't just run off like that, what if I got eaten!"
"Apologies Fiddleford," Stanford said, pushing himself up, "but, as I've told you, nothing here will eat you. You'll just-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Fiddleford said, waving a hand in the air, "Still. I don't want to be left alone here. Place gives me the creeps. What room is this by the way? I don't see..."
Fiddleford's eyes landed on Stanley, then-
Moved back to Stanford, unbothered.
It made the dark feeling in his gut tighten, the sky darkening with it.
"I believe it was trying to ensnare me," Stanford said, walking towards the door light, "This environment is reminiscent of my childhood, and I-"
Before Stanley realized what was happening, Stanford stepped into the light, and disappeared.
"Wait!" Stanley yelled, moving to follow, "You can't-"
Just as quickly as the light appeared, it vanished, a loud slam echoing across the sea.
"... leave."
Thunder rumbled overhead, and a few drops landed on the deck around him. Something in his chest was crying, clawing at his ribs and trying to climb up his throat.
"Stanley?" Stanford said, stepping next to him, "Whats the matter?"
"....Nothin'." Stanley muttered, turning away from the spot and dragging his heavy legs towards the bow, "Just. Leave me alone."
"Are you sure? I thought we were going on an adventure?"
"Yeah." Stanley sat down and stuck his legs through the railing, then plopped his head on top, "I don't- just go away."
There was no reply, and Stanley pushed down the urge to look behind him.
Stanford wasn't really here after all, he'd left through the door light. Saw their dream and scoffed, heading off to somewhere he couldn't follow.
Just like always.
A thought tickled the back of his head, that Knowing Stanford had left was important, that Knowing the other Stanford wasn't- wasn't-
But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered.
He was alone, just like always.
Left behind.
Ignored.
Less than a second thought.
Not worth more than a glance.
Stanley stared out across the ocean, watching the dark clouds spark with lightening and the waves swell in response. Rain started coming down harder, still a drizzle, but growing with every passing second.
The ocean around him was still, a tiny spot of calmly rocking water. The rain drops hit the surface with a thousand ripples, blurring Stan's reflection into a reddish blob.
At least the rain was warm.
He didn't know how long he sat there, watching the storm brew and crash around him. Long enough for the rain to soak him down to the bone. The darkness matched his sour move, like the heavens themselves were a reflection of his knotted heart.
With a sniff, Stanley wiped his nose and sat up. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself. So what if everyone threw him away! He didn't need-
"Here again?" Stanford said, voice booming in the quiet of the storm, "And whats with the weather?"
Stanley whipped around to see Stanford, the real, older Stanford, standing in the middle of the deck. He was frowning, and one of his hands was held up towards the sky, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was-
"You came back!" Stanford jumped at Stanley's yell, turning to him as he quickly stood and sprinted towards his brother. He threw his arms around Stanford's legs and grinned, a sudden beam of sunlight cutting through the clouds above and shining down on them.
"Well, yes," Stanford pat his back, then stepped back to where the light had appeared before, "but I'm not staying. There's nothing you have here that can convince me otherwise."
"But!" Stanley pulled back to look up at his brother, "but- but you just got here! Come on, you can stay, and we can go on an adventure and-"
"I already said no." Stanford snapped, feeling at the air, "Now if you'll excuse me!"
He grabbed at nothing, then pushed light into being. Stanley grabbed his brothers leg tightly, refusing to let go.
He wouldn't get left behind, not again.
"Get off of me!" Stanford yelled, lifting his leg to shake Stanley off, "You can't- look see? Even if I wanted to, I can't-"
Stanford stepped through the door, and Stanley squinted his eyes at the intense brightness, before blinking the spots it left away.
They were no longer on the boat, but standing in a long, fancy hallway. Doors lined either side, interrupted with branching hallways and strange paintings. Lamps were set into the walls, barely doing anything to fight the gloom. A long purple carpet ran down the center, splitting at intersecting hallways, and with silver embroidery on the edges. There were no windows, and no end in sight, either direction.
The light was now an open doorway, looking out at the ocean they'd been standing on a moment ago.
"-take you with me." Stanford said, brushing his coat off, "So.. so..."
Stanley looked back up at his brothers shocked face, a wide grin growing on his own.
"You- how did you-"
"MYSTERY HALLWAY!" Stanley shouted, jumping to his feet and sprinting down the hall. He buzzed with excitement, staring at all the doors and the mysteries they hid.
A pair of hands snatched him up and into the air before he could get very far, and he bent backwards to see his brothers still shocked face.
"Let go Stanford!" Stanley yelled, kicking his legs and trying to pull his brothers hands off, "I want to see whats behind all these doors! Don't you?"
"I already know." Stanford whispered, pulling Stanley close and tilting him in the air, "I've been exploring them for several days now. Which is why I know you shouldn't have been able to follow me out of the room you originated from. Nothing else I tried to take out did, so why..."
Stanford poked at Stanley's stomach, then flipped him so he was sideways. He kept poking at Stanley's stomach, making him giggle, and muttering under his breath.
"Boo!" Stanley snorted through his giggles as his twin kept twisting him in the air, "You're not supposed to go ahead without me! We're supposed to-"
"Stanford!"
A familiar voice interrupted his brothers examination of Stanley's hair, and he turned to face the direction the voice had come. The man from before, Fiddleford, was running down the hallway, straight towards them.
A shadow with too many teeth and too many feathers was chasing him.
Seeing it sent a spike of terror through his chest, like seeing a nightmare come to life. It clawed at the walls and hissed with a thousand unheard voices, leaving the hallway neater behind it as its many hands reached out and corrected angled paintings and scooped up imaginary dust.
"Fiddleford!" Stanford greeted the man, like they had bumped into each other at the grocery store, "look at this!"
He held Stanley up in the air like a prize, excitement clear in his voice.
It would have made Stanley feel warm, having his brother talk about him like that, if it didn't put him in clear view of the monster.
All its eyes snapped to him, and turned a deep, angry crimson.
"Oh, that's new."
"Look into it later!" Fiddleford yelled, coming towards them, "Escape now!"
He grabbed Stanford's arm as he passed them, forcing him into a run. His brother tucked him into his side and started running, voice much to calm as he started talking to Fiddleford about dragging Stanley out of his 'room'.
Stanley ignored them, keeping his attention on the monster hot on their heels. It kept its eyes on Stanley, and several of its shadowy hands kept making grabby hands at him.
It sent a shiver down his spine, and he clutched his brother even tighter.
But focusing his attention on the monster meant he didn't see when they found the exit and ran towards it. All he knew was that, one second his brother was holding him in his arms, the next he was being slammed into a wall and flung off.
He hit the ground hard. Pain went up his back from the impact, and he groaned at the ache.
"Wha-"
"STANLEY!"
Stanley jerked his head up, staring wide eyed at the panicked face of his brother. He was standing on the other side of a huge set of double doors, one hand outstretched towards Stanley, the other in Fiddleford's tight grip.
But it was too late.
The monster crashed over him. Some of its hands smashed against the door, bouncing off an unseen wall, while the rest grabbed at Stanley and dragged him back, towards the darkness.
Stanley screamed, trying to twist out of its hold. Soft hands pet at his hair, others wiped at his face or pat his clothes, all of them tighter than iron. Feathers brushed against his face, wiping away the tears gathering at the edges of his eyes.
The last thing he saw before darkness overcame him was Ford, staring in open mouthed horror and-
The sky overhead was clear, not a cloud in sight, and sun warm on his back as he scanned the horizon. The smile on his face was starting to hurt, but he couldn't help but smile wider.
It was the perfect day.
"What are you thinkin' Sixer?" Stanley asked, bringing his telescope down, "Treasure hunting? Fighting pirates? How about-"
Two giant hands slammed down on his shoulders, and he screamed. He gripped his telescope like a bat and swung it as he was turned, ready to bash whatever had-
It hit a hand before it could hit his attackers head, and Stanford frowned at him.
"Oh, its you." Stanley wheezed, letting Stanford take the telescope so he could put a hand against his own rapidly beating chest, "Don't sneak up on me like that! What- what are you doing!"
Stanford lifted Stanley into the air and pinned him against his side, then ran to the side of the boat where a glowing rectangle of light was floating. Stanley gaped at it, gaped at the hallway it lead to, then started yelling when Stanford took off sprinting down the hall.
"Hey! Whats the big idea! Ford!" Stanley wiggled and kicked, trying to free himself from his brothers beefy nerd arms, "Put me down!"
"No can do, I have limited time!" Stanford replied, skidding to a stop in front of a pair of double doors. Something screeched further in what could only be a mansion, a silent, thunderous sound, that sent a shiver down his spine.
Stanford didn't stop moving though, just slammed Stanley down in front of the open doors and started pushing him forwards. He had to scramble to keep up with his brothers fast pace, until he hit a wall and stopped moving entirely.
The pushing didn't stop though, and soon Stanley was being crushed against an invisible wall to the outside, and being pulled by some other guy who came out of nowhere and grabbed Stanley's arms.
"I don't-" the other man grunted, trying to brace himself against the door frame, "-think this is gonna work Stanford!"
"It has to work!" Stanford yelled back, and something in Stanley's back twinged from the force his brother was using to squish him, "We don't-"
Stanford's hands disappeared, replaced by far too many. There was a brief flash of Stanford as he was thrown over him, outside, then the soft hands were wrapping him in darkness and dragging him away. He opened his mouth to scream and-
The sky overhead was clear, not a cloud in sight, and sun warm on his back as he scanned the horizon. The smile on his face was starting to hurt, but he couldn't help but smile wider.
It was the perfect day.
Stanley frowned at it. There was a tickle in the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something.
Ah well, probably nothing important.
"Whats the plan, Sixer." Stanley asked, hands on his hips as he breathed in the fresh ocean air, "Wanna-"
Something slammed to the ground behind him, and he turned to see his brother and another man, scrambling towards the railing.
"-actually endless." Stanford was saying, pointing at the horizon, "See, there? Its hard to make out, but there are walls, so he's around here-"
"Why not-" The man said, taking a step towards the stairs that led below deck.
It sent a rush of emotion through him, seeing this stranger walk so boldly across the deck of their ship. Anger mostly, defensiveness too. Some other things, that were too jumbled to name, but all pointed to one course of action.
With a snarl, Stanley jumped in front of the man and held up his fists, "What do you think you're doing, you stowaway! This ship is Stan's only!"
"Oh, howdy Stanley, good to see ya all high spirited and not screamin' in terror!" The man ruffled his hair, then tried to side step around him, "Like I was saying, couldn't he just be-"
Stanley jumped to block him with a hiss. The man froze, took a step to the other side, then frowned harder when Stanley followed and hissed again. Stanford moved to stand next to the intruder, and they exchanged a look.
When Stanford moved to take a step towards below deck, Stanley growled, shifting his feet so he was as between them as he could get and still blocking the way.
They exchanged another, Knowing look.
"Stanley," Stanford said, crouching down, "I thought you said this was Stan's only? Am I not also a Stan?"
"No-yes- I mean-" Stanford leaned to the side, and Stanley hissed again, narrowing his eyes at his brother, "You let this guy on board, so I'm revoking your Stanhood!"
"I'm not sure that's something you can do," Stanford said patiently, "So if you don't mind, I'd like to go below deck I... I'm looking for something."
Stanley sent the other guy a suspicious look, side eyed his brother, and-
Hissed.
No one was allowed down there but him. HE was in charge of supplies, and- and-
They weren't- they couldn't-
No one. Not this stranger, not Stanford, not even Stanley if he could help it. It wasn't a place people were supposed to be looking for anything.
Stanford sighed, then gave him a soft, fond smile.
"I understand." He said, reaching forwards and ruffling Stanley's hair, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah," Stan puffed up, happy his brother was listening for once, "you better- HEY!"
The hand ruffling his hair grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into his brothers arms. His were pinned to his side, and Stanford shifted to grab the back of his neck when he tried to bite him.
"Go Fiddleford!" Stanford yelled, throwing himself backwards on the deck, "Quickly!"
Stanley howled in his brothers arms. He snapped his teeth, clawed at the arms around him, and kicked Stanford wherever he could, trying to break free. Something crashed below, and he screamed, doubling his effort to escape. He could barely hear whatever Stanford was trying to say over the sounds of his own screams, and what words he did make out mad him even angrier.
Something about it being OK, and taking Stanley home. Like they weren't already home, already living their dreams out on the open sea. Stanford was ruining it, bringing other people and letting them break their stuff and touching touching touchingtouchingtouching-
Something, hands, not Stanford's, grabbed Stanley by the shoulders and started shaking him. He shrieked, anger twisting to terror to panic to-
Stan snorted awake, blinking up at an unfamiliar face.
Or, a vaguely familiar face?
But no, he'd never seen this guy before.
Only one thing for it.
The guy let go and stepped away, mouth open and moving, giving Stan the perfect amount of space to pull an arm back and slam it into his jaw.
He dropped like a sack of bricks, and Stan scrambled to his feet.
The room around him was.. it looked familiar, but more like somewhere he saw in a dream than an actual location. It swayed under his feet, and he stumbled over the groaning guy and towards what looked like the exit.
It was much harder than it should be. His limbs where heavy and uncoordinated, moving too slowly and slamming into things as he tried to step over the man. His thoughts weren't much better, sliding into each other and skittering away. The last thing he remembered was breaking into a house, and then...
Darkness. Almost like he'd been...
Drugged.
"Fuuckin'" Stan slurred, tripping over the guy and kicking his side awkwardly for good measure, "kidnappin'. Creep."
"Fiddleford?" Someone called from above, making him freeze, "Fiddleford, did you find him? Only-"
A pair of legs stepped down the stairs, followed by a face.
A very, very familiar face.
"Hey!" Stan shouted, pointing a shaking hand at the other, new guy, "Thats- thats my face! Y'can't- s'mine!"
"Stanley." The face-stealer breathed, coming down the rest of the way into the already cramped space, "You-"
"How d'you know my name." Stan squinted at the face-stealer, before deciding standing was too hard and flopping back onto the bed, "Where... why is everything so..."
He put his hands up and wiggled his fingers, then frowned at them. They looked bigger than he remembered.
Except no, they were the same as they'd always been.
The other, non face stealer, grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself up with a groan, the other hand rubbing his jaw. He glared at Stan, then pulled himself up the rest of the way and sat down next to him.
Hmm.
He didn't like that.
"Nyeh." Stan nyehed, as he tried to push the guy back to the floor. The guy sent him a withering glare, but did stand up.
Making the bed Stan's.
Perfect.
He was really tired, so if these other guys could just go away, then-
Hands pulled him up, and he blinked his eyes open with a snort.
"There he is," Face-stealer said, throwing one of Stan's arms around his shoulders, "its possible he won't be able to fully shake the effects until he's outside."
"Meaning we'll have to carry him the whole way," other guy said, grabbing Stan's other arm, "With that beastie on our tail. Maybe it'll be less upset now that he's awake to leave properly."
"Hard to say," and now they were moving, dragging Stan out onto the deck of the ship of his dreams. Literally, "It could become even more hostile. We never actually determined its purpose besides returning wandering lodgers to their rooms and maintaining the halls."
"Hey," Stan interrupted, squinting at the strange, choppy ocean around them, "This water look funky to you?"
It didn't move like actual water. It was too smooth, like someone had taken a blanket and was waving it up and down. Staring at it rubbed him the wrong way, like he was seeing a movie set for a beloved TV show and learned all the characters were actors.
There might have been a response, but he was too tired to hold onto the words.
Also the bright light was annoying, and it was hard to be awake and have his eyes closed at the same time.
Everything became a blur of purple, black, and screaming. His arms were jerked around, something grabbed his legs at some point, and it got even harder to lay down and curl into a ball for sleep.
Then he felt something snap inside him, and he gasped, slamming his eyes open.
He immediately slammed them back shut, as blinding bright sunlight pierced through his eyes and stabbed his brain. He brought his hands (which felt much lighter) up to rub them, groaning at all the sensations assaulting him. The world was too bright, the sound too loud, the grass too grassy and his mouth tasted like death.
The only semi decent thing was the smell, as the strange, fake-salt smell that he hadn't realized was clogging his nose was drowned out by something woodsy.
With a final groan, he slid his hands down his face and squinted at the cloudy sky above him.
And at his own face.
"Stanford," He said, cutting off whatever his brother had been saying, "Stanford, I had. The weirdest dream. You were there. Also, why are you here, and why we're at it, where is here."
Instead of doing anything helpful, like answering his questions, Ford just slumped onto him, pulling him up into awkward hug. Any other time Stan would have been thrilled, but he was too much of everything out to really register what was happening.
The new angle allowed him to see a pair of closed double doors on the side of a cliff, and the whole other guy groaning on the ground next to him.
"Who is that?" Stan muttered. Neither man answered him, leaving him wide awake, exhausted, and confused.
I've done??? so many of these things?? And ALL of them out of any kind of order, narrative or chronological. So I'm gonna make a list of all the comics and ficlets I've made for them so far in the order they happen in the timeline for the convenience of anyone who wants it, lol.
The Timeline:
(subject to change according to whim)
General Lore: Before 2012
1971 and the years that followed
Res Derelictae ["Abandoned Thing"]/ Caput Mortuum ["Dead Head"]/ Domum Salve, Frater Sanguisuga ["Welcome Home, Bloodsucker Brother"]
+[who in the Pines family knows the truth?]
+[accompanying omake: Will You Let Him In? and The Mystery Twins Have Concerns About Your Responses]
Sketchdump: Stanley Is Thirsty
+[and the logical followup regarding the baby]
"I Am The One" Storyboard AMV
Statio Bene Fida Carinis ["A Safe Harbor For Ships"]
Absolvo Non Te ["I Don't Forgive You"]
+[a visualization and an alternative ending]
+[and the accompanying omake]
2012
First Day of Summer
Preparing for the Boat Ride
Dipper Has His Suspicions
+[obligatory "The Lost Boys" reference]
+[sketchdump]
The NWHS arc:
+The Mystery Twins Investigate Grunkle Ford's Basement
+Getting the Coffin Out of the House
+Protecting Grunkle Ford
+Revoking an Invitation
+Friendly Fire
+Soos to the Rescue! [and the recovery]
+For the Record: Regarding Stanley's diet...
+Releasing Ford
+For the Record: A Home-Brewed Substitution
NOT MY ART BUT BASICALLY CANON:
non-plutonian-druid
+He Builds Something Else Out of the Wood
+"I came home in June." "And?" "...I bled out in March, Pa."
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