Chapter Text
He forgot his name again.
Well, that wasn't new. At least he didn't think so. He couldn't remember. But it's been like this for as long as he could, which so far has been a few minutes. Oh well, with the way that old sad sack looks standing next to him it's likely he'll probably know it if asked. And ask he shall.
"Uh, hey..." He tested out his voice hesitantly. Yeesh, his voice sure had been through the wringer. If it was music to anyone's ears, they were probably tone deaf. The man looked over at him and smiled. That smile was so forced. He didn't know how he could tell it was fake but it was.
"Yes, Stanley?" He acknowledged weakly. Oh. Well that answers that. Crap, now he has to find something new to ask to keep the conversation going. As he looked for answers he couldn't find, it turned out he didn't need to anyway. "That's your name, if that's what you were going to ask. Stanley Pines." His voice brushed against melancholy as he softly spoke the name like it belonged to someone no longer alive. Stanley, if that was his name, almost believed it didn't actually belong to him at all. Though it's not like he has any good justification for his intuition. It's all just blind guesses here. "And I'm your brother, the next thing you're going to ask me. Stanford Filbrick Pines." His alleged brother went on somberly. Yeah, guess that makes sense. The same guy had been worriedly fussing over him just a few minutes ago when he woke up. Stan presumed he was shouting his name and asking him things over and over again but he couldn't tell for sure because everything was so blurry and faded and it muffled and mixed together until it gave him a headache. By the time the world came into focus again, the man had regained his composure and left his side. Well, at least he regained enough of it to hide his tears. Stanley was fine with that. He wasn't too big about saps like him.
...Wait, how did this Stanford guy know what Stanley was going to say? Has he said it before? Ha, asking himself like he would know, that's priceless. Stanley opened his mouth, but Stanford cut him off again.
"We're in your house, to answer your third question." Ok, now this was getting freaky.
"What are you, Stan, a psychic?" Stan jested, rubbing his head like it was a crystal ball. The other chuckled despite himself.
"No, I just miss you, that's all." ...Well this is awkward. What did that mean? And what was there to miss anyway? Stan doesn't even remember who he was 10 minutes before never. What a strange thing to say to someone you've just met. Then again though, this guy was implying he'd known Stan for years, saying he was his brother and all. It all just twisted Stanley's mind like a pretzel.
Oh well, it wouldn't matter again in another day or two.
-
Stanford Pines was beginning to hate this town. There were things about it he loved and would always cherish forever, the creatures, the mysteries, the kids...but all it's really done for him is take and take until there was nothing left to hold onto. Just when he was finding himself and growing for the first time, he had to meet Bill. Just when he was about to kick off his career into new heights, he was betrayed by his so-called soulmate. Just when he was getting things back under control, he was thrown into his own Hell and stuck there for over three decades. Just when he came back home and was settling in again the world ended. And then, just as the world's pieces all fell back into place, his nemesis gone and his lifelong battle over, he lost his brother, his best friend, for good. Maybe that was his fault. Or that's what he thought at least, but the sole truth is that if he had just stayed away from this town and never let his curiosity feed his ego he would at least still have his twin and not this...this...
At least the worst of it was over, or that's what Stanford hoped, what he clung onto to keep going. The "finding out" phase. That period was truly the worst, it was Hell, like the world never stopped ending. It wouldn't have been so terrible if the kids weren't there to see it firsthand too. At least then Ford could have protected some of their innocence.
Stanford always knew on the surface that Stanley's mind had been lost forever. The memory gun had burned it into ashes, and wherever it was Stanford only hoped it was at peace now. If humans are made of stardust then perhaps it returned from whence it came and stayed somewhere Ford could no longer reach but could only watch in awe from a distance. All he could ever do was watch. He watched with a daunting wisdom as Mabel cried and protested when he told her there was nothing they could do to save him, to fix what had been so carelessly, so foolishly broken. She was a fighter, that one. Such a fierce free spirit, just like....
Watching her open her scrapbook found in the debris, she tried to find someone living in an abandoned house, to no effect. Mabel hoped, prayed to whatever God she imagined inside her head that the man she was looking for was only lost in there, was just staying for the time being before he moved on, anything she could grab onto and pull out from the darkness. She could turn what was lost into what's found, darkness into light, she just knew it. She knit each photo together, embroidering story after story, weaving detailed accounts of all their adventures together. She never forgot to leave out the parts where Stanley shined the brightest, painting pictures of his clever mind and heroic fights. She even went out of her way a few times to color him in a better light than he probably deserved. Yet with every page she turned, it was like something in Stanley's brain errored, miscalculated. You could see it in his eyes. Something, someone trying to come out of hiding before he blinked and it was all lost again. At least, that's how it looked to Ford. It was like a flickering, dying light, much like his primal human hope. Stanford never did understand how to argue with emotion. He was always so logical, a thinker, never a feeler. But now all he felt, looking at his brother (is that his brother? Yes, of course. Is it truly?) was waves and waves of deafening sadness. And still, so stubbornly, hope prevailed. He's not the first person to recognize how obstinate humanity came when it comes to clinging onto this feeling. The Greeks knew it then back when they unraveled tales of Pandora's box, and wasn't that just the story of his life now? He opened the box, his hunger for knowledge and his impossibly inflated ego spurring him on to unlock the secrets within, setting the world aflame with its curses. All that remained inside the box was hope, a reminder of optimism and resilience that was gentle and cruel at the same time. Stanford now felt hope's ruthlessness in full effect, because no matter how much the logical part of him tried to stay in control, these bubbles of expectation, wish, desire, all simmered in his stomach as he watched his niece search for the missing person in front of them. However, bubbles eventually grow too large to hold their own and pop, and one by one, Stanford felt their burn.
Mabel had to close the book eventually after she reached its end, and everyone stood staring, waiting for any signs of life from their family member. But...
"I'm sorry, kid. I really don't know who any of you guys are or what all this is." He gestured to the scrapbook and smiled up at his family awkwardly, his eyes wide and innocent like a child's. Something twisted in Ford's gut and whispered in his ear and all remaining hope he had crumbled as he gave in to reason. It was all over. Dipper gave a conquered sigh and tipped his hat over his face to hide his glossy eyes. Seeing Mabel's defeat was like watching a flower wilt. She futilely watered it with her tears, whispering a small 'no,' but before any could drop down her chin and stain more happy memories she viciously scrubbed them away.
"We'll do it again!" She cried out desperately. "Let's go through it again, maybe your memories just take some time to work up, but I'm sure of we just-"
"Mabel." Dipper cut her off, reaching over to rest his hand on her shoulder. The twins exchanged glances with each other and Ford felt nostalgic for a time long past him. Him and Stanley have forgotten how to do that. Within a few seconds Mabel sunk in on herself and her face crumpled. Her grip on the scrapbook tightened.
"I'm sorry, Grunkle Stan. I-it's okay. We'll just teach you, right? We can just teach you your life over again, and then everything will be just as it used to be, won't it?" Even she didn't believe it, but she was a strong-willed optimist at heart, and she was scared of what would happen if she just gave up. However, she had already learned her lesson. Things change and Summer ends. Nothing will be the same ever again. But still, it was at least worth trying.
"Uh...I guess so." Stan scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah." Mabel replied half-heartedly, reopening her scrapbook back to the first page. "You...you don't have to remember, just listen and we'll tell you." She sniffed and wiped her eyes again, before starting over on day one.
Even if Stan could recite all the adventures his family told him of himself by heart, to him they all just felt like fairytales and bedtime stories. He might as well call himself "Stanley the Great" with how heroic they're desperately trying to paint him as. Running for mayor and saving the kids, punching a pterodactyl in the face, spending thirty years learning quantum physics to save his brother, sacrificing himself to save the world. With the way they described him it was like he didn't have any flaws at all, and maybe it was supposed to make him feel good but when he looked at the man who mirrored his face in the pictures all he felt was distant. This "Stanley" they were talking about was a fictional character, their tales blinded by nostalgia and grief. They only remembered the good, none of the bad. He wasn't real. And the man sitting in the chair listening to them wasn't Stanley. It didn't feel right.
The rest of the day felt like a history class, with Stan re-learning everyone's names and backstories. Unfortunately, Stan hated school and slept through all his classes.
"Okay- no, don't tell me- you're Dylan, and you're, uh, Rowena! That's right, right? And uh...yeah sorry I already forgot your name." He pointed to his brother.
The others grimaced.
"No, I'm Dipper, She's Mabel, he's Stanford, and you're Stanley. That big guy over there is Soos." Dipper explained, pointing his thumb over to the large man in the dark green shirt. He had been sobbing into his shirt this whole time and Stan felt a little bad for him. Maybe they used to be close or something.
"Two Stans is too confusing for me to remember. I'm gonna keep getting it mixed up." He smiled somewhat awkwardly, hoping he'd get a laugh or even a smile.
"That's alright, you can just call me Ford." Stanford piped up and walked over to his chair. "That way it'll be easier to remember. You're Stan, and I'm Ford."
Stanley shrugged, taking the idea. He stuck out his hand. "Well it's nice to meet ya, Ford." He greeted cheerily.
Ford quietly stared at the hand for a moment and Stan almost regretted lending it to him, what with that confusing heartbroken stare he gave. He vaguely wondered what this guy had been through in his life so that his wrinkled face curved so familiarly into that expression like it was molded for it. Nevertheless, he gently took Stan's hand in his own and shook it with much less vigor than his counterpart.
"...It's nice to meet you too, Ley." He replied softly, his voice lathered with mourning.
"Uh, Ley? You just said my name's Stan." Stan cocked a brow and another wave of grief washed over Ford, but before he could clarify, Stanley had already moved onto the next big thing. "Hey, you have six fingers." Stanford always felt himself go a bit rigid whenever someone brought up his polydactyly. He felt like a specimen instead of a person whenever he was made conscious of it. Even if most of his insecurities had burnt away through old age or having bigger fish to fry during his time spent in the portal, it would never fully wash off, especially not after Bill used it to his advantage. Stanley had taken his hand and held it next to his own in comparison. He stared wonderingly, like he hadn't seen it a thousand times before throughout his whole childhood. Stanford immediately retracted his hand and hid it behind his back, face slightly flushed bashfully. Normally he would have been fine with Stan pointing out his extra finger; he missed having someone ruffle his hair and call him "Sixer" or "Pointdexter" and tell him his anomaly is what made him awesome and cooler than everybody else. He missed being told that everything was gonna be okay. But now no one was here to protect him anymore. No one had been there for a long time, to be fair. But the person who was gave everything that was left of themselves so Stanford would have nothing else to lose. The man who sat in front of him wasn't the same boy who stood up for him and shielded from bullies and the woes of coming of age. They were meeting each other for the first time. Stanford had to remember that.
"Wha- wait, no, it's cool I mean!" Sensing he did something wrong, Stanley quickly scrambled to fill his mistake. For some reason it doesn't feel like it's the first time he's done this. "You're definitely owning it with this rugged good-bad guy look you've got goin' on. Though, now that I mention it, all of you guys look pretty roughed up." He scratched his chin and looked around their house again. "Must be this house, half of it's living outside. Nice place, but probably not convenient to have squirrels in your kitchen while you're cooking unless one of you is secretly a princess and you're not tellin' me." He pointed to the woodland infested kitchen that had tree leaves, roots, bushes and various animals scattered all over it. Some squirrels had already gotten into the canned meat. Unfortunately for Stan things just got more awkward when he didn't get the reaction he was expecting. They all just kept staring at him with these sad, glistening eyes, and it was so painful to watch it was gonna make him melt through the floor if they kept it up for too long. One thing that certainly melted was his smile. He was getting pretty tired of this, it was getting old fast.
"Alright, that's it. You guys can either keep staring at me like I died, or we can spend whatever time we have left together being happy and fixing this place up. I don't know what happened to me or to you or to whatever happened in this house, but I do know that I don't wanna spend the rest of my days feeling all sappy over something I've never even been through, and I don't want that for you guys either. Let's make the most of our present situation while we've still got it, capiche?" He stood from his chair. "Now I'm gonna go find a broom. If this is really my house, I have my work cut out for me." Now the problem was finding out where the brooms were stored. Well, it shouldn't take him too long. Maybe.
At first the others reached out to Stan, about to stop him and make him stay with them, afraid if he left their sight now he would never return, but Stan brushed them off and no sooner exited the room. Everyone left behind stood eyeing each other uncomfortably. Soos shifted his cap, Mabel toyed with her hair, Ford fiddled with his fingers. What are you even supposed to do in a situation like this? None of them knew the answer.
"He's still so much like himself." Dipper finally spoke, just wanting to break the tension. "It's like some part of him knows by instinct to try and make people feel better when they're upset. I guess he is still our Grunkle deep down, no matter what changes."
"Well, yes, that only makes sense. He lost his memories, not his personality." Ford intercepted. "However, personality is shaped by memory...My hypothesis right now is that because the mind was wiped so recently, its ashes, even if burnt, are still in there and its smoke hasn't gone out yet." The others exchanged confused glances and Ford cleared his throat. "Figure of speech." He clarified. "What I mean is that he hasn't lost himself completely because he was still himself only a few hours ago. Even if he doesn't have his memories anymore, he still has his personality that was shaped by them. It's like a footprint in the mind, if you will."
"So, does that mean it'll eventually fade away too..?" Mabel asked quietly, running her fingers through her hair now to calm her nerves. Ford regarded her sadly before gently stroking his chin in thought.
"I...I'm not entirely sure. It might. My partner Fiddleford lost himself a long time ago, one of the side effects of the memory gun, but that was after years of overuse. Stanley's only had the memory gun used on him once, so he can't be that far gone." Ford answered thoughtfully. A twinge of guilt sprang in him when he thought of his old friend. To think he caused that.
The twins shared a small sense of relief. At least they still had that. At least there was some fragment of their broken relative they could hold onto. They heard some clanking and metallic banging sounds in the other room, and Stan's exclaimed 'ah-ha!' Then another giant bang and Stan's yelp. Despite their foul moods, they all couldn't hold down a snicker.
"Maybe we should go help the guy out." Dipper suggested. "If we help him clean, we can talk to him more and learn more about his condition."
"Already on it, hambones." Soos called from behind himself, jiggling his keys to a storage closet.
"I'll...help too." Ford agreed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a laser gun that had a controlled fire option. It's what he used to shave himself. He figured it would be more efficient to just burn away all the debris that could be safely burned instead of inevitably throwing it away.
-
Finding out your Great Uncle sacrificed his mind to save everyone else and he'll never be the same person again is more than perfect excuse to spend the rest of the day lazing about. Heck, it would justify spending the rest of your Summer locked away moping in your room and ruminating over the cruel and unfair judgements of nature, never wanting to come out. That's how most of the Pines family felt. However, the reality is that the world almost ends and then it keeps going. Whether Stan even remembers it or not, he's never stopped for any obstacle, not even enough to size it up and think about he could tactfully scale it. A 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' type of guy, he didn't believe in excuses, both for himself and for other people. So he lost his memories, big deal. What's the point in getting all sappy about something he doesn't even remember? Even if everyone else wanted to hide away, Stan would have eventually pulled them out of their rooms, one by one.
As it turns out though, helping Grunkle Stan clean the shack hadn't been a bad idea after all. The productivity led to exercise which in turn pumped out dopamine, leaving them all in chummier spirits after a while. Stan appreciated the extra help, his old bones were simply not agreeing with him (That was NOT fun to find out!), and each swish of a broom and wipe of a towel cleared out any lingering tension along with the dust. They had started with cleaning out their living room, Mabel swept out the fallen foliage, Soos vacuumed the carpets and washed the walls afterwards, Dipper cleaned and polished all of the furniture, and Stanford discarded everything that was broken or unusable. The only thing he kept was a broken bottle with a boat inside, which he tenderly held in his hands to observe, rubbing the dust off with his fingers, before gently placing it back where he found it and moving on. He wasn't that one who bought that back when he first lived here. Or maybe stole it, in Stan's case. Briefly, Ford wondered what things would have looked like now if he had chosen that life, but decided he shouldn't dwell on it any longer. There was work to do.
After the first twenty or so minutes of stiff silence, Mabel, ever the extravert, could no longer hold in her voice that demanded to be sung. With her magnetic personality it was never hard to create conversation. She could think of something totally random to say, and when that didn't work she'd drop it and move onto the next greatest sensation her mind could fathom like a dolphin hopping in and out of the ocean. Eventually the family fell into a rhythm of storytelling with even the occasional banter. Soapy suds and splish-splash sounds of water filled the room as each unearthed personal stories, either from the Summer or their lives in general, that the others weren't there to witness. When Mabel first got her braces and nearly blew up the microwave trying to find a way to make "brace-safe popcorn that also happens to have loads of sugary syrup and gummy candy on top." The house reeked of burnt, melted gummy bears for weeks. And she still ate it. When Dipper, wanting to impress a girl he liked back in elementary, spent roughly an hour writing out all the digits of Pi he could remember on the school's chalk board, but by the time he finished some other kid had already asked her out (he invited her to get ice cream after school with his mom as chauffeur and ride their bikes around the park). It was his first tragic heartbreak. He'll never be the same again. When Stanford nearly failed a test for the first and only time in his life and it was actually Stanley of all people who swooped in and helped him through it (it was P.E.). That time Soos downloaded a dating sim on his computer and the girl in the video game was actually sentient and became a crazy obsessive stalker and tried to kill-
"We know Soos." All three intercepted at once with a groan.
"Haha, oh yeah." Soos laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.
Regardless, all that mattered was that it was entertaining Stan, who was certainly having a good laugh at all their funny stories as he stood on a ladder correcting his crooked photo frames, save for the occasional heckle over how they handled his seemingly priceless possessions. They were a family. They were getting along, like a family. It made him want to share his stories to so he could be included, but of course, when he searched his mind he couldn't find anything aside from a spark of memory here or there that crackled and burned away as quick as he felt it. It bothered him, left in him a confused, lonely silence for a few seconds, staring at his reflection in the polished glass of a picture frame before quickly re-joining the other's happy moods so none of them would notice anything wrong.
After a few hours the living room was looking pretty good, still in rough shape, but at least all the major leaks and cracks were cleared up or covered over. The house was at least slightly more functional now and that's all they cared about. It was Soos to thank for most of the work, always so trusty with a hammer and a wrench. He learned from the best, after all. Still, the majority were worn and beat from their hard day's work, so they all decided to call it a day and treat themselves to dinner- well, at least some pitt cola and whatever they could scour in the refrigerator and pantry that wasn't destroyed or perished. Ford only helped himself to some coffee, well accustomed to not eating. Honestly staring at food just made him want to hurl sometimes, it soured his mood, especially today. Watching him keep to the shadows and quietly sip his mug Stanley frown, his eyebrows knitted in frustrated concern and he didn't know why he had an urge to nag this guy he hardly knew to eat more. He wasn't the old man's mother or anything, must be some leftover brotherly instinct that some memory forgot to pack on its way out. Stan decided he was going to boil it down to empathy instead, that was easier to choose.
Dipper and Mabel laughed around the kitchen, using some stale bread they found for a sword fight. Those kids deserved a better meal, a better house than what they had. What the Hell did Stan do to mess this place up so bad, is what he immediately thought to himself. They mentioned something about going back home soon during their initial flip through the girl's scrapbook, and Stan just hoped the shack wouldn't be in this much disrepair by then.
-
Both Stan and Ford collectively agreed it wasn't safe enough for the twins to sleep alone in an attic with broken floorboards and loose wood beams, so after Soos retired home, and after showering and getting into their pajamas (well...Mabel was the only one who actually changed her clothes), the twins were rolling out sleeping bags beside their Grunkle's old chair in the living room.
"Eee! I've never even thought to have a sleep over with my own family! The closest we ever got to that was New Years!" Mabel bounced and shook her fists with excitement. "This is gonna be so fun! We're gonna watch movies and- oh! OH! DUCTECTIVE! Grunkle Stan, you get to watch Ductective for the first time again! And then after that- The Duchess Approves!!" She squealed. "Trust me, you're gonna love it!" She shot back at Stan's confused look. "We'll make popcorn- and I'll eat it and it'll get all stuck in my braces and I'll have to pull the kernels out with tweezers and we'll braid each other's hair and play truth or dare and stay up all night until we inevitably all fall asleep at 2am!!!" She continued plotting her evil plan.
"Yeah, that sounds nice and all, sister, but y'know unfortunately for you the Used-To-Be-About-History channel is playing a docu-marathon tonight and..." Dipper cockily took his arm out from behind his back with a smug grin. "...I've got the remote." He reveled in his sister's betrayed gasp.
While the twins argued and wrestled over the remote, Ford came in carrying a stack of books piled so high he had to tuck it under his chin to keep it from falling. He barely acknowledged the kids' all-out war for the TV as he set them down before sitting on the floor himself. Stanley scanned him up and down and cocked a brow.
"That's a whole lotta books for one night." Ford chuckled.
"Oh, this? It's nothing. I'm a fast reader. Give me two hours tops and this pile will at least be halfway down. At least. You know that." He checked himself. "Well, you used to." He muttered awkwardly. A particularly loud triumphant war-cry from Mabel had both of them turning their heads, watching the battle in front of them.
"I should record this. It would go viral on YouToo and make a ton of money." Stan joked. "That wasn't a joke." He said to the narrator.
"Should we...interfere?" Ford suggested. Stan waved his hand dismissively.
"Nah. They'll wear themselves out. Then we won't have to play truth or dare."
"That's true."
The kids settled on a compromise forced upon them by Stan, who eventually grew tired of their whining. For every three episodes of Ductective, they got to watch one documentary. Sounded like a fair trade. They got through five episodes and one documentary before the siblings were tangled around one another and fast asleep, an empty bowl of popcorn next to them that Mabel still had one hand in.
Ford had finished his stack of books, a lot of them unfortunately outdated after thirty years of new information and scientific discoveries. Now he and Stan sat on the floor together talking under their breaths like how they did when they were children trying not to wake their parents. Ford told Stanley stories about when they were Dipper and Mabel's age, and Stan listened, having nothing else to say or add. He also told some less happy stories, like some snippets of Stan's homeless life (Ford knew he was going to lose sleep over the guilt of how little he knew) and stories of his early years at Gravity Falls in the '70s. He had just finished this one funny story where, as a kid, Stanley told Ford he miraculously managed to fall flat on his face and break both his tooth and his glasses at the same time.
"You had this huge bruise around your mouth yet were smiling such a wide toothy grin like you were proud of yourself." Ford laughed.
"Probably cause I knew I was gonna get paid my weight in gold by the tooth fairy that night." Stanley retorted back with a snicker, which made Ford chortle some more. He wiped a stray tear from his eye and exhaled. When his laughs simmered down but smile lingered, he looked back at his brother, observing him.
"Heh, it's funny."
"Huh? What is?"
"Even after everything, you're still so you. I almost forgot you lost your memories." Stanley...didn't have an answer for that. It dawned on him then that Ford's been talking to a different person this whole night, immersing himself in a fantasy. He didn't want Stanley. He wanted his little brother back. Stan's smile dropped a little, but he propped it up just for the sake of keeping Ford's own in his sight.
"You know...I've been thinking." Stan twiddled his fingers. "You said I had a rough couple of years when I was out by myself, probably my fault-"
"It wasn't your-"
"and it sounds like my life in general was nothing to hang up in the hall of fame. You said Dad thought I was a screw-up, right?" Ford also said Dad was wrong, but Stan conveniently glossed over that part. "Yeah, I don't remember anything, but I don't remember how bad I used to have it either. How bad I used to be. And I don't know, it feels...good. It feels good not to remember." Stan explained slowly. Ford felt chills and a nauseating sense of deja vu crawl down his spine. "And...ya know, if there's nothing good about me or my life to remember that I don't have right in front of me now, then I don't wanna remember." He shrugged. A lump formed in Ford's throat and his eyes turned shiny. Stan immediately regretted his words when he saw Ford's face.
The one thing about Stanley that would never change was how he thought about himself.
"Don't say that." Ford whispered. Stan rubbed the back of his head.
"Look, I'm sorry-" Stan began to apologize, not knowing what else to say.
"You don't have to apologize." Ford cut him off gently. He shook his head. "I've decided." He inched closer to his twin and gently took his hand, encasing it with his own six fingers. He looked down and sucked in a breath, before his brows furrowed and he met Stan's gaze again. Stan stared back expectantly.
"I'm going to save you, Stanley Pines." Stanford quietly declared, eyes intense as he squeezed his brother's hand. "I promise I'm gonna find a way to get you back. I'm a Scientist after all, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. And I wouldn't be doing my job as your older brother either." His voice slipped with the last sentence and part of his face quickly rearranged to attempt a reassuring smile, maybe more for himself than for Stanley. The end result was a wonky, unconvincing but appreciative grin. Stan initially flinched from his sudden proclamation, something he didn't expect to hear, but then he snorted.
"I think my family's full of kooks and quacks." Stanley simply replied, his smile much more at ease, and luckily that made Ford loosen up, breaking into small laughs himself. Even he must have known how cheesy this was. Finally, Stan was getting laughs out of people. That's all he's ever wanted since he woke up in the woods, after all. "Guess I don't have anyone else to trust though, do I?"
An hour later and Stan was asleep on Ford's shoulder. He was starting to drool, but Ford didn't really mind. He missed this, missed him. Ford was always the last one to fall asleep and the first one to wake up, so he was used to watching over his unconscious family. He thought to himself, briefly, that maybe they could rebuild from here. Stan was still so much like himself after all, and he had such a goofy, captivating personality it was hard not to love him once you got to know him. The gaps of his memory would never be replaced, yes (Ford was determined to change that, he WAS going to save his brother, he just knew that he was destined to do this) but it could be filled with new ones. This tragedy didn't have to define them.
He was too naive.
-
Ford awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning to grumbling and someone shifting their weight beside him. His mind easily deduced Stanley's presence, of course. He blinked himself out of a stupor, and turned his head over to check on his brother. Stanley's head kept thrashing back and forth. His brows were creased and face crumpled as sweat began to form around his face. Ford glanced down, and Stan's hands were gripping his own arms like they were the only thing left to hold onto. Fingernails were digging into flesh, and they were sure to leave a bruise if he didn't let go anytime soon. Ford has seen Stan's night terrors before, so this was nothing new. He was more surprised that Stanley still got them with his memories gone. What could he be dreaming about if he had nothing to be scared of? Well, either way, Stan's behavior was very run of the mill. Tensing up, mumbling to himself, maybe crying if the nightmare was bad enough, all typical. Ford gently brushed his hand against Stanley's shoulder, planning to soothe his brother back to sleep.
And then his eyes started glowing.
Ford quickly retracted his hand and his mouth involuntarily fell open in a slight gape. His glasses were crooked on his face and he had to re-adjust them to really see what he was looking at. Stan didn't only look distressed, what with his twitches and cricks. He almost looked like he was in pain. His movements were slowly growing more erratic, his grunts and groans getting louder as his body twisted itself into deranged contortions. He kept his eyes screwed tight, but for all the few rare seconds he opened them...they glowed blue. At least that discouraged any thoughts of Bill Cipher's existence in Ford's mind for now. But there was still a huge problem at hand, and Ford was clueless. He's never seen this before.
"Stanley...?" He asked into the night air. 'Stanley' didn't answer, but he did begin to speak...in Spanish. Since when did Stanley know Spanish? Did he learn it while he was homeless? Ford concluded in less than a second that the memory gun didn't affect language, otherwise Stanley wouldn't have known how to speak English either.
For all the alien languages Ford spoke, he hadn't needed to use Spanish in 30 years so he may have...forgotten most of it. He hadn't a clue what Stanley was saying, but when he started fearfully yelling about some man named Rico he woke the kids.
"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper groggily rubbed his eyes, but seeing the display in front of him all sleepiness wore off him immediately, replaced by his well-known anxiety that twisted and churned in his stomach. "W-what's going on?!" Mabel was sat up straight in an instant, wide awake, staring at their Grunkle with just as much fear and worry.
"Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Stan, snap out of it!" She yelled as she pushed herself up and began running towards him.
"Don't!" Ford cried out immediately, and thankfully Dipper grabbed her arm and pulled her back in time, much to her frantic protest to be at her hero's aid. "I-I don't know what's happening or what's causing this, but you're putting yourself in danger being near him right now!" That was true, what with the way he was flailing about, and maybe Ford was a hypocrite because he was still sat right next to his brother but damnit that was where he was going to stay if he had anything to say about it.
Dipper got up and scurried into a different room, and moment later came back with all of Ford's journals in his arms. Soos had found them earlier that day, untouched and good as new, one of the reverse effects of Weirdmaggedon. They decided it was best to keep them, just in case. He barely got back to his spot before one slipped out of his grip and tumbled onto the floor. He bent down, letting the rest of them fall and began furiously flipping through its pages.
"I-I-I can't find anything about this! The closest I can find is that one enchantment that allows a person to enter someone else's mind!" Dipper's panic was making his stutters bad, and Mabel tried to comfort him quietly all while continuing watch. "Could someone possibly be in his mind?? But that doesn't make sense!"
It then suddenly clicked for Ford.
"It could be a memory lapse." He hypothesized, reaching over to steady his brother by the shoulders. "He must be re-living a bad memory! Could this be a side effect of a memory wipe?" Has Fiddleford experienced this behavior before? If Gravity Falls really does have a secret society of amnesiacs, then why weren't people having episodes like this constantly? The pieces just weren't coming together, but there was no time to analyze.
Stanley began hyperventilating in his (dream? nightmare? memory lapse?) which certainly didn't ease the other's fright, and then, through gritted teeth...
"Stanford..." A weak cry for help. Everyone went silent, staring alarmingly at their relative. Stanley hid his face and began to cry. His hands reached to cover and protect his head and he curled himself into a tight ball, a desperate attempt to make himself smaller from whatever threat he saw behind those eyes. What was he possibly envisioning? Most mysteriously, he called out for his brother of all people...like he actually remembered him. "Ford..." He grated again. "Help, help, help..." Stanford truly didn't want the kids to see this, to watch their strong Grunkle break down and show them a side of himself he had purposefully kept hidden to protect them. But now it was too late.
"Stanley...?" His brother answered from the distant echoing void. "Hey-hey, Stanley, it's okay. I'm here-" He reached out again to touch Stanley's back-
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" He roared, and Stanford reeled backwards. He began to rapidly speak in Spanish once more, pleading and bargaining things to people who weren't there and couldn't understand what he was offering to them in exchange for his life. It was better they didn't know anyway. His body shook and his fingers trembled, and all Stanford could do was watch helplessly and stay by his side like a lost puppy. He felt something poke his arm from his free side and swiveled around quickly to face Dipper. He had the third journal in his arm and a pen in his other hand that he held out to Ford.
"You're the author of the journals. Document this." He ordered, his voice shakier than he would have liked it to be. The boy was right, this was the only thing he had control over right now. What he needed was to ease his emotions, not let it run tyrant. Ford hesitantly took the journal and flipped it to a fresh page. It was going to run out of pages soon. Dipper had spent some time after dinner writing in it, and he already mentioned Stanley's permanently lost memories. Ford had wanted his last pages of this book to end on a hopeful note. He had spent so many years fancying himself a hero, a lone savior, even a martyr. And now Stanley deserved that title more than him, but what could he say that wouldn't spill into endless feelings of despair and regret? All the things he couldn't say to Stanley, he began to write in his journal. He documented what was happening in front of him, of course, detailing Stanley's behaviors and speech patterns and listing all the different hypothesis his mind had immediately conjured. He'll add an illustration later, if he can stomach it. And then, in the name of science, definitely science, he poured his emotions onto the paper. The fear he felt, the grief, the longing. Stanley had this incredible mind that Ford had only just discovered after all this time, and something that was as valuable and breathtaking as crystals was now shattered beyond repair and he didn't even begin to know where to pick up the pieces. How was he going to help his brother through this? He didn't even know how to snap Stanley out of whatever this was.
He didn't need to. A few minutes after he clicked the pen and shut the book closed, the glow in Stanley's eyes began to fade away, and slowly, Stanley stopped muttering vague threats and pleads in Spanish, in fact stopped saying anything at all. His breathing slowed and relaxed, and everyone thought he had fallen back asleep when his eyes opened and he looked around him confusedly, rubbing the back of his head.
"Crap...my head is pounding..." He groaned.
"Grunkle Stan!" The twins both cried out at once and bolted in to hug him, relieved and worried tears slipping down their cheeks as they relayed how scared they were and asked what just happened. The Stan in question simply sat there aimlessly and stared at these two kids who appeared out of nowhere. He didn't hug them back.
"Stanley, are you alright? What was that?" Stanley turned around when he felt a hand gently rest on his shoulder. He glanced at the hand briefly but then did a double take. Six fingers? That was odd.
"Stanley?" Stanford repeated his question more firmly but this time his voice was slippery with dread. Stanley gazed at Stanford, then back at the two children clinging onto him for dear life, and then around the house like he was seeing it all for the first time.
"Who are you guys?"