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a-solitary-marshmallow · 2 years

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Empty grave, empty gaze

Gasp! Could it be? A new fic???

I’m gonna be honest, part of the reason I haven’t been on Tumblr so long is that I got a new hyperfixation that’s taken up most of my brainspace. Now I’m finally gonna start writing for the new fandom! Yes, it is the Dream SMP. Don’t judge me.

Anyway!

________________________________________________________________

He didn’t think Dream meant for this to happen.

Now, Tommy could be wrong, but the way the man was screaming and throwing things against the wall kind of spoke for itself. Normally he would poke fun at Dream for having a temper tantrum, but at the moment he was rather focused on staying hidden. He huddled under familiar fabric, shaking, trying not to whimper at every crash and yell.

From the sounds of it, Dream had trashed just about everything in the tiny obsidian cell. Glass crunched underfoot as the man paced around and around, muttering obscenities under his breath that even Tommy would hesitate to repeat. He’d even kicked Tommy’s hiding place a few times, pushing it uncomfortably close to the waterfall of bubbling magma that kept them trapped in the tiny obsidian box. Tommy bit back a whine at the thought.

It was hot under layers of fabric, swelteringly so, and hard to breathe – his breaths came in tiny, shallow gasps that shook his small frame – but he had never been more grateful for Ranboo’s jumper. Tommy had stolen it weeks ago, taken it right from Ranboo’s hands because the guy had a spine like a jellyfish, and – sue him, it was big and warm and the sleeves swallowed his hands, so he kept wearing it. He wore it for comfort the day he came to confront Dream one last time, and he had been wearing it when Dream slammed his head into the obsidian walls, and now it hid him as he tried to curl into himself completely.

Tommy flinched at another hoarse yell, ears pressing against his head as if he could block out the sound. The volume sent alarm bells ringing in his head, some corner of his brain yelling for him to run-hide-danger-predator-freeze. It was hard to breathe in here. His hiding spot was damp, clammy, its skin warm only from the heat of the room and slick with blood. He tried not to think about the fact that he was hiding against his own corpse.

“Motherfucker,” Dream snarled – he sounded further away now. Had he moved? Tommy didn’t dare peek out to check. Dream didn’t seem to know he was there and Tommy didn’t plan on him finding out.

He didn’t… really know how he was there at all. One moment Tommy had been in the void, time slipping through his fingers like sand, and the next he was blinking awake, cocooned in fabric and pressed against the unmoving chest of his own body. He was something small, with a tail, and fur that was pressed out of shape with how tight he was curled up against his own collarbone. Was he some sort of fucking… raccoon? He had little clawed hands, currently clutching at Ranboo’s jumper. Cats and squirrels and shit didn’t have little hands, did they? They had fucking… paws or something.

Whatever. It didn’t matter what he was right now, because when he got out of here he would figure out some way to be a human again. Sam couldn’t leave him there forever, right? Eventually the warden would come and get him out – Sam promised he would get Tommy out, and Sam Nook always kept his promises.

He’d also promised to keep Tommy safe. He’d promised that Dream wouldn’t hurt him, and look where Tommy was now. Dead, or at least, he had been. In the body of a racoon and still trapped in this godforsaken cell, his tiny heart thundering so hard in his chest he was half worried he was having an aneurism, the terror of a small rodent sending shivers running through his frail body.

Tommy curled his tail around himself and tucked his nose under the chin of the ever-stiffening corpse that used to be him. It smelled of blood and death.

“Fucking – fucking Schlatt and his fucking revive book.” There was a thud, probably a fist hitting the wall, and Dream screamed through his teeth. “Doesn’t even fucking work!”

Well, it kinda did? Tommy did not speak up on his thoughts, opting instead to tremble silently. If he just stayed very quiet, and very still, he would get out eventually. Right?

_______________________________________________________

Tommy must have dozed off sometime in the next few hours, because he jolted awake at the clanking of heavy footsteps. Dream didn’t have armour, he didn’t have shoes, the only person who could be approaching was-

“What the fuck did you do?”

The footsteps stopped and Sam’s shaking voice filled the cell. It echoed off empty walls, frighteningly loud in the quiet that had fallen. Only the bubbling gurgle of lava answered him. Tommy shook, half of him desperate to run to Sam, the other half frozen in terror because Dream was right fucking there.

“Answer me,” Sam continued, his voice hardening. “Dream, what did you do?”

Still no answer. Sam’s heavy bootsteps started again, heading past Tommy’s hiding spot towards where he knew Dream was.

“WHAT HAVE YOU FUCKING DONE?”

“Screw you!” Dream snarled. Armour clanked, a quiet sizzling noise filling the tiny room, along with the smell of gunpowder. Sam let out a rattling hiss.

“Get back before I make you,” The creeper hybrid growled. Slowly, there was more shuffling.

Tommy almost squeaked when his hiding place moved, the body he was curled up against being lifted into a pair of arms. Sam didn’t seem to notice because he held Tommy’s body close, that dangerous hissing noise still emanating from his chest.

“Where are you taking him?” Dream demanded. “I’m not done with-”

“Shut your mouth.”

Dream was quiet.

“I’ll be back to deal with you,” Sam said quietly. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was a promise or a threat. Maybe both.

They were moving now, lava bubbling and redstone clicking and clunking. The air smelled like gunpowder and ash. Tommy stayed very still in his hiding place, invisible under the lumpy jumper of his own corpse.

He should come out now. He should show himself, let Sam know he was alright, but for some reason Tommy couldn’t make himself move. Maybe it was the dangerous hissing. Maybe it was the way his hindbrain screamed, making his joints lock up in terror (big-big-danger-predator-stay-still-stay-safe). Maybe it was the heat steadily swelling in his gut.

Because Sam had lied to him.

‘I’ll get you out of there, Tommy’. ‘I won’t let him hurt you, Tommy’. ‘I’ll keep you safe, Tommy’. What a pack of bullshit. Sam had left him in there with Dream – had fucking watched on the security cameras while Tommy was beaten to death. Now he was in a body he didn’t know, not even a person anymore, and Sam had broken his promises and Tommy should have known better than to trust him-

Sam placed him down on a flat surface – Tommy didn’t know what, he couldn’t feel what his body did, couldn’t see through its eyes. He just clung on and listened.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” His voice rose into a scream and his heavy footsteps started again as he stumbled back. Tommy’s ears pricked. There was a loud bang that made him flinch, a door being slammed open, and then Sam’s footsteps faded into the distance.

Tommy caught his breath, barely able to believe his luck. Still, he didn’t dare reveal himself yet. Tommy waited for another few minutes, ears pricked, and when there was still no movement he hesitantly poked his nose out from the collar of Ranboo’s jumper. The air was fresh and cold and he froze, waiting for a shout of discovery.

Nothing. He sniffed the air – blood, metal and leather, as well as the slight tang of gunpowder that followed Sam around. Tommy pushed the rest of his head out and glanced around.

It was dark, only a single lantern hanging as lighting in the middle of the room, but Tommy could clearly see the shapes around him in a weird, grainy greyscale – was this night vision or something? Okay, so being a racoon sucked, but at least there was one upside.

He vaguely remembered this room – the prison entrance. Mostly bare but for the desk his body was currently laid out on.

Tommy crawled out fully, and when he looked down he was standing on his own chest.

It – it was his body, right? Cold and clammy, stiff with rigor mortis. Tommy had never seen his body from the outside. The face he used to see in the mirror now stared past him, bloodshot eyes glazed over and face chalk-white, smudged with soot and splattered with dry blood. Up at his hairline his forehead caved in – through the mess of blood and hair Tommy could see a glint of bone.

His stomach twisted. He lurched back, a strange chittering sound bubbling up from his throat, because he was looking at his own corpse.

Fuck. Okay. Shit. He could process that later, right now he had to move. Get away from Dream and Sam and this whole prison, breathe in fresh air, work out where to go from here. Tommy glanced around for the door.

There, right where he remembered it being. He tensed to jump down onto the floor…

And hesitated.

This stupid body didn’t have pockets, didn’t have any way to carry the shit that Tommy needed to bring with him. His communicator, his weapons, they were all too big to take with him. Tommy bit down a whimper.

He could live for a few hours without his communicator. Wilbur used to confiscate it all the time, back in Pogtopia, and Tommy was always fine. What else did he really need? He was a big man, he didn’t need anything!

But something in his chest was aching, something that cried out about supplies, about hoarding and food and safety, about soft things to line his den (bed, Tommy slept in a bed. He was a person, a human being)

He couldn’t take Ranboo’s jacket, but there was one thing small enough to carry. Tommy pried the bandana from the corpse, tugging at it with his teeth until it slipped free. It was a gift from Tubbo and it no longer smelled like him, but Tommy couldn’t bear leaving it behind.

He couldn’t manage to tie it around himself – these little hands were nimble, but his small arms weren’t flexible enough to wrap the bandana around him – so he settled on grabbing it between his teeth.

The door was unlocked, so Tommy shouldered through and dashed across the grass that surrounded the prison. Dew beaded under his paws and the cold air made his fur puff out and he was running, he couldn’t stop running, not until the sun peeked over the horizon and the prison was a black smudge in the distance. Only then was he forced to slow by the aching of his lungs. Tommy spat out his bandanna and sucked in frigid air, feeling his pulse hammer.

It was… weird, standing in this sunrise. He could feel every blade of grass beneath him, hear birds chirping and wind whispering through the field as clear as bells. Tommy’s ears twitched with every tiny sound. The air tasted like dew, damp earth and new growth, and he could faintly smell… was that fresh bread?

His stomach grumbled at the thought. Jeez, between Dream hogging the potatoes and then being… unalived, and stuffed into the body of a raccoon, Tommy hadn’t eaten the past day. Maybe more, he couldn’t really remember. His instincts chirped food-good-take-hoard. God, Tommy was hungry. He could eat a horse right now.

Okay, first order of business – find whatever smelled so good. There was a village nearby, he’d stopped by it on his way to the prison. That had to be the source of the smell. Once he ate his head would stop being fuzzy and he could find a way to get back to normal.

Tommy grabbed his bandana once again and took off, this time with purpose – following his nose and the smell of baked goods.

_______________________________________________________

Tommy’s memory served him well for once, because past the sprawling fields sat a little village nestled in the prison’s sprawling shadow. The peak of its church stood out against the squat little houses it was mostly comprised of, surrounded by animal pens and cobblestone paths and washing lines strung up between buildings. Tommy crept in the shadows, instincts making him jump and freeze whenever people wandered too close to his hiding places. People were bigger than he remembered – even the children, with their thundering feet and grabby hands, throwing stones large enough to smash his brains out.

There were so many sounds and smells, flooding his head and making him dizzy. And it was so bright! The morning sun shone off cobblestone paths, the villager’s clothes, the pots and fruits and tools being carried and sold at the marketplace. Since when did the world get so big?

Oh, right.

He’d lost the original scent, but there was a new smell making his mouth water – something sweet, pastry-like, that rose above the cacophony of smells in this place. Tommy clutched his bandana in his paws and lifted his head to sniff, trying to work out where it was coming from. Somewhere close by. He poked his head around the corner of the building he was huddled against and peered around the street, whiskers twitching. Villagers milled about and there were a couple carts rolling down the packed dirt path, but it was the shop across from him that got Tommy’s attention. A big sign hung over the door, jumbled with letters he didn’t recognise, accompanied by the painting of a steaming hot pie.

Tommy’s stomach grumbled. He… he should walk away now. Find a safer place to find food. But it smelled so good and instincts he didn’t use to have chirped ‘good-hungry-stockpile-hoard-be-safe-food-survive-winter’.

And then he was darting forward.

Tommy scrambled behind a group of chatting ladies, taking cover in one woman’s skirt, before scurrying low to the ground under a slow-moving cart. Big, big, big people loomed over him and his heart fluttered against his ribs as he darted around legs, half expecting to hear a shout-

He reached the other side and threw himself into a damp bush, trembling. Waiting.

After several tense moments there was no change – the hum of the village remained undisturbed – and Tommy slowly let himself relax.

He didn’t know, exactly, what would happen if someone discovered him running around the village. He didn’t want to know. He’d seen enough racoon-skin hats to guess that it wouldn’t end well for him.

Tommy peeked out from his bush. He was on the sight side of the road now, huddled in a tiny garden next to the pie shop. He… really hadn’t thought this far ahead. He shivered.

A hot breath hit his back.

Tommy whirled, a hiss tearing from his chest, swiping at whatever had snuck up behind him. Something huge loomed over him, hairy and dark, a white stripe gleaming between big dark eyes, something that made his tiny heart hurt from the thrumming. A… a fucking horse. Its head was as big as Tommy’s entire body as it leaned down to look at him.

Prime dammit, he’d completely forgotten about the horse. Tommy skittered back, letting out a breathy warning hiss just in case it tried anything. The horse continued to look at him curiously.

‘You’re tied up, bitch. I could outrun you.’ Tommy’s voice came out as a chitter, which really ruined the effect. The horse leaned its head forward and he flinched inwards. ‘GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!’

It brushed the fur of his back with its velvety nose, huffing softly. Warm breath washed over Tommy’s trembling body, making him catch his breath. It didn’t seem… dangerous? Like, sure, it was large enough to crush him under its hoof, but it seemed friendly. He hesitantly looked up and when there was no negative reaction, reached out to return the nose bump.

Satisfied, the horse tilted its head and started to graze. Tommy stared at its huge head as it picked at grass. It had a strong, horsey smell, bits of hair and hay that tickled his nose, the faint scent of oiled leather and steel and-

Food.

Tommy’s stomach cramped, gurgling. This horse smelled like baked goods and by Prime he was going to find out why. He circled around the distracted creature, careful to avoid its hooves, and soon found what he was looking for – a saddle bag hanging against the horse’s side.

Tommy glanced around, ears flicking. No one was looking. No one would notice a racoon next to a horse, right? Not even if said racoon was stealing from said horse. He just… had to be sneaky.

Bad idea, Tommy’s brain warned. It was quickly drowned out by the hunger. He stretched up on his hind legs, trying to reach the bag, but the stupid thing was too high. Or he was too small. Prime, he hated this stupid body.

He circled around the grazing horse again, searching for something to jump up on. Could he climb the side of the shop to try and get closer? No, it wasn’t close enough for him to reach the bag. He could jump down from it?

Yeah, jump onto a strange horse and spook it. Great way to get himself killed a fourth time.

The horse (who he had named Big Boy) huffed and nosed at him again. Tommy hissed and tried to bat its huge head away but it persisted, nudging at his chest. Well, if it insisted…

He sprang over its head and scrambled up its neck, half expecting the creature to startle and throw him off. Big Boy flinched, obviously startled, but quickly settled down, leaving Tommy crouched on its back.

Huh. He didn’t expect that to actually work.

He crawled up onto the saddle and leaned over Big Boy’s side to get at the saddle bag. It was shut, but only with a latch that he easily pried open. The scent of food was strong, making his mouth water around his bandana. Tommy dropped into the saddle bag.

It was a tight squeeze, but worth it, because there was food in here! Bread rolls, he thought, all packed together in a paper bag he easily tore open. He grabbed the first thing he encountered and shoved it into his mouth, barely remembering to spit out his bandana first.

Tough crust hit his teeth, and then it split open, revealing a mass of warm, fluffy, steaming bread. Tommy chittered happily as he chewed into the bun, up to his eyes in delicious warm bread. His instincts sang. Once there was only crust left Tommy reached for another one, only to find another paper hidden underneath. A bag of apples.

He was too busy crunching to notice that the saddlebag had fallen shut after him.

Tommy only noticed when someone pulled themselves into the saddle, jostling him and making him freeze mid-chew. There was a rumbling voice, somewhat familiar but muffled through the saddlebag, and then Big Boy started to move.

He should be panicking right now. He had no idea where he was going, how far this stranger would travel or what they would do when they found him hitching a ride. But Tommy was really fucking tired and really fucking hungry and, you know what? This may as well happen. At least he got a free meal out of it.

Tommy chewed quietly as Big Boy started trotting, and the rumble of town disappeared into the distance.

#dream smp #tommyinnit #raccooninnit

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 2 years

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You still working on chapter 9 right?

Oh my JEEZ I haven't checked my inbox for a while. Tumblr hasn't been alerting me and I keep forgetting to check :(

Chapter nine is finished and posted, in case you didn't see it! In fact, the whole of Rewind is posted. Hope you enjoy!

#we don't talk about the fact I haven't logged into tumblr for two months #life is busy as hell man #it's cool and all but JESUS #i got busy and just like #forgot about this whole fanfiction account #whoops

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 2 years

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May I please have a link to your AO3 page, I love your stories

Of course! Jeez, I've really been neglecting Tumblr, haven't I? I've been busy with life, getting my license and working my first job, etc. I don't even know when you asked this, sorry!

Here's my AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_solitary_marshmallow

I haven't written fics for a while, but I'm trying to get back into it! Anything I've written will be here.

I'm glad you enjoy my stories :)

#marshmallow speaks #ask

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 11 - Epilogue

“Will I remember any of this?”

Ford paused, hands stilling on his workbench as he considered the question. “…I don’t know.”

Stan swung his legs idly from where he was perched on another table in Ford’s lab, watching the nerd fiddle with his vials. One of them had a glimmering rainbow liquid in it that kinda looked like unicorn blood. “You said when I was an adult we were fighting. Do you think we’re just gonna keep fighting?”

“We’ll always be fighting a little bit.” Ford hedged.

“No, I mean real fighting. Not just arguments and stuff.”

“Then… no, not if I have any say in it.”

:readmore:

“Good.” Stan folded his arms. “Adult me kinda sounds like a jerk, so you gotta tell him I said to be nice. And you’ve been kind of a jerk too, so you also have to be nice.”

“I doubt a grown-up you will follow the instructions of a baby.”

“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Stan found a crumpled piece of paper nearby and lobbed it at Ford’s head. He missed, but it was the thought that counted. Ford let out a huff.

“Don’t throw things when I’m working with chemicals, Stanley. Unless you want me to spill it on myself and also turn into a baby. Then who would cure you?”

“Not a baby!”

Stan didn’t throw anything else, though. Only because there was nothing nearby to throw.

“I honestly don’t know how much you’ll remember.” Ford admitted after a while, twirling a test tube to mix its contents. It looked pretty boring for what was basically a magic potion, just clear and grey. It wasn’t even bubbling. “You might completely forget everything that happened when you were de-aged. In which case, I don’t know how I’ll explain everything.”

“Just start with the story of how I defeated an evil dream demon. It’s the coolest part.”

“It’s the most exciting part of the story,” Ford allowed, “But not the best place to start.”

“It’s the hook! That’s the best part of a story, you know.”

Ford lifted the boring test tube up to inspect it in the light. When Stan looked closer, it didn’t seem as clear – as he watched it was slowly getting cloudier, more silver than grey. He vaguely remembered something about that from science class – did that mean there was a chemical reaction? Or a physical reaction? He could never remember the difference between them.

Ford stared pensively at the vial, and after a few moments Stan cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ford started to turn to him and then hesitated again. “You just have to drink this to go back to your real age. I… hm. Are you ready? Do you want to have something to eat first? Or maybe go to bed and have it in the morning?”

Stan blinked. “It’s gonna make me older again, right? Why wait?”

“Well, I don’t know.” When Stan made grabby hands Ford relented and handed over the vial. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come from the fridge. Stan stared at the thick, silvery liquid and wondered what it would taste like. “When you touched water from the spring of youth you passed out for several hours. The same thing could happen now, so we should move you somewhere comfortable before you drink-”

Stan tipped the vial and swallowed its contents in one big gulp. Ford shrieked.

“Stanley! Why would you do that?”

It tasted kinda like dirty, metallic oranges and Stan screwed up his face. “Ew! Couldn’t you at least make it taste nice?”

Ford retorted something, but the sounds were a bit wobbly in his ears. Stan blinked hard to try and make his vision make sense. It was just a little bit off, fuzzy in the corners of his vision.

“…getting dizzy?” Ford’s voice swam through the air, thick and swampy, like Stan was breathing treacle. “…lie down…”

And then, quick as blinking, he was on the floor. That was rude, for the world to just flip over like that. Everything was clouds and Stan was very, very sleepy.

Something else was said, but he was too far away to hear it.

_______________________________________________________________

When consciousness came – and it did come, as much as Stan wished he could sleep forever, dragging him up from the depths of hazy dreams he couldn’t remember – he knew exactly where he was.

There were soft sheets against his back, the faint whistle of wind through the pines outside, the taste of copper on his tongue. The spare bed felt smaller, now, and when his head shifted his stubbly cheek scratched against the pillow. It smelled faintly like dust.

“Stan? Are you waking up?”

Okay, that was Ford’s voice. But, there was still the possibility that this had all been a weird, vivid dream! That’s right, everything from the last couple days had been a dream. There were no gnomes, no dream demons, and in a moment Stan would open his eyes and be back inside the Stanleymobile.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the assault of light, and saw his brother’s face looking back at him.

…shit.

“Stan? Are you alright?” Ford was tapping his cheek, looking for a reaction. Stan grumbled and brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Hands off the merchandise.” His voice was rough with sleep, and Stan was almost surprised by how deep and gravelly it was compared to the childish squeaking he’d been doing lately.

Ford made a face, somewhere between worried and amused – an expression that Stan was familiar with from the last couple days. Dammit. He just had to remember all that. Ugh, and now Ford would want to talk and get all mushy.

“I’m fine.” Stan repeated, with nothing else to say. He got up on his elbows, and a quick glance around the room confirmed they were in the spare room he’d been sleeping in the last couple days. Still, he asked. “Where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” Ford asked urgently, making Stan blink. “Since you arrived here, I mean.”

“Uh… nothing.” He lied, like a liar. Ford’s face fell.

“…oh.”

Yeah, there was no way he could tell the truth here. He would die of embarrassment if he had to admit he remembered acting like a child and being all…sappy. Ford would look at him all weird and they would have to talk and that was just… ugh.

“Yep! I just remember getting here and then – poof! Nothing.” Stan went for a carefree laugh. “Man, did I get hit on the head with a coconut or something?”

Ford lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking crestfallen. “No, not quite. Do you – remember the argument we had?”

Nope, nope, feelings alert. Stan did not want to delve into that conversation.

“What argument? Probably about you being a nerd, huh? Jeez, am I hungry, you got any food in this joint?”

“Wha-”

Stan was already throwing the covers off (thank god he was wearing a nightrobe underneath, he didn’t think his pride could survive another hit). Ford spluttered as he got to his feet.

“Will you slow down?”

______________________________________________________________

After a couple tests which were obviously unnecessary (but Ford insist on anyway, the nerd) Stan was finally free to pull on some actual clothes and follow Ford to the kitchen. He hadn’t been lying earlier, hunger really was gnawing in his stomach, and he made a beeline for the fridge.

“-and so you were reverted back into a child,” Ford continued. The guy had absolutely no showmanship. Way to lose an audience, Stan muttered to himself as he grabbed the fridge door. He’d told him to start with the demon bit, but noooo. “That was a couple days ago. There have been some – well, it’s been eventful. I doubt you’ll believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“By the way, my friend is on his way.” Ford added. Stan ducked down to inspect the fridge’s contents – at least it was better stocked than when he first arrived. He hummed in acknowledgement. “You – well, I suppose you won’t remember him. You’ll like him though. You did.”

“Is he a nerd liked you?”

Ford snorted.

Stan grabbed a box of leftover pasta and then went in search of a fork. “Well, let’s hope this Fiddleford guy can tell stories better than you, ya almost put me to sleep with the way you tell it.”

When he turned around, Ford was staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realize his mistake – by the time Stan opened his mouth to spew out some bullshit excuse, Ford was pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I didn’t tell you his name!”

“Yes you did!” Stan spluttered. “I mean, how else would I know his name unless you told me, huh? You ever think about that?”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “Stanley.”

“Stanford.” He parroted right back. The staring match continued for a few moments before Ford threw up his hands.

“Unbelievable! You’re such a liar.”

Stan took a large bite of pasta. Because he was hungry, not because he didn’t want to answer. Ford glared at him.

“I should have known you’d try to wriggle your way out of this. ‘I don’t remember’ my ass. What, were you just going to leave and pretend none of this ever happened?”

Stan shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

“Don’t think you can avoid talking with me. We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

‘No, we’re really not’ is what Stan meant to say. Unfortunately, the moment he took a breath to speak he started choking. Ford scowled and thumped him on the back as he coughed, getting bits of pasta all over the kitchen floor.

“Unbelievable.” The nerd said again.

Well, so much for that.

_______________________________________________________________

Stan squirmed under his brother’s glare – the whole ‘pacing and towering over him while Stan sat on the couch like a scolded child’ schtick was uncannily similar to what their mother would do when they earned her ire.

“So.” Ford began. “You remember childhood.”

“Yep.” Stan grumbled.

“Your adult life?”

“Mm hm.”

“The last couple days here and everything that occurred while you were reverted?”

“Mm.”

Ford stopped his pacing to turn to him. “Then why on earth did you try to pretend you didn’t? We even made up!”

Stan buried his face in his hands to try and hide its burning. “I don’t know! I knew you’d try and get all…” He shuddered. “Mushy. Feeling-y.”

Stan could just feel the flat look his brother was giving him.

“Okay, fine, look. You forgave me for breaking your project, I forgave you for being a jerk. We’re good. Now, I’m just gonna head home-”

“You’re homeless.”

“You don’t know that!” Stan looked up from behind his hands to see Ford folding his arms. “I could have a, a house, a mansion even!”

“You have a mullet.”

…okay, Ford had him there. Stan scowled. “What’s the plan then, smart guy?”

Ford’s eyes gleamed, and he immediately regretted asking.

“I’m glad you asked, Stanley! I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last couple days. First of all, the Duskertons are looking for someone to help around their store, and no one in Gravity Falls cares much about credentials – I’m pretty sure the man who works at the post office is just a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat – so your lack if identification shouldn’t be a problem if you’re looking for a job. There’s also Boyish Dan, his family owns a logging company and I’m sure you could get a place there if you wanted. You’re welcome to stay in my house for as long as you need – I’m sure there are some places in town if you want to rent instead, though. If you choose to stay I might ask for your help in some of my research, since Fiddleford has decided to take a break from studying Gravity Falls, which I don’t blame him for.”

Stan blinked, but Ford wasn’t finished, ticking things off on his fingers as he went.

“I’ll also need to keep you under observation for a while to ensure that there are no side effects from the fountain of youth water, so I’ll ask you to stay around for at least a couple days. If you decide to leave Gravity Falls after that period, you’ll need to give me your phone number so we can keep contact. Oh, scratch that, I’ll make a new one – I’m sure I can work up a design that isn’t as flimsy as the current models going around.”

“Uh-”

Stan was saved from having to answer (answer? There wasn’t much of a question but Ford was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t know what he was supposed to say) by a light knock on the door. Ford perked up and rushed to answer it.

“Am I intruding?” Fiddleford’s hesitant voice rang out. Ford shook his head and stood aside to usher the smaller man inside.

“Not at all, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on Stan on the couch.

Ugh, he was already getting a headache. Now came the judgement. Stan looked like a mess, he knew he did – unshaven, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and ragged hair and old scars crisscrossing his arms. Some small, childish part of him wanted to jump up and hug the guy. Gross. Instead he shoved down the nervousness, stood, and gave him a lazy two-fingered salute.

“…Stanley?” Fiddleford tilted his head, eyes scanning him. Stanley shrugged uncomfortably. It was weird, towering over the small guy like this.

“Hey.”

“Well, you grew up big. The spittin’ image of yer brother.” Fiddleford gave a little smile and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meetin’ ya, officially this time.”

“Eh, you too.” Stan shook the offered hand. It was small, frail, but gripped his firmly.

“So are you stickin’ around?”

Stan hesitated. He glanced from Fiddleford’s earnest face, to his own rough hand, to Ford’s careful expression – the look of someone trying hard not to look like they were listening.

“…yeah. Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick around.”

#rewind #gravity falls #The stans #epilogue

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 10 - A Well-Deserved Rest

Me: "Now that we're reaching the end, the chapters will come a lot faster" :) Me now, a month later, sweating: "Okay so that was a lie"

My bad! Been pretty busy and I completely forgot to update this fic. Welp, hope you guys enjoy the chapter <3

________________________________________________________________

Stan’s awareness came back to him in little bits. The first thing he noticed was what his skin stung all over – like when he and Ford had gotten sunburnt on the beach, back when they first found the Stan ‘O War. It hurt when he moved his face. The next thing that came to him was the feeling of sticks and leaves and snow under his knees. His breaths were rasping in his throat, and sparks pitter-pattered to the ground before him. Ford’s fingers were digging into his arm and there was a triangle-shaped sunspot in his vision where the explosion had burned into his eyes. His heart was pounding, probably full of that chemical Ford talked about one time – ad-reny-lin?

“Oh mah lord!” Fiddleford’s voice sounded, muffled in Stan’s ears, high-pitched and breathless. “Oh my – are you two alright? Stanley, Stanford? Yer okay, right?”

“Um.” Stan did a quick mental once-over. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He tried to wriggle out of Ford’s grip but his brother was holding tight, breaths coming quick and fast. Stan managed to twist around to catch sight of Ford’s stunned expression. His cheeks and nose were a sunburned pink and he stared at where the triangle had just been with wide eyes.

“Ford, let me go.”

“What?” The scientist blinked, before quickly realizing who had spoken and bursting into action. “Stanley! Are you hurt? You were so close to the explosion-”

Before Stan could speak up Ford had adjusted his grip, grabbing Stan’s shoulders to scan him for injuries. Stan took the opportunity to look around. The whole clearing was kinda scorched, snow steaming where Bill had been only moments ago. The smell of burning filled his nose and he wrinkled his face up in displeasure, which only made it sting more.

And there was someone rushing towards them – Fidds! The thin scientist clutched the rifle to his chest with bandaged-up hands as he sloshed through half-melted snow.

Ford was still fussing, like their mother used to when one of them came home with a scraped knee or bloody nose. Stan pushed his hands away (one of which was bleeding through a temporary bandage, what happened to his hand???) “Ford, getoff! I’m fine.”

Ford snatched his hands back, a weird look on his face, before his eyes lit up as Fiddleford reached them. He grinned up at his old friend with something like amazement, and for a moment he looked kinda how Stan remembered him – a kid, all full of excitement and curiosity and shiny eyes.

“It worked. I can’t believe it worked!”

“Ah’m just glad I hit the bugger.” Fiddleford’s voice was still high and reedy – at least, more so than usual. “Look, I’m happy yer okay and all but let’s take this back to the house. Who knows what creepy things are hidin’ out here in the woods.”

Ford stood and the adults started talking about boring things. Stan did not get up yet. He took a deep breath and felt his heart rate begin to slow and suddenly realized that he was very tired.

It seemed kind of… anticlimactic, if Stan was being honest. He was expecting a huge showdown, during the pouring rain or a snowstorm, with fire in the background and maybe some lasers and explosions.

Instead he got a bully of a demon, scraped knees and Ford clutching him like his life depended on it.

Once Stan stood up, he quickly realized that those warm and fluffy boots Bill had created had disappeared alongside the demon, and his feet were numb again. It figured. He could probably walk back, but it would hurt like crazy. How long did it take to get frostbite? If he lost a toe or something it would be pretty cool. Babes loved scars, right?

Then again, seeing how every bone in his body felt like it was made of lead and his eyelids kept drooping shut on their own, maybe he couldn’t walk all the way back. He rubbed an eye with his fist and cast a glance at the two adults nearby – Ford insisting that the other man needed to go to the hospital to get his burns treated, Fiddleford retorting that he, in fact, did not. Fidds wouldn’t be able to give him a lift, not with how both his hands were injured.

Stan cringed. It was his stupid fault that Fidds had been hurt at all – he’d gotten burned trying to fix Stan’s dumb mistake. If Stan had just used his brain, not been such a moron, not messed with Ford’s experiments, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Why did he ever think he could help? Stan was just a no-good ignoramus like Pa always said-

“Stanley?” Ford was looking at him now, concern in his eyes, and Stan swallowed down his shame and instead reached out with grabby hands. Ford choked.

“My feet hurt.” Stan said flatly as a way of explanation. “Gimme a lift.” If Ford really felt sorry for saying all those mean things, then didn’t he owe Stan that much? That was how the adult world worked, right?

His brother had a confused look on his face, something that would have been funny if Stan was not falling asleep on his feet and feeling very cranky. “I – I don’t want to push your boundaries. I know I haven’t been fair to you recently, and if you don’t want me to touch you-”

“Ford I’m gonna get frostbite.”

“It’s – what do you – you’re not wearing shoes!”

_______________________________________________________________

The doctors at Gravity Falls hospital were fairly used to Ford turning up with the strangest injuries. Of course, he only went there when Fiddleford insisted. The man was terrible at following his own advice though, so Ford had to bully him into getting his injuries checked out as well. The only qualified doctor there (he was assuming the pixies that worked out of the hospital’s parking lot didn’t have valid medical licenses) took one look at the party and waved them in with a sigh.

While Ford and Fiddleford faced their treatment, Stan refused to be awake. The child had fallen dead asleep on Ford’s shoulders soon after they left the scorched clearing, and proceeded to snore in his ear the whole way to the hospital. After a quick examination (made more difficult by Stan sleepily waving away the annoyed nurse) he was declared just scraped up and ‘sunburned’. Ford, on the other hand, was subjected to the time-wasting procedure of getting stitches. Honestly, the wound wasn’t even that big! Sure it hurt, but a few painkillers and he would be back at peak condition.

Stan did not wake up on the way home. He also did not wake up when Ford placed him into his bed and tucked the blankets up to his chin. Fiddleford, hovering behind Ford anxiously, peered over his shoulder at the snoring boy.

“Is – is he okay? He’s sleepin’ awfully heavy there Stanford, are ya sure he didn’t hit his head at all?”

Ford let out a snort, fiddling with the bandages wrapped around his injured hand. “Are you kidding? Stan always sleeps like the dead. He once slept through an explosion when I messed up my chemical formulas in high school. His bed had ash on it. When he woke up the next morning he asked me where my eyebrows were.”

Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about wakin’ him up. Come on down to th’ kitchen now – I think we need to have a talk.”

“…about what?”

Fiddleford fixed him with a stare and Ford wilted. “How about the demon ya summoned? All that junk with the portal? How yer brother got turned into a kid and ended up havin’ to shoulder all this? Or about watchin’ me go half mad and not thinking that, just maybe, the whole portal deal was dangerous?”

Ford winced. Fiddleford patted him on the shoulder, lightly – an olive branch extended across the yawning chasm between them. Ford didn’t know how to begin breaching that gap.

“O’ course, you didn’t deserve what happened to you either. So for once let’s put aside the pride and stubbornness and just talk.”

His friend’s eyes were pale blue and determined, and his hands were still shaking, and Ford didn’t deserve this kindness. He nodded.

“Okay.”

_______________________________________________________________

Stan woke up and immediately wished he was still asleep.

His skin stung all over, his face hot and itchy against the pillow he was curled up against. His feet ached and there was a crick in his neck, like he’d been thrown around on a rollercoaster. The sound of light scritching filled his ears – the scratching of a pen on paper from somewhere close by.

Being awake was overrated anyway. He tried to ignore the stinging and burrowed deeper into his blankets.

…nope, he was awake for good now. Darn it.

Stan peered up sleepily, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Ford’s room again? This felt weirdly familiar, like when he’d first woken up in the future. And like that time Ford was across the room at his desk, scribbling away in his fancy journal.

Stan rubbed his eyes and slung his legs over the edge of the bed, carefully dropping to the floor below. It was cold on his aching feet but he could stand, which was a plus! So he probably didn’t have frostbite.

Stan yawned and headed across the room to where his brother was frantically journaling.

“Mornin’, Sixer.”

“Oh! Good morning, Stanley.” Ford clicked his pen and looked around. Stan muffled a shriek.

“Oh geez! What’s wrong with your face?”

Ford’s face was green and shiny and very not normal. The scientist rolled his eyes and explained as though it was obvious, “It’s just a burn gel. I developed it to be far more effective than the regular medicinal kind. Now that you’re awake, you should put it on too.”

Stan let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, no thanks, I think I’m all better now-”

Ford caught him by the shirt before Stan could bolt. He kicked and complained as his brother produced a tube of gel.

“Don’t you dare put that on me, it looks like snot-”

Ford smeared a bit on his cheek.

It… actually made the pain go away. Stan stilled as the cool gel took effect, numbing the stinging of his skin. Ford let him go and offered him the tube. Stan wanted to smack it out of his hands just to stop Ford making that smug face, but his skin really stung…

He took the tube.

“Better now?” Ford said, annoyingly smug. Stan poked his tongue out. “Very mature, Stanley.”

“I’m not the adult! I’m not supposed to be mature.”

“That’s very true.” Ford turned around in his chair and continued writing.

Once Stan was done covering his face in gross-looking gel he stretched up on his tiptoes to see what Ford was doing. The nerd had one of his journals and he was writing in a new entry, a bunch of crumpled-up pieces of paper littering the table. Even if Stan had been good at reading, he doubted he would be able to understand Ford’s loopy scribbles.

“Where’s Fidds?” Stan asked after a moment. Ford reached the end of the page and flipped over to a fresh one.

“He’s gone home to see his family. Now that Bill isn’t a threat anymore he wants to mend bridges, so to speak. I… also need to do that.”

Ford looked around to meet his eyes and ugh, he was going to say something sappy wasn’t he? Stan reached up to try and pull himself onto the desk, but he didn’t quite have the upper body strength and ended up kicking in the air. Ford sighed, brushed his journal to the side and lifted Stan into its place. He swung his legs awkwardly.

“…I have an apology to make.” Ford said eventually. Stan tilted his head. “Listen, Stanley. I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I – well, I haven’t been fair to you. I let anger cloud my judgment for years, I valued that anger more than my own brother. I’m sorry.” Ford lifted a head to rub at his neck, eyes darting around the room but never landing on Stan’s face. “We’ve both made mistakes, obviously, and neither of us is without blame, but… ugh, that’s not how you apologize.” He seemed to pull himself together and try again. “What I’m saying is that I was unfair to you. I was hurt so I hurt you, and I think I may have ruined your life-”

Stan burst out laughing.

He didn’t mean to laugh, honest, but the sight of Ford’s nervous, sincere expression covered in green goo was just too much to handle. He tried to stifle his giggles with his hands, caught sight of Ford’s shocked face, and burst out laughing again so hard that his ribs hurt.

“I – this is funny to you? I’m trying to apologize-”

“No, it’s not that!” The hurt in Ford’s voice made everything a little less funny. Stan opened his mouth to explain, choked on his own spit and went into a coughing fit. It turns out, it’s hard to speak when you’re hacking your lungs up. Ford seemed to take pity on him and thumped him on the back until Stan could breathe again. “It’s just-” Another cough. “You look so funny, Poindexter.”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, and Stan pointed at his own green face to demonstrate.

“We look like ogres and you’re choosing now to be all sappy and sorry. I mean, you gotta see that it’s a bit funny.”

“…I suppose.” The corner of Ford’s mouth lifted and he didn’t look mad, so Stan took that as a win. He paused, trying to understand everything that Ford had just thrown at him. Most of it was just confusing, and Ford really seemed to have decide that the weird dreams were memories even though Stan didn’t get most of them. He wasn’t dumb though. That science fair thing actually had happened, with Stan ruining Ford’s project and getting kicked out. Reaching out to his brother and having the curtains being closed in his face – that had really happened.

As for the rest, all those dark and depressing ones, he kinda hoped they were just dreams. If they weren’t, if they were real, he wasn’t sure he wanted to live through them.

…no, wait. He already had lived through them, hadn’t he? He just couldn’t remember it. Because these were memories he’d lost and was getting back, Ford said so. Stan wondered what kind of person he’d ended up being. Probably cool and badass. With a sword. No, knuckledusters, those were way cooler! And maybe an eyepatch.

He got the sense that a grown-up him with all those memories and experiences would be angrier, but he couldn’t imagine any version of himself turning their back on their brother.

“I mean, I don’t think you ruined my life.” Stan reasoned, making Ford blink. “It was Pa that kicked me out, right?”

“But it was my fault-”

“And probably mine too. I make plenty of mistakes. You remember that time I kinda accidentally stole Pa’s medallion because I broke the case and panicked?”

Ford let out a little laugh. Stan reached out to punch him in the shoulder.

“Look, I dunno, I’m a kid. You gotta talk to grown-up me. But I’ll always forgive ya, Ford. Otherwise I’d be a hip-oh-crit.”

“The word is ‘hypocrite’.” Ford muttered quietly, and Stan could have sworn his brother’s eyes were pink and shiny. He decided to be very cool and nice and not mention it.

“But!” Stan pointed a finger at Ford’s nose and the man went cross-eyed looking at it. “I’m still mad about you being a jerk. You gotta make up for that.”

“…what do you want me to do?”

Hm. Stan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He paused as he thought. “You have to… take me on an adventure! And I get to ride on your shoulders and be tall whenever I want.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it again. Stan fist-pumped triumphantly.

“Yes! No takebacks! I wanna go beat up those unicorns!”

“Sure, Stan.” Ford let out a long-suffering sigh, but not the serious kind – the joking kind that meant he was having fun. It felt nice. It felt like coming home.

#fic #my fic #gravity falls #the stans #rewind #chapter 10

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 9 - A Deal is Made

When Stan ran off, to Ford’s relief – he didn’t think he could handle any more of Bill’s cruelty towards his little brother – the demon didn’t chase after him. After his little display Bill turned to Ford with a wide, unnatural grin and lifted his arms like an actor bowing after a particularly brilliant performance.

“I do a wonderful Stanford impression, don’t I? It’s pretty easy. You’re like a broken record, Sixer, all repetitive and annoying. ‘My science project, my science project!’ But I really think I spiced it up a bit while still staying in character!”

Ford stabbed a finger at the demon wearing his skin. “You – how dare you?”

Bill merely shrugged and rifled through Ford’s pockets, letting out a little ‘ah’ of triumph when he pulled out a pocket knife. “Hah! I didn’t take you for the stabbing type.”

“It’s for self defense!” Ford fumed.

“Sure, sure, don’t wanna get eaten alive by monsters, excuses excuses.” Bill stepped back, sizing up a nearby tree. “I was looking for rope but this will work too.”

“Wait, what are you-”

Bill placed one hand against the tree’s bark and slammed the pocket knife into it, cutting through skin and flesh to bury the knife into hard wood. Ford hissed.

“That should do it!” Bill said cheerfully, watching blood drip down Ford’s wrist. “That looks like it’s gonna be a gusher, Sixer. I wouldn’t take the knife out if I were you. You never know, maybe you’ll bleed to death!”

Ford very deliberately kept his mouth shut about the placement of arteries in the human body. What Bill didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. And getting stabbed through the hand couldn’t hurt that much, could it?

He soon found out, once Bill zipped away and he lunged back into his own body, that it did indeed hurt. Ford bit down a scream and fought to keep his hand still. Every twitch and tremor sent pain racing down his arm and he was very aware of the metal piercing through his hand, sharp edge rubbing up against skin and muscle and nerves.

Ford grabbed the handle of the pocket knife with his free hand (pain pain pain) and wrenched it out. This time he couldn’t smother the scream that bubbled from his lips. He dropped the bloody knife and clutched at his bleeding hand.

Calm. Calm down. He couldn’t help anyone if he was panicking.

Ford fumbled around in his pockets until he found a handkerchief, wrapping it around the seeping wound and tying it tight with his teeth. It wasn’t a long-term solution but it would stop dirt getting under the skin, and hopefully slow the bloodflow. Though the fabric was already getting stained with red.

Move. He didn’t have time to waste, Bill could have caught up to Stan already. Who knew what the demon would do? Ford took off through the trees in the direction he had seen Stan run, every step sending a flash of burning pain up his arm.

By the time he caught up with his brother he was lightheaded, a yellow triangle swimming in his vision – Stan looked so small, so confused in the demon’s shadow. Ford would not fail his brother again.

“STAN!”

_______________________________________________________________

Ford was here. Stan’s gaze snapped up at his brother’s shout, the traitorous part of him whispering, ‘apologize, make him like you again’. He clenched his fists as Ford staggered into sight, looking kinda pale.

“Stan-” Ford caught a tree and clung to it as he struggled to regain his breath. He looked shaky, and Stan ached to go over and make sure he was alright. He took a few steps past the demon despite himself. “Stanley – listen to me, whatever Bill is telling you, it’s a lie-”

“Well well well well well!”

Stan was treated to the lovely sight of the skin on Bill’s back peeling open to reveal an eyeball, his body contorting and turning inside out until he was staring right at Ford with that neon yellow gaze.

“Just when I thought I’d taken care of you.”

Stan hesitated, the word striking a chord. “…taken care of? What does that mean?”

Bill drifted forward, placing himself in front of Stan but Ford looked right past the triangle, staring at Stan with desperation in his gaze. It made Stan’s stomach twist, made him feel guilty and angry and so very confused. He wrapped his arms around himself and backed away, Ford reaching after him.

“Stanley please. I’m sorry – I was stupid and cruel and I treated you badly because I was angry, but you didn’t deserve it. I saw what Bill said to you in my body and it’s not true, Stan, none of it’s true-”

“Shut up!” Stan stabbed a finger in Ford’s direction, glaring at him through tears. Ford didn’t even look scary anymore – just afraid, and that was the scariest thing. Adult Ford was supposed to be big and determined, he wasn’t supposed to be afraid. “Just – just shut up! I don’t even know what you’re saying!”

“Exactly!” Bill’s cheerful tone reverberated through the trees, making Stan shiver despite himself. “The man’s speaking nonsense, don’t listen to him.”

Stan wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t totally stupid either. He could see the ‘shut up’ glare the demon sent his brother. Bill was trying to be his friend, why was he hiding something from him?

Ford pushed himself off the tree to stand by himself, gaze still fixed on Stan. “The eyes, Stanley! What colour were my eyes, when I was saying those terrible things to you?”

“I dunno!” Stan yelled back.

What kind of stupid question was that? Stan didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about how he was a dead weight and a nuisance and how Ford was better off without him. But something – something about that encounter seemed off…

“Answer me, Stanley!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What colour were my eyes?”

“Yellow!”

Wait.

Yellow?

“Please believe me.” Ford stepped closer, holding his hands out desperately. “Bill took over my body and he made me hurt you, more than I already have. He’s evil, he’s trying to take advantage of you and trick you into doing terrible things. And – I know you have no reason to believe me. I know I’ve treated you badly, since you arrive at Gravity Falls and before that. But please.”

Stan twisted his hands, anxiety swirling in his stomach and making him want to barf. He glanced up at the fuming demon.

“You’re all-powerful, right?”

“Stanley no-”

Bill’s body flashed lemon-yellow, his eye curling into a grin as he spun around to face Stan. “Sure I am kid! I can get you anything you want.”

“…anything I ask for? Anything at all?”

“You bet!”

“Stanley! He’s trying to trick you, he’s evil-”

“Oh shut it, Sixer!” Bill snapped his fingers and Ford’s body lurched sideways, sending him slamming into a tree with a yelp. He slumped to the grass. Stan dug his fingers into his palms. “See, kid? When you open the portal I’ll be even more powerful! Enough to give you anything you want.”

Stan looked between the prone body of his brother and the demon, and he made his decision. His hand reached out to snatch Bill’s.

“It’s a deal.”

Blue flames erupted across their joined hands, flicking over Stan’s skin but not burning, warm and tickly. Bill’s eye creased up in a grin.

“I knew you were the smart one! Now come on, name your price! Anything you want is yours, once you open the portal for me.”

Stan frowned, staring at their joined hands. The fire was the least weird thing about these last few days – it blazed warm and blue, spitting sparks every which way. Hypnotizing, almost. It was so much power – not his, of course – but flaming at his fingertips. He wanted it.

Bill released his hand, letting Stan’s drop down by his side. Stan stuffed them in his pockets, feeling the tingle of residual warmth against his skin.

“Well? I don’t have all day!” Bill heaved a sigh, folding his little stick arms. Stan’s mouth tasted sour. “What’s your price? A galaxy all of your own, right? Or a billion dollars?”

“…I want a hug.”

Silence reined in the clearing.

“Are you kidding me?” Bill’s eye hung open in disbelief. “I’m offering you your own galaxy and all you want is a flipping hug?”

Stan nodded. “Yep. And like you said, you gotta give it to me.” He opened his arms. “I want my hug now.”

Bill sighed in frustration. “I’m incorporeal, kid, I can’t give hugs. Why would I even want to touch a fleshbag like you in the first place?”

Stan put his hands on his hips. “You’re just gonna have to be corp-or-real. I know you can, you can touch and move things around! You gotta do the deal or the whole thing’s off, remember?” He scowled. “If I don’t get my hug you can’t use me to open the portal.”

“Ugh.” Bill’s form shimmered, becoming a little more corporeal – enough, at least, to interact with the physical world. The triangle’s ‘face’ screwed up. “Gross. Let’s get this over with already.”

He extended his stick-arms out with a grimace, and Stan flew in to hug him, wrapping tiny arms around the triangular body and squeezing tight. Bill let out a disgusted noise and patted his back awkwardly.

“There. There’s your hug.”

Stan pulled back enough to grin at him. “You give shit hugs.” Then he jammed the magic capsule into Bill’s huge eye.

The triangle-

Screamed.

There was an explosion of light and colour and searing heat that scorched across his face and Stan was flying back, breath knocked out of his lungs. He slammed into something and that something wrapped its arms around him and swung him away from the blast, shielding him with its body.

When Stan’s ears stopped ringing and the spots faded from his vision, the sight that met his eyes made him freeze.

Bill was dripping, fizzling like a dying candle, his eye seeping down his figure and body glitching red in places, showing glimpses of scarlet-colored bricks and bits of muscle and scenes played in sepia like they were being shown on an old TV. The demon lurched towards them, fingers curled into half-melted claws and body pulsing with its deep, distorted voice like an earthquake.

“STANLEY-”

There was the pop of a rifle being discharged and a hole blew open Bill’s body. Something crackled like broken glass, and then the demon

shattered.

#gravity falls #rewind #chapter 9 #the stans #oh gosh this is coming late #we're near the end now #chapters will be coming faster #rip my writing pace #hope you guys enjoy anyway

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 8 - It Gets Worse

We're coming into the endgame, boys! Not much more of the story to go. As always, hope you enjoy!

(I wrote this in a fit of inspiration and it hasn't had much editing, so let me know if you see a typo!)

______________________________________________________________

It took Ford a moment to realize he wasn’t in his body anymore.

He blinked his eyes open, groaning, foliage swimming above him. He couldn’t feel the snow gathering on his skin. He pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair-

And noticed that his body was still on the ground.

Ford cursed and scrambled away, hands scrabbling through snow without disturbing it. “No, no, no-” If he was out here, then Bill-

His body opened one yellow, slitted eye and grinned.

Ford jumped to his feet and stabbed a finger at the demon in his body and tried to control his trembling. “Get out of my body, you- you- monster!”

“Come on Sixer, be creative! Get some new insults.” Bill rose with unnatural jerky motions, one eye still closed and the other a jaundiced yellow. He dusted snow off Ford’s jacket. “Clumsy much? I had a whole plan to lure you outside the barrier but thanks to you fleshbags, I don’t even need it. A waste of perfectly good gasoline, is what I say.” He blinked with one eye, then opened the other one again with a laugh. “Ah, there’s the depth perception! You beings are so primitive.”

Ford ran a spectral hand through his spectral hair, panic rising in his throat and making him want to hurl, if spirits could throw up. “What’s your plan now? Fiddleford will stop you from sabotaging the portal, you can’t hide those eyes!”

“True.” Bill pulled himself to his feet. Even after weeks – months – of piloting Ford’s body he still looked just a little wrong, movements jerky like that of a marionette’s.

“Then – then what do you want from me?”

“What makes you think I want you?”

What? Of course Bill wanted him, Ford was the only one he needed for his plan! Besides, there was no one out here except for Ford, and-

And-

Oh. Oh no.

“You stay away from my brother!” Ford tried to dive back into his body but he merely went straight through. Bill laughed and dusted himself off.

“Jeez, Sixer, paranoid much? I’m not gonna hurt the little brat. Not right now, anyway.” He grinned too wide. It made his face look stretched and wrong. Ford threw a wild punch that phased right through him. Bill let out a laugh and started walking deeper into the forest, whistling a merry tune.

Ford ran.

He didn’t know what else to do – what could he do? He was a specter, only able to watch the proceedings in the physical plane. So he pelted away from Bill’s cheerful whistling in search of his brother. He had to – to warn Stan of what was coming, to do something.

Not having a physical form did have its advantages. Ford didn’t bother to duck around trees and brambles that were in his way. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with his twin. Stan hadn’t gotten far, after all.

“Stanley!” Ford rushed towards the boy-sized lump huddled against a tree trunk. His hand plunged right through Stan’s shaking shoulder. “Oh, curse it – Stan, listen to me! You’re in danger. Bill has my body and he’s coming after you, you have to move!”

Stan mumbled something and for one giddy moment Ford thought that he’d been heard, until he listened closer and understood the words.

“Stupid. Watcha gonna do now? Y’made both of ‘em mad atcha. Ruined everythin’ again. Ugh, what’s wrong with you?” Stan ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and hiccupped. Ford tried to grab his brother’s hands, but he only managed to grasp air.

“Stan – Stan, listen, please – oh, you’ve got to have something I can use!” He looked around for something he could use as a puppet, an avatar, anything. His search came up empty. Damn it, what could he do-

“Stanl-ley!”

“Oh Stan-ley!”

Stan jerked up the sing-song voice in the distance. His feet hurt and his head was throbbing from crying and he was lost in the snow but that didn’t matter, not when he could hear his brother’s voice calling him. His brother who didn’t sound mad anymore!

“F-Ford?” His voice wavered. Dang it, he had to stop acting like a kid! “What are ya doing out here…? Ya came after me?”

Ford did care! He’d come for him! And by the tone of his voice he didn’t seem mad, either. Stan almost tripped in his haste to get to his feet. He scrubbed at his face to get rid of the tear tracks before Ford could see how much of a baby he was being.

Heavy footsteps sounded through the bushes nearby. Why hadn’t Ford called out again? Maybe he was still mad? Stan had hit him, after all.

“I, I’m sorry I was stupid!” Stan searched frantically for his brother in the trees. “I promise I won’t touch your lab space anymore. I’ll be good!”

There! Stan bolted towards the familiar figure that had finally came into view. Ford laughed and knelt down to catch him, holding tight as Stan buried his face in his twin’s coat. Stan sniffled and tried to stop himself from crying again.

“You… you’re not mad at me?”

“Stanley.” Ford pulled back to smile at him reassuringly. “Of course I’m not mad. I’ve long since stopped expecting you to be anything but a dead weight.”

Stan stiffened. His brother’s arms suddenly felt a lot less warm and comforting. He forced a brittle smile. “…what?”

“You were just messing things up like you always do.” Ford continued conversationally. Stan tried to pull away but Ford’s grip was like iron, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

Stan had gotten plenty of bruises before, but never six-fingered ones. He tugged against the hold, chest heaving with panic. “Let go – Ford, lemme go-”

Ford’s grip loosened, letting Stan yank back to fast that he slipped and hit the ground. He scrambled away from his brother, heart racing, as Ford stood. The man loomed over him.

“You know, it’s actually pretty funny.” Ford said as Stan got his frozen feet beneath him and stumbled backwards. Ford’s eyes looked almost yellow in the morning light, and the worst thing was that Stan couldn’t even see any anger in them. Just pleasantness, evident in his eyes and his smile. “How you destroy everything you come across.”

“Ford-”

“Like my science project!” Now, finally, Ford’s face twisted in anger. “I know you remember it, Stanley. I know you know what happened. Tell me, did you plan it in advance? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment sabotage?”

“I didn’t mean to break it!” Stan all but screamed. He balled up his tiny fists and shook. “I didn’t – I didn’t, I wouldn’t! You’re a liar! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t!”

“Oh, but you did.” Ford snarled. “You did and you would do it again, and do you know why? Because you’re a parasite, Stanley. You’re a leech, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

A breeze ruffled Ford’s hair but nothing else, like an intangible fist passed through his face. Stan’s eyes were too full of tears to see it. He could feel Ford’s eyes burning into him, stripping away his defenses and angry words, leaving nothing but the thought that maybe, just maybe, Ford was right.

“J-Just leave me alone!” Stan sniffled and scrubbed at the endless tears pouring down his face while Ford watched with a sneer. “G-Go away and – and-”

“And what? Go back to my project? Let you wander around, making even more messes for me to clean up? No, you’re coming with me.”

Ford reached for Stan’s arm but he yanked it back, stumbling away. Ford’s lip curled and he lunged.

Stan turned on his heel and bolted.

His heart pounded in his ears and breaths rasping in his throat, burning with cold. Ford shouted angrily after him but this time Stan didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop running when Ford faded out of sight, or when he stopped being able to feel his feet, or when he was gasping for breath. He didn’t stop until his chest burned like it was going to explode. Stan staggered to a stop, catching a tree to stop himself falling into the snow. The cold hair burned against his skin.

Why didn’t he bring any warm clothes? His teeth were chattering in his head, he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. His feet were blocks of ice and he was so, so tired.

Stan wanted to go home.

But Stanley pines never got what he wanted. Behind him, a low growl sounded.

Stan’s head whipped around to catch sight of the grey-furred creatures stalking towards him – three of them, ears pressed tight to their skulls and hair bristling, white teeth and yellow eyes glistening. Stan’s scream caught in his throat and came out as a squeak.

“Nice – nice doggies?”

The lead wolf let out a snarl. Stan crouched down and fumbled through the snow for a weapon, eyes pinned to the wolves. He grabbed something solid only for the chunk of snow to crumble in his grip.

What were you supposed to do with wolves? Play dead? Or was that bears? Make yourself bigger to scare them away?

One of the wolves tensed to lunge, but before either it or Stan could make a move a piercing whistle sounded. Stan clapped his hands over his ears to block out the ringing noise. One of the wolves leaned back on its haunches.

“Oi! Get away from that kid, you big lumps.” There was a flash of yellow and then something was floating between Stan and the wolves, making the creatures cower and whine. The giant yellow – dorito? – waved its hand, sending the wolves scattering like ants. They scampered into the undergrowth and were gone in seconds.

Stan’s savior leaned forward, as if checking they were truly gone. Stan tried to step towards the floating thing but hissed as pain lanced through his feet. The triangle swung around. It looked… kinda ridiculous. One huge eye took up most of the space on its form with a little glowing bowtie pinned underneath, a tall tophat hovering above its highest point. Its voice reverberated in his head.

“You must be freezing your toes off! Here kid, on the house.” The triangle summoned a cane to its thin black hand with a flourish. Stan’s feet tingled.

He yelped as cloth wrapped around his feet, and before he knew it he was standing in a pair of thick, warm fur boots. The triangle’s eye crinkled up happily and he floated over.

“…cool.” Stan’s voice came out as more of a breath, and the triangle let out a laugh. It didn’t have a mouth to move but the sound echoed inside Stan’s skull, overlayed like a dozen people were speaking at once. A dozen nasally people.

“Don’t mention it! How ya doin’, kid? My name’s Bill.”

“…Bill?” Stan echoed, wiping half-frozen tears from his stinging face. The same sounded familiar.

“Yeah, that’s my name. Got a problem with it?”

“It’s just… ‘Bill’ is such a normal name. I thought wizard triangles would have fancier names. Like… Xanthar. Or something.”

Bill waved his hand dismissively, shrinking a little bit so that he could look Stan in the eye without his dangling feet touching the ground. “That one’s taken, but we’re getting sidetracked here. I’m no wizard, kid! I’m a muse!”

“What’s a muse?”

Bill let out a huff. “It’s a – you know what? Just think of me like a genie.”

“Holy – a genie?” Stan’s mind raced and he counted off on his fingers. “Okay, my first wish is to have a million dollars. No, a billion dollars! And then-” Bill clapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue. The skin had a weird texture, smooth and glossy like plastic.

“It doesn’t work like that, Stanny boy! You gotta make a deal. More of an ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine’ kinda thing. How about it?”

Making deals… Stan’s eyes widened with recognition and he batted the creature’s hand away.

“Hey, you’re no genie! You’re that Bill demon Ford was talking about!” He stabbed a finger accusingly at the creature, who tilted sideways with a little giggle.

“You got that right! I am a demon. But demons don’t all have to be bad, you know.”

Stan frowned. “Bad is exactly what demons are! You’re trying to hurt Ford!”

“I’m not trying to hurt him!” The demon pulled a hand to what could be its chest, lashes fluttering. “Stanford and I were old friends you know, before he betrayed me. He had the nerve to call me useless, you know. I’m sure you know how that feels.”

“Wha-”

Bill zipped forward to sling an arm around Stan’s shoulders, making him jump. “But you see, I’m actually pretty powerful! Enough to grant wishes, even. Not that Ford cares – he’s selfish, Stan. He’ll use you up until he has what he wants and then he’ll kick you to the curb, all in the name of ‘science’. No one knows that better than you and me.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Oh, I have an idea! Why don’t you make a deal with me? I could make all your dreams come true if you just ask!”

The demon spun away and extended an arm.

“So kid, waddya say?” Stan goggled at the cartoonish black hand stretched out towards him. Bill grinned a salesman’s grin – or as close to one as a triangle with no mouth and only one facial feature could.

“Ford said you trick people.” Stan protested, and Bill shrugged.

“Eh, nothing against old six-fingers, it’s just business. Or it was. See, that was before I knew we could join forces and both get what we want! Picture this, Staneroni – you open the portal and let me into this dimension, I get to start the party, and then I make you a whole new family! I’ll even throw in a Ford 2.0.”

“Uh, what-”

“The brother you’ve always wanted! A Ford that appreciates you, parents that love you, maybe even a promising career in treasure hunting?” Bill swooped down to elbow Stan playfully. “I’m like a genie in a bottle, kid, all you gotta do is let me outta the lamp. Then it’s sunshine and rainbows, or – whatever you fleshbags like. So, have we got a deal or what?”

Stan frowned, rubbing his cold nose. The demon’s words were quick and constant, and rung in his ears, making him dizzy. “What do you want in return?”

“Oh, just a little favour.” Bill seemed to be checking his nails, despite not having nails. “You know that big old machine in your brother’s basement? That’s a portal. Ford decided he didn’t need me anymore so he locked me out of this dimension. All I need is for you to open it so I can come back home!”

“But you’re here right now.” Stan argued. Bill rolled his eye.

“Not really, kid. I can interact with objects and make myself somewhat corporeal, but I don’t have a physical body! I’m weak like this. But if the portal was open and I could come through I would have all my power back! Enough power to give you anything you want.”

Stan’s heart was pounding in his head, making it hard to think. The triangle leaned towards him.

“What do you think, shortstack? I could give you ultimate power. Wanna be president? Or king? Your family would have to love you then! I could give you a new brother, heck, even a whole galaxy all of your own! All you gotta do is open one teensy little portal.”

“STAN!”

#gravity falls #rewind

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Note

After reading all 7 chapters, I Am Going To Scream

That's the intention! Glad you're enjoying it :)

#angell-teeth #gravity falls #ask #marshmallow speaks

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Note

I may have only just finished chapter 4 of rewind but OHHHHH don't you dare hurt this boy

>:D

(Also sorry for the super late reply)

#gravity falls #angell-teeth #ask #marshmallow speaks

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 7 - Mistakes are Made

Oh jeez, I mean to post this days ago but I totally forgot! Whoops.

As you might have noticed, updates are coming pretty slow at the moment. This fic is getting hard to write, due to personal circumstances and shifting hyperfixations, but I will continue it once I’m able to get invested again. Until then, updates will probably be slow. Rest assured, this fic will be completed!

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

_______________________________________________________________

After a few more necessary hours of sleep, which for Ford were deep and dreamless, the construction itself began in two different corners of the lab. On one side Fiddleford dove into making a working prototype of the gun, while on the other side Ford began cooking up ammunition.

Few things could kill a dream demon. Protective unicorn magic could halt one, and the right concoction of ingredients could harm one, but working together they might just be able to kill one. Therein lay the rub – how could the two be combined into a single shot? Luckily, Ford didn’t have his three PHDs for nothing, and he was nothing if not persistent.

:readmore:

By mid-morning he had worked out the necessary ratio of ingredients for the most effective attack power. By afternoon he had created the first prototype, and by late afternoon he had a dish full of them.

The final bullet design had a pill-like appearance, spherical in shape and filled to the brim with cloudy, iridescent magic. They made a glass-like tinkering noise as they dropped into their dish. Ford took a pair of tweezers and lifted one to the light, admiring its shine.

“That looks cool.” Stan said hesitantly from behind him – how long had Stan been being him? Ford yelped and fumbled, nearly dropping the capsule. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working!” Ford snapped. He hurriedly placed the ammunition back on its tray before it could get broken and turned to frown at his brother. Stan, for his part, looked suitably ashamed. “What are you doing down here anyway? I told you, you’re not allowed in the lab.”

“I know, I know!” Stan’s shoulders were around his ears and creeping steadily higher with each second that passed. “Just – I thought you and Fidds would be hungry? You’ve been doing your science thing for ages and I made food, so…”

“Oh.” For the first time, Ford comprehended the tray in his brother’s hands. “Well, thank you. You’re still not supposed to be down here though.”

Stan stood on his tiptoes to lift the tray onto Ford’s workbench. The normally exuberant boy seemed unusually down, stepping back and rubbing his arm after placing down his load, and a twinge of guilt went through Ford. Okay, maybe a little more than a twinge. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Look – Stanley. I need to apologize for my behaviour earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten short with you.”

Stan shrugged and did not meet his eyes. Ford crouched to be at his brother’s level.

“I. Um, those dreams you told me about. Did you have any more last night?”

Stan stared at his feet and mumbled, “No.”

Ford took a deep breath, but before he could speak Fiddleford called out from across the lab.

“Stanford, I could use a hand over here!”

Ford straightened and hurried over to where his partner was soldering parts together. The gun was beginning to take shape on his workbench – maybe the size of a small hunting rifle but thicker, runes scratched into every inch of shiny metal and shimmering with Bill-proof magic. Fiddleford lifted his soldering mask to wipe his damp forehead.

“I already added yer magic wards and the last of that shiny hair stuff, an’ I gotta finish the magazine. Hold the thing steady for me, will ya? It’s delicate and we’re all outta unicorn hair to make another one, so for god’s sake be careful.”

“Of course.” Ford slipped on a pair of heat-proof gloves and steadied the rifle while Fiddleford lined up the parts. He made sure to avert his eyes from the glow of white-hot metal as his friend worked.

“Watcha doing?” Stanley called from across the lab.

“Attachin’ the last piece.” Fiddleford called back, not taking his eyes off the rifle. “Don’t get to close, or ya might get burned.”

“What bit is that?”

“It’s where the ammunition is stored.” Fiddleford explained.

“Oh! Like the shiny things Ford made?”

“Exactly.”

Once the soldering was complete Fiddleford lifted his mask to inspect the job, squinting through his glasses. He nodded to himself.

“Could use a bit a’ fine-tuning, but I’d call that almost done.”

Footsteps sounded as Stanley approached cautiously. Fiddleford grinned at the child, who stretched onto his tiptoes to see the project. “Whaddya think?”

Stan’s eyes lit up. “That looks so cool! This Bill guy isn’t gonna know what hit ‘im!” He looked between Ford and Fiddleford. “Whaddya do with it now?”

“We gotta make sure everythin’ runs smoothly before anything.” Fiddleford pulled off his soldering mask and wiped his sweaty brow. “Ford, would ya get the ammunition? Once this thing cools down I wanna make sure the dimensions are right.” He began pulling off his thick gloves.

“I can do that!” Stan scurried over to Ford’s workbench, ignoring Ford’s cry. He grabbed the dish of capsules and trotted back with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever playing fetch. Ford let out a hiss.

“Be careful with those!” He snatched them from his brother’s hands, heart racing. The ammunition seemed unharmed, but you could never be too careful, especially when there was a child around. Especially when there was Stanley around. He acted so thoughtlessly sometimes, that was the reason Ford hadn’t allowed him down here in the first place!

Stan looked sufficiently ashamed. “Sorry, Ford.”

Ford placed the bullets down very carefully next to the cooling rifle. “Why don’t you go upstairs? This is delicate work.”

“But you guys seem really busy. I can help!”

“No, Stan. This is very important work and you might break something.”

“No, but I’m good at stuff!” Stan protested. “I can carry stuff, and punch people, and get unicorn hair! I can be useful. You wanna move this to a bigger table? I can do it, see?” And to Ford’s horror he grabbed the gun off the table. Ford snatched for it, but Stan had already yelped as his bare hands came into contact with scorching metal and the rifle slipped from his grip.

Fiddleford dove to catch it. He crashed chest-first into the ground and only barely managed to snag it before it was dashed against the floor as well. The ammunition was not so lucky – the dish overturned in the scuffle and pellets skittered every which way, disappearing under surfaces and around shoes. Stan fumbled to try and collect them, but he was only making it worse, knocking them away in his panic.

“Sorry, sorry sorry sorry-”

“I said no!” Ford roughly grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him away from the workspace, ignoring Stan’s yelp. “Every time, every time I think we’re past this you just have to go and mess everything up again! Are you not capable of doing what I say for once in your life and just leaving well enough alone? I told you not to touch anything! You could well have destroyed our one chance at getting rid of Cipher once and for all!”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Stan whined and tried to pull away – dodging responsibility once again, just like always. Ford growled and held him in place.

“Now, Stanley, you– quit squirming! – you will sit down and be quiet and not touch anything else, is that understood?”

“Ford, leggo!” Stan squeaked.

“You are to stay away from Fiddleford and I while we work. I will not have you sabotaging me again, not like you did at the science fair-”

Stan punched him in the face.

It was a weak blow from a tiny fist – it barely hurt – but the shock at having his brother strike him made Ford freeze. Stan ripped from his grip and stumbled back with a whimper that sounded dangerously like a sob.

…oh.

Ford didn’t even have to look at his brother’s pale, tearstained face to realize that he had, perhaps, gone a little overboard.

“Stanley-” Ford couldn’t think of anything to say. What was there to say? Stan looked terrified, and Ford supposed he cut a rather intimidating figure to such a small person. He reached out but Stan jerked away violently from his hand.

Why wasn’t Stan getting mad at him in return? The Stan Ford knew would have yelled right back. Ford could handle anger, but he had no idea how to handle fear.

“Stan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

He reached out again, helplessly. The instant his fingertips touched Stan’s shoulder the child recoiled, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself. But surely he knew Ford would never hurt him?

“No! No no no don’t touch me leave me alone! Go away! I hate you and I don’t ever wanna see you again go away!”

Ford flinched, and Stan took the opportunity to spin on his heel and bolt for the stairs. Ford froze, torn between chasing after him and staying to clean up the mess.

“Ford, a little help!” Fiddleford yelped, and Ford made up his mind. He whipped around and hurried to help his friend lift the rifle back onto his workbench. As he took the weight of the rifle Fiddleford snatched his hands back, wincing at the bright red burns that seared across his palms. “Ouch.”

Ford was careful to keep away from the hot section of metal as he lifted the gun back onto the table. When it was secure he was finally able to take a breath and turn to his friend.

“Fiddleford, are you alright?”

“Ah’m fine, just gotta get these in some water. Where’d Stanley go?”

“I – I don’t know.”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “If he goes outside the barrier-”

There were more words, but Ford had stopped processing them. He bolted for the stairs.

Stan was such an idiot.

He hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes before running into the woods, and he already couldn’t feel his toes from the stinging cold. Well, who cared anyway? He just had to get away.

Stan’s numb foot caught on a root and sent him hurtling to the ground, grating his face and hands on frigid, snowy dirt. He let out a squeaking wheeze as the air left his squashed lungs, letting out little hitching coughs and sobs as he struggled to regain his breath.

Shut up shut up shut up, stop being such a wimp. He pushed himself up on shaky arms and sniffled, rubbing at his nose with a pathetic whimper.

Okay. So, everything was crashing down around him. That was fine. Everything was just fine. He still had – um.

What did he have?

There was something in his fist. Stan sniffed and uncurled his fingers to reveal a tiny shimmering pearl resting in his palm. He stared at it, blinking tears from his eyes.

“What the heck are you?”

Oh, wait. It was one of Ford’s bullet things. Stan’s grip tightened around it, that stupid little ball that was so important to his brother.

He placed it on the ground, climbed to his feet, and lifted a foot to stomp down on it.

And hesitated.

Because it was stupid, but Ford seemed to think these were so important, and Stan just couldn’t crush something that meant that much to his brother. He hiccupped and growled to himself.

He couldn’t do it.

Stan shoved it in his pocket and headed further into the woods.

Stan wasn’t in the house.

A quick, desperate search revealed Ford’s home empty. Luckily a fresh layer of snow lay on the ground outside – a trail of footprints disappeared into the woods and he bolted after them, snatching his coat on his way out. Of all the places to go! The forest wasn’t safe, Ford had to get his brother back inside the barrier where Bill couldn’t reach them-

His foot slipped on wet snow.

Ford barely had time to flail before his legs slipped from under him and his head hit a tree trunk with a decisive clunk.

#gravity falls #rewind #chapter 7

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Note

Just a tip to shorten ur posts (if your on mobile) you can add a readmore thingo like this:

So if you start on a new line and type

:readmore:

And then press return it should work :)

(Also just wanna say I love your writing 💙)

Oh, JEEZ this is a late reply! Sorry, my Tumblr has been acting up and not telling me when I have messages.

Thank you for the tip! I’ll give it a try <3

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 6 - Stan(ford) With a Plan

Ford thanked his lucky stars that Fiddleford had stuck around. He himself was an expert in all things weird, of course, but Fiddleford was the engineer. He knew metal and circuitry like the back of his hand and was all to eager to use that knowledge to design destructive weapons that should probably have never been made in the first place.

:readmore:

They sat together at the table long after Stan had been put to bed, scribbling on loose paper and tossing ideas back and forth. They would have to demon-proof the weapon itself so Bill couldn’t destroy it pre-emptively. Quick firing time and pinpoint accuracy. After a few uses the magic in the gun would burn itself out and render it useless, so every shot would have to count.

At least Ford had enough materials. What with the excess unicorn hair, cannibalized scraps of the dormant portal and pieces of technology scavenged from Crash Site Omega all stored in the basement, they should be able to build this thing whilst remaining in the safety of the house.

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly a gun man.” Fiddleford admitted as Ford scribbled out several calculations. “I can build the thing, but I haven’t the foggiest idea how to hit somethin’ with it.”

“I can. I’m quite adept with a crossbow, and how different can they be?” Ford reasoned. “The principles remain the same. Aim and shoot.”

“I think it might be a tad more complicated than that, Stanford. Will we be able to make extra rounds for target practice?”

Ford circled the answer to his equation and picked up Fiddleford’s design sketch, frowning as he compared the two. “The weapon won’t be able to fire more than a few times before it overloads. We’ll need every shot.”

“Dang. An’ I don’t have enough parts to make a second gun, so we’ll just have to hope for the – Stanley? Watcha doin’ up this late?”

Fiddleford’s tone softened abruptly and Ford glanced to the doorway, where the child in question was standing nervously. Stan fidgeted, trying to smother a yawn with his fist while his eyes skipped across the occupied kitchen.

“I. Uh. I couldn’t sleep.” He mumbled. “Can I stay out here with you guys for a bit?”

“Sure thing.” Fiddleford smiled kindly at the boy and with some hesitation, Stan returned it. He padded over to the kitchen table, yawning again.

“Watcha guys doing?”

“We’re drawing up plans to get rid of Cipher.” Ford explained. He reached down to scoop Stan into his lap.

And Stan flinched.

It was a tiny motion, just a flicker of fear across his face, but it was there. Ford stilled. Stan stared at him with a somewhat guilty expression and shut his mouth with a snap.

Ford frowned. “Stan? Are you alright?”

Stan nodded too quickly. “Um, yeah! I just – I had bad dreams again. And, um. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s made you upset.” Ford admonished. Stan was still cringing a little at Ford’s reaching hands so instead he scooted his chair back, leaving ample room for the child to crawl up on his own if he so desired. Stan leapt at the opportunity and climbed up into Ford’s lap, attaching himself to his brother’s front and half hiding under his coat. Ford couldn’t not notice the way Stan burrowed against him, seeking comfort. “…do you want to talk about it?”

There was no reaction from. Fiddleford spoke up from the other side of the table.

“Y’know, I often find that talking about bad dreams makes ‘em seem less real. It might make ya feel better to just have it out.”

Stan mumbled something that had Ford frowning as he tried to understand. “What was that, Stanley?”

“I messed up.” Stan mumbled again, louder. “I was stupid and Pa got real mad. You were mad at me too.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that.” Ford reassured him. “Right now you haven’t done anything severe enough to make me angry.” Fiddleford sent him a sharp look and Ford coughed. “Um. Not that I would get angry, necessarily. It entirely depends on the circumstances. I’m used to a certain level of ‘messing up’, so-” The sharp look turned into a glare. “Not just for you! Everyone makes mistakes, I mean, that’s what I’m used to, so it’s really not such a big deal. Unless you make a very large mistake that hurts people, in which case-”

“What yer brother is trying to say,” Fiddleford interrupted, “Is that he’s not mad atcha.”

Stan sniffled and buried his face in Ford’s coat, his voice coming muffled through the fabric. “Ford, you don’t hate me, right?”

“Of course I don’t hate you!” Ford said, appalled. Sure, he may be furious at his brother’s adult self, but hate? “I don’t think I could ever hate you. Surely you know that?”

Stan shrugged halfheartedly, face still hidden. “But, if I messed stuff up for you or somethin’. Like, really bad. If I was stupid an’ scared and I did something dumb and broke somethin’ real important.”

“…Stan, what did you dream about?” Ford said carefully. Stan stayed stubbornly silent and Ford began to feel a creeping suspicion. “Is this about the science fair?”

Fiddleford made a noise, but Ford was preoccupied with the child in his lap.

“Stan. Look at me.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulders and turned him around to face him, but Stan ducked his head and wriggled against the grip. “Your dreams are memories, aren’t they?”

“S’just a nightmare, okay?” Stan tried to swat Ford’s hands away. “Lemme go already.”

“This is important, Stanley. My science project. Did you break it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Why did you go to the gymnasium in the first place?”

“I-I dunno!”

“It was jealousy, wasn’t it?” Ford demanded.

“Tha’s enough of that!” Fiddleford said loudly, slapping his hand on the table with enough force to make Ford jump. “Stanford, quit with the interrogation and leave ‘im alone. We got bigger problems to deal with.”

Ford sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Stan really was experiencing the memories of his older self in the form of dreams, he probably wouldn’t understand most of them. Especially with how scattered they seemed to be. And anyway, there were far more important things to be doing. It didn’t matter now if Stan meant to break his science project or not. It shouldn’t matter.

Mentally kicking himself, Ford placed his brother down on the ground and nodded to a scowling Fiddleford. “You’re right. My apologies. I… wasn’t thinking.”

Stan rubbed his arm, shoulders hunched, and a tiny bit of Ford began to feel bad. Fiddleford spoke up before Ford could say anything more.

“A’right, Stan, yer a growing boy and ya need a good night’s sleep. How about I walk ya to bed and you can tell me about this dream a’ yours?” Fiddleford pushed back his chair and stood, offering Stan a smile. “Where are ya sleeping?”

“My room.” Stan piped up, at the same time Ford answered, “The spare room.”

Stan shot him a confused look. “Waddya mean? I thought that was my room. If it’s the spare, where’s mine?”

“Well, ya don’t have a room here.” Fiddleford tilted his head. “At least, not as far as I’m aware.”

“But… then where do I sleep?”

“At yer house, I suppose.”

Stan turned to stare at Ford. “Wait, I don’t live here? With you?”

Ford frowned. “Of course not. When you first regressed in age I explained this to you.”

“I – I was confused! Hang on, if I don’t live here then where do I live?”

“I don’t know, Stanley.” Ford groaned.

“Why don’t you know?”

“You can’t expect me to know everything about you. We’re adults, Stan, not children anymore!”

Stan glared at Ford. “Well I don’t wanna be an adult if it means I get stupid like you!”

“Stan-”

“We’re supposed to do everything together!” The child shouted, balling his fists. Ford fought to keep his voice even.

“That’s just not realistic. Will you stop being ridiculous for once?”

Stan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shot a final glare at Ford before turning on his heel and storming off.

Ford groaned, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Great. Now he had tantrums to deal with too. Tantrums, on top of Stan’s memories returning in the form of dreams, like the ones he’d described earlier-

About shivering in the snow, and a gun to his head.

No. Nope, not thinking about that. Ford swallowed down his nausea.

When he composed himself enough to look up, he was alone in the kitchen. Fiddleford had probably gone after Stan – to coddle him, most likely, abandoning the crucial task at hand. Ford allowed himself another five seconds of despair before he turned back to his work.

________________________________________________________________

The problem with being in an unfamiliar house was that Stan didn’t know where to go to sulk.

He ended up shutting himself in the bathroom and climbing into the tub, hugging himself to try and block out the cold, lonely feeling in his chest. It didn’t really work but it was better than nothing, right? Maybe if he curled up really tight and closed his eyes he could pretend he was back at home, playing hide and seek with the Ford he knew.

The Ford that didn’t write about how stupid he was. Stan had thought that maybe Ford was just stressed, that was why he wrote mean things in his diary like ‘even Stan could do it’. When adults were stressed they got mean, right? That was how pa was. He would smack Stan around if he’d had a bad day and Stan was in the firing line, that was just how adults were. So he hadn’t thought much of it! Ford would calm down and apologize eventually. Ford always did.

…but maybe Ford wasn’t just having a bad day. What if he had meant all those things, about how Stan was dumb? What if the furious Ford in Stan’s dream wasn’t just a dream?

…what if his brother didn’t like him anymore?

There was a gentle knocking on the door. Stan sniffed and glared at the bottom of the bathtub.

“What?”

“I’m jus’ checkin’ yer okay.” Came a familiar voice, muffled through the door.

“Oh. Fidds.” Of course Ford hadn’t come after him.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Stan shrugged half-heartedly. There was the click of a handle turning, then the slight man stepped inside. Fiddleford’s footsteps seemed awfully loud as he came over to the bathtub.

“Is there room in there for two?”

Stan nodded. Fiddleford climbed in next to him, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall of the tub.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Stan shook his head.

“That’s alright. Ya don’t have to say anything.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Stan broke the silence. “I don’t like this Ford! He’s all – stupid. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.” Stan grabbed at his hair. “Everything’s all different. I just want it to be normal again.”

“Normal?” Fiddleford echoed.

“Normal! Where we’re best friends and he’s not all grown-up and mad at me. Where – where he wants me around.” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, willing them not to well up because he was not a baby. “We were supposed to go everywhere together but I don’t think this Ford even likes me.” A horrible thought hit him and he stared at his hands. “Am… I just not good enough?”

“That’s not it.” Fiddleford placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like that, Stanley, not at all. Yer brother’s actin’ pretty badly, but that’s on him, not on you.”

“But we’re supposed to be best friends!” Stan sniffed and looked up at the man. “But I just keep messing thing up. I don’t even know what’s going on, Fidds!”

“I know. Sometimes…” Fiddleford sighed. “All I’m saying is, this whole problem? It’s not on you. And once we deal with this demon fella and yer brother’s less stressed, we can sit down and have it all out. Everythin’ will work out alright, ya hear?”

“…I guess.” Stan pasted on a little smile. Because sure, Fidds could think whatever he wants, but it wouldn’t change the fact that for some reason Stan wasn’t a good enough brother. He must not be, if Ford was angry and wanted to leave him. So – maybe if he was better, everything would be okay! It had to be okay, right? Stan would just – be more how he was supposed to be. Pa was always telling him to be more like Ford, but he wasn’t smart, so maybe he could be useful instead. Then Ford wouldn’t want to leave him anymore and things could be like they used to be

#rewind #gravity falls #fic #chapter 6

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 5 - Finding Stan

Ford’s hands were shaking as he dialed. He clutched at the phone, whispering “Come on, come on!” with every ring.

Finally, on the sixth ring, there was a click. “Stanford?”

“Is Stanley with you?” Ford rushed out. There was a hesitation from the other side of the line.

“I… no, Stanley’s not-” Fiddleford’s voice turned shrill. “Ford, ya lost yer brother???”

“No! I, well. Yes? I don’t know, Fiddleford, he was here when I went down to the basement but now he’s gone and I’ve searched the whole house, he’s not here!”

“How long were you gone for?” Fiddleford demanded.

“Only a few hours.”

“A few-” Fiddleford spluttered. “Ya shoulda just had me stay if you were gonna leave ‘im alone again!”

“I didn’t mean to leave him for so long, I lost track of time! F, please.”

Fiddleford groaned. “Alright, alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna start searchin’ the woods around your house. I’m gonna ask around town, see if ‘e came down here. And we’ll call when one of us finds ‘im. Alright?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you.” Ford stammered.

Fiddleford hung up with a click, leaving Ford alone. Ford made it outside before realizing he wasn’t wearing a jacket and it was freezing outside, he needed to get his jacket – and something for Stan too. Had Stan taken a jacket? No, of course not, Ford didn’t have one that would fit him which meant the child was alone and underdressed in the snow and even if nothing else happened to him he could still freeze to death. How could Ford have left him alone?

“Hey Ford, look what I got!”

“Not now, Stanley.” Ford waved his hand dismissively at the approaching child, unwilling to be pulled away from his panic as he paced on the front porch. There was no time to be distracted, not while his brother was in danger–

Wait.

“STANLEY!”

Stan let out a little yelp as Ford grabbed him, snatching his brother tight against him. Stan had come from the forest, judging by the trail of footprints leading from the tree line. He was shivering in Ford’s arms. Ford barged through the door and slammed it shut behind him, placing his brother on the living room carpet to inspect him.

“Geez, Ford! I’m fine!” Stan whined. A jacket far too big for him was bunched up around him and his feet were shoved into a pair of Ford’s boots (resourceful, a part of Ford noted) but he was still snow-dusted and shivering.

“Where were you? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Ford demanded. “What were you doing out there?”

Stan laughed, showing a mouth with less teeth than there used to be. “I got fairy dust from a gnome! ‘Course, then the other unicorns saw me and I had to skedaddle, but I got the hair!” He brandished it in one fist triumphantly.

“Other unicorns – but – she said she was the last –” Ford shook his head quickly to clear it. “Never mind. Are you hurt?” Ford pulled his brother closer to inspect him, Stan wriggling and whining as he did so. His face and arms were all scratched up and his lower lip was swollen, a trickle of dried blood down his chin from when a tooth must have been knocked out. His jaw was beginning to darken in a nasty-looking bruise. “Stanley, what happened?”

“I toldja! One of the unicorns got me in the face but I got outta there quick. You were right Ford, unicorns are jerks. I take back everything I said about liking ‘em. And now you’ve got the hair you can do your spell thing, right?”

For the first time Ford comprehended the clump of shimmering rainbow hair in his brother’s tiny fist. “You… you got the hair?”

Stan nodded happily. “Yeah! You said you needed it and that unicorns are mean, and your book said how to find them. So I got it for you.” He held it out with a huge gap-toothed grin. Ford could do nothing but stare.

Slowly Stan’s grin crept away, one arm wrapping around himself self-consciously.

“Ford? Did – did I do something wrong?”

All at once life returned to Ford’s limbs and he forced himself into action, offering a small smile and carefully prying the unicorn hair from Stan’s fist. “No, Stanley. Well – you should have told me where you were going. In fact, you shouldn’t have gone out alone at all.” Stan shrunk a little. “But this is very helpful, so overall I would say you did rather well. Provided we don’t make this a repeat performance.”

“…so I’m not in trouble?”

“No, you’re not in trouble.” Ford didn’t even know what that would look like. Stan wasn’t in his right mind – Ford had to be extremely gentle with him right now. He had no idea what disciplinary measures would do to the wobbly balance they had struck.

And anyway, he was too elated to be angry for long. They had the hair, which meant Ford could protect his house from Bill and finally get some much-needed sleep. Once he was rested he would be able to come up with a game plan to defeat the one-eyed menace once and for all.

Ford straightened up, dusting the last few snowflakes from his brother’s hair. “I have a barrier to set up. Now, where did I put those moonstones?” A stray thought hit him. “Oh yes, I should call Fiddleford and let him know that you’re safe. He… will not be pleased with me.”

“Fidds is here?” Stan perked up.

“No, not here. I’ll call him in a moment, once we construct this barrier. Would you like to help me?”

“Sure!” Stan beamed at him again. Ford took a moment to study his brother’s rudimentary snow protection (boots and a jacket too big for him, evidently fished out of Ford’s closet, with sleeves rolled up to half length and still dropping down over his hands, and huge boots threatening to slip off with every step). Stan was lucky the ensemble held up during his escapade into unicorn territory. Those horns were sharp – who knew what the unicorns could have done if Stanley had stuck around?

But Stan had done it for a reason, and that reason was currently clutched in Ford’s hand. He shook his head quickly to clear it and hurried to collect the other ingredients he would need. Once the ingredients were assembled Ford grabbed the glue and rushed out to set up the barrier, Stan hot on his heels.

“See, we need to glue the hair down here – like so – to form a ring around the house. This way Bill cannot enter.”

“Mmkay.” Stan peered around him to watch as Ford began pasting down the unicorn hairs. “Uh, who’s Bill?”

Dang it. Ford sighed. Well, he would have to tell Stanley at some point, it may as well be now… “He’s – a very dangerous person, Stan. This barrier is going to protect us from him. He won’t be able to cross it.”

Stan frowned down at the fine line of rainbow hairs. “…are ya sure about that? Seems pretty easy to get past to me.”

“I’m very sure. Bill isn’t human, like you and I. He’s a demon. A dream demon, to be precise.”

“Oh! Is he that guy with yellow eyes you were talkin’ about? The one I’m not supposed to make deals with?”

Ford shifted to the next spot, talking as he worked. “Yes, exactly. Bill is a very powerful entity who claims to be a benevolent muse, but anything he says he will give you is a lie. Do you know those stories Ma used to tell us, the ones where people would make deals with the devil and they’d get everything they asked for, but in some twisted, sick way?” Stan nodded. “That’s Bill.”

“…oh. Okay.”

Ford worked in silence for quite some time before his brother spoke up again.

“Hey, Ford?”

“Yes Stanley?” Ford didn’t look up from gluing down the unicorn hair.

“We don’t go sailing, do we?”

Ford very nearly froze. As it was, he continued to construct the barrier as his mind raced to come up with an appropriate answer.

He doubted that Stan would accept a lie and be placated – Ford was a terrible liar and Stan always seemed to know when he wasn’t being honest. He’d have to tell the truth. He could only hope that his brother wouldn’t throw a fit at having his childish dream denied.

“…no. We don’t go sailing.” Ford said carefully.

“Oh.” Stan paused. “Does the Stan O’ War get out of Jersey at least?”

“No. It was too small, anyway; by the time we grew large enough to sail it was far too small to support us in the open ocean.”

“You are pretty big.” With that Stan nodded thoughtfully and went back to watching Ford construct the barrier. Ford waited for more questions, but… that was it? He’d expected a larger reaction.

Ford cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Stanley, but at this age…” In reality it was at any age but Stan didn’t need to know that, “I thought you would be more upset.” Stan sent him an odd look, and Ford elaborated. “The two of us sailing away on a boat has always been your dream.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well, duh, but it’s not about the boat.”

Ford blinked. “It’s… not?”

“No! C’mon ya dummy, treasure’s cool and all, but I just wanna do something with you!” Stan grinned and punched him lightly. “It’s okay that we don’t go sailing because we get to do this! Whatever ‘this’ is.” He shrugged. “Monster hunting…? Monster-science-people. Science – tology? Scientology?”

Ford clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Nope, nope, that’s already a thing and we do not speak of it. Try again.”

Stan giggled and shoved his hand away. “Ugh, you know what I mean! This thing!” He waved wildly at the woods around them. “Stuff with unicorns and cool creepy labs and – whatever that thing is.” He pointed to a gnome waddling out of the underbrush. “Holy – Sixer, what is that? Is that one of those gnomes from your book?”

“Yes it is. They’re relatively harmless so long as you don’t interfere with their queen or try to steal their hats. They’re rather sensitive about the hats.”

With Stan occupied with the gnomes, Ford was able to quickly finish setting up the barrier. As the final piece fell into place an iridescent sheen flickered across the house, a smattering of symbols glowing across the shimmering barrier before it faded into the air from whence it came. Ford let out a shaky breath of relief.

“There. Bill won’t be able to reach us inside.”

Stan clomped up to him in too-big boots, a couple brown beard hairs clutched in his fist. “Hey Sixer, does gnome hair work too?”

“No. Now come inside and wash your hands, you don’t know where that’s been.” Ford placed a hand on his brother’s back to hurry him along but the screeching of brakes made him tense. It was only when he recognised Fiddleford’s beaten-up buggy zooming into view that he allowed himself to relax. Though… Fiddleford was travelling quite fast for his regular, cautious style of driving. The buggy pulled up sharply and a disheveled-looking Fiddleford clambered out, red in the face.

“Fidds!” Stan called out happily. Fiddleford stomped over and Ford began to feel like a zebra watching a fast-approaching lion. He… probably should have called earlier to let his friend know that Stanley was safe.

Fiddleford let out a gasp when he noticed the child’s bruised face. “My word – Stanley, are ya alright? Ya look like ya went head-to-head with a feral cat!”

Stan beamed up at the man, who seemed to flinch when he noticed the missing tooth. “I’m fine, you should see the other guy!”

“…I’m sure he’s hurtin’.” Fiddleford sent Ford a glare, which – yeah, he probably deserved. Ford coughed awkwardly.

“Yes. I apologize for not calling you earlier. I had to set up the barrier as soon as possible…” He rubbed the back of his neck at the dry stare he received. “And I’m sorry for waking you up. No one is hurt, so you can go back home-”

“I’m not leavin’ you two alone again!” Fiddleford scolded. “Not if yer just gonna get into more trouble. No, I’m stayin’ right here until this age debacle is over, understood?”

“…Understood.” Ford echoed. “But – can we at least go inside first, where it’s safe?”

Fiddleford nodded and then turned to Stan, who had taken a nervous step back at the tension in the air. He relaxed slightly at the kind, if somewhat brittle, smile Fiddleford sent his way.

“Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?”

_______________________________________________________________

Sleep had been a luxury Ford had not been able to afford for weeks. Luckily, that meant that as soon as he relaxed and his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. By the time he awoke the clock by his bed read eight-twenty in the evening and his window was dark.

Ford stretched, yawning hard as his mind slowly surfaced from thick, dreamless slumber. For a moment panic struck him and he sat bolt-upright in bed – before the memories of that morning trickled through and he remembered the barrier.

We’re safe. Bill can’t get to me. Stan and Fiddleford and I are safe.

Speaking of the others, there was clattering going on across the house that sounded promisingly like pots and pans being moved. Ford’s stomach grumbled at him.

The sleep must have done him some good at least because at least his head wasn’t complaining anymore – his constant headache was all but gone. Even better, his mind no longer felt fuzzy and vague. In fact he could probably recite the digits of pi right now without getting dizzy! Ford did so in his mind as he made his way to the kitchen.

Fiddleford looked up from stirring a pot of soup as Ford approached. “Ah, Stanford. Come on and get some dinner, yer right on time. Stanley here was just tellin’ me about the unicorns.”

On a chair at the kitchen table, Stanley seemed to be in the middle of a dramatic reenactment, which – for some reason – involved a butterfly net, the saltshaker, and a too-big Hawaiian shirt.

“-so the gnome police have this thing about butterflies, right? Hi Ford! Okay, so this Smell-ulock guy let me borrow his net if I caught his escaped squirrel, and that took forever but I got the net – I gotta give that back to him at some point – and man Fidds, butterflies are hard to catch!”

Ford settled down at the table with a bowl of soup, letting the chatter wash over him. The rich, savoury scent made his mouth water. Before he realized it he’d already bolted half of it down, mouth and throat burning slightly from the scalding temperature. Fiddleford ‘tsk’ed.

“Didja sleep alright?” The other man asked once Ford paused to take a breath.

“Quite well, thank you. Having the barrier up is a welcome relief.”

“That barrier means the triangle guy can’t mess with our heads anymore, right?” Stan sat down in his chair with a plop, dropping his assorted props on the table. Ford nodded in affirmation.

“Right.”

“So what does unicorn hair have against demons anyway?” Stan asked curiously. Ford swallowed his last spoonful of soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking.

“It acts as a protective force against evil and those with ill-intent.”

“So, if I went to punch someone but they had a bunch a’ unicorn hair, it would stop me?”

“Erm – not quite. It can help to ward against demons, though.” Stan opened his mouth to ask another question but Ford beat him to it with the answer. “It seems to have a kind of purpose and sentience, to be able to target demons and mind-invaders specifically, but I haven’t been able to study it before now so I haven’t the foggiest idea how or why.”

“But it hurts demons, right? Like Bill!” Stan jumped up on his chair again and flung a punch at some imaginary foe. “Can’t you just use your smarts to make a giant unicorn-hair-laser-gun-missile-launcher thing? And then we’ll blow ‘im right outta the sky!”

Ford snorted at his brother’s exuberance. “If only it were that simple. Unicorn hair isn’t the only ingredient in the barrier spell; there’s moonstone and mercury as well, and anyway, the whole thing merely acts as a shield. It might be able to do some damage to Cipher if I alter the formula and substitute… hmm, foxglove?” Yes, that could theoretically work, especially if he combined spells. “But there’s no way to deliver the final product to him, he’s too slippery. We’d need to manufacture some kind of… gun…”

Ford stopped.

“…actually, that might work.”

#writing #my writing #my fic #chapter 5 #gravity falls #rewind #the stans

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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AAAAAHHHH I love him!!! This is so CUTE, thank you for showing me!

<3 <3 <3

I was tired, bored and wanted to draw a little Stan. So here it is! I was inspired by @a-solitary-marshmallow ´s story Rewind for this little fella. Smoll stan is the best!

Hope you like!

#gravity falls #fanart #rewind #art

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 4 - Fiddleford to the Rescue

Stan started when there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming – but evidently Ford had known, because he jumped up to let them in. The person who stepped inside was a twig of a man, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The guy looked pretty tired – sorta like those people who sometimes slept under the jetty with bloodshot eyes and cans scattered around them. But this man didn’t reek of beer and cigarettes. Blue eyes darted around behind thick glasses before landing on Stan and softening.

“Ah. This is your brother, I ‘spect?” The stranger spoke with a thick accent. Stan hadn’t heard an accent like his before.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Ford was a flurry of motion, darting here and there and packing things in a big shoulder bag. “I need to go, I have to get this barrier up as soon as possible. I should be back by this evening. There’s food in the fridge, I’m not sure what bills I’ve paid recently so there may or may not be hot water, and Stanley, behave!”

With that Ford disappeared, the front door slamming behind him. Stan froze, voice squeaking in a totally cool and manly way.

“Wait – Ford? Where are you-”

Yeah, he was already gone. Leaving Stan alone with this strange man. Stan stood self-consciously in the middle of the lounge, hyper aware of those eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The stranger broke the silence first, kneeling down to be at eye-level with Stan. “You must be Stanley. I guess Ford forgot ta introduce us. Wouldn’t be the first thing ‘e forgot.” The guy smiled a slightly crooked smile and held out one hand. “I’m Fiddleford, an old… friend of ya brother’s. I’m here to look after ya for a while. Is that okay?”

“…I guess so.” Stan stepped forward hesitantly to shake the man’s hand. Despite its thinness his hand was rough and calloused, worn with work. His smile was infectious and Stan found himself mirroring it. “You can call me Stan. Everyone does.”

“Well then, you can call me Fidds.” Fiddleford’s bright eyes combed over him for a moment before the man started riffling through his duffel bag. “Now, I got some old clothes of my son’s that I figure will fit better than that shirt. You wanna give it a shot?”

Stan nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Who’s your son? Is he coming too?”

“No, Tate’s in California right now.” The man lifted a couple items of clothing. “Alright, let’s take a looksee at what we got.”

Stanford’s little brother was cute as a button. Well, twin brother apparently, not that that made much of a difference right now. The boy was all gap-toothed grins and twinkling eyes and curious questions. Fiddleford let him choose some clothes he liked – a pirate shirt and a pair of faded yellow shorts – and helped the little kid get dressed. Stan chatted excitedly the whole time.

“S’weird! I just woke up here yesterday and Ford was all old. He’s grumpier now too. So if this is the future how do we know you? When do I meet you? We probably haven’t met yet while I’m this age right? No, I think I’d remember seein’ you even if you were a kid like me! You got a mem-or-ab-le nose. Kinda like mine!” Stan poked his own pink nose to demonstrate. “’Cept mine and Ford’s are wide and yours is long. Does your son have the same nose?”

Fiddleford laughed and slipped the shirt over the squirming boy’s head. There were so many questions, he figured he’d try and answer them in order.

“Ford is grumpy now, isn’t he? And I’m a friend of Ford’s from college. This is the first time we’ve met at all, so you wouldn’t know me even as an adult with all yer memories. And Tate does have my nose, unfortunately.”

Stan blinked up at him owlishly. Fiddleford smoothed down his ruffled cowlick. “So… you know Ford but not me? Why doesn’t future-me know you?” Then Stan shook his head with a smile. “You said college, right? I bet that’s why! Pa says I’m too stupid for college. But o’course Ford got in. He’s real smart, ya know!” The kid finished proudly. Fiddleford hesitated.

“Your father says…” Stanford hadn’t spoken much of his family. Fiddleford was starting to see why. The idea of a man telling his son – his son who couldn’t be any older then twelve – that he was stupid filled his chest with fire.

Fiddleford tried to stamp out the anger before Stan could see it on his face. No sense in scaring the child. Instead he changed the subject, carefully poking at one of Stan’s hands.

“So, ya got hands like ya brother’s?”

“Oh, no, I just got the borin’ five fingers.” Stan waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Really?” Well that was interesting. “But yer practically identical otherwise! Well, I guess it makes sense that yer not totally the same, seein’ as you don’t have the same eyesight anyway.”

“Oh, we do.” Stan chirped, leaving Fiddleford flabbergasted.

“But ya don’t have glasses!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t need em ‘cause I’m not smart.” Stan’s smile faltered for a moment before recovering. “Pa says glasses are expensive and Ford needs his, so I don’t. Hey, you got glasses too! You must be smart.”

Fiddleford once again tried very hard to not let his anger show. He must not have done a very good job, because Stan shrank back.

“Er – I’m sorry?”

Darn it, and he’d been trying to get the little tyke to trust him! Fiddleford forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for. I was just thinkin’ I’d like to have a word with yer brother when he gets back.”

Stan still looked dubious, so Fiddleford tried another strategy.

“You know, I reckon Ford’s gotta have a spare set of glasses lying around. Do you wanna look for ‘em, borrow ‘em for a while? The prescription should be close enough. I got some old books a’ Tates you might like and it’ll be easier if you can see ‘em.”

Stan twisted his hands together. “I dunno. Ford got pretty mad when I messed with his stuff before.”

“He’ll be fine. Besides, I’m just as adult as him. I think I can make decisions without that worrywart around.”

Just as Fiddleford had thought he would, Stan laughed. “Yeah, he is a worrywart! An’ Ford’s let me borrow his glasses before when we were switchin’ clothes to play a prank on Crampelter. So he can’t get mad now!”

The kid seemed to have immediately forgotten about his upset. That made Fiddleford’s smile come a little easier, a little warmer.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go look for those glasses? And we’ll see if you like any a’ these books. Ya feel like learnin’ about isopods?”

“I have no idea what that is!” Stan whooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

_______________________________________________________________

It was nice, Fiddleford reflected, having a child around. He hadn’t interacted with kids since he’d last seen Tate. How long ago had that been…?

Fiddleford made sandwiches for lunch, and they ate while flipping through picture books. Stan especially liked the one with krill and whale sharks. Then the kid had started telling delightful stories about old ships and adventures on Glass Shard Beach, and who was Fiddleford to interrupt?

By evening Stan had worn himself out, and Fiddleford made him a cup of hot chocolate while he decided what to fix for dinner. Of course Ford had little in the way of food. There was some frozen and tinned stuff, but little in the way of healthy foods. Stanford was terrible at taking care of himself.

Fiddleford glanced out of the window at the ever-darkening sky. Sure, he was still hopping mad at Stanford, but… he couldn’t help but worry. Not when the man had been gone all day in the snow. And when his adorable little brother was getting antsy.

“Fidds, when’s Ford gettin’ back?” Stan whined, right on time. “You said he’d be back soon.”

Fiddleford busied himself with looking in the fridge. There were some assorted vegetables lying around, wrinkled with age but not rotten – he could make fritters. Satisfied, he started gathering the ingredients.

“He’ll get here when he gets here.” Fiddleford rooted around until he found a grater. Stan sulked into his hot chocolate. He certainly had Stanford’s stubbornness! Fiddleford wondered if it was a family trait.

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside the front door. Fiddleford tensed. It swung open, and thankfully a familiar figure trudged inside.

“Ford!” Stan squealed in delight. He scrambled from the kitchen table to throw himself at his brother’s legs. Ford, looking snow-flecked and rather frazzled, patted his head absently.

“Yes, yes, hello Stanley. Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and continued making the fritters. Trust Stanford to make a dramatic entrance. Still, he eyed the man as he took off his snow-covered coat and boots. Stanford looked… rough. Not physically, but exhaustion was etched into every line on his face.

Fiddleford tutted and poured the man a coffee. Ford blinked as it was pushed into his hand.

“Oh – thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Didja meet the unicorn?” Stan pulled on his brother’s shirt, his own tiredness evidently forgotten in his excitement. Ford sighed.

“Yes, though she still stubbornly refuses to give me any of her hair. I did manage to obtain the rest of the ingredients though, so as soon as I get the hair I’ll be able to ward the house.”

Unicorn hair? Fiddleford was confused for all of two seconds before he shrugged it off. With Stanford, everything was a surprise. You just learned to roll with it.

And now that Ford was here…

“Stan, wouldja do me a favour?” Fiddleford asked gently. Stan nodded. “There should be a blanket up in the closet upstairs, all red and gold with snowflakes printed on it. It’s my favourite one. Could you go get it for me?”

“Sure.” Stan chirped, darting out of the room. Ford made a sound of confusion.

“I don’t remember that blanket.”

“’Course ya don’t, I made it up as an excuse to get Stan out of the room.” Fiddleford put down the grater and turned to meet Ford’s wary gaze from across the kitchen bench.

“…okay.” Ford said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Stanford.” Fiddleford fixed him with a serious look. “Yer little brother’s a good kid.”

Ford sighed. “Twin brother. We’re twenty-seven.”

“Well right now he’s just seven. And you’d better not mess ‘im up. I’m watchin’ you.” He added with narrowed eyes.

Ford laughed nervously. “Honestly, what do you take me for?”

“A scientist who’s obsessed with his work and has no idea how to care for a child, ‘specially not a child who’s been abused.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Abused? I can assure you that Stanley hasn’t been abused.”

“I beg to differ!” Fiddleford said sharply. Ford had the audacity to look insulted. “With what the kid’s been tellin’ me, there’s no way he hasn’t been abused. For god’s sake, he doesn’t have glasses when he needs ‘em! And ‘e flinches when I so much as raise my voice – or my hand, for that matter. E’s got bruises all over, too. What am I supposed to think?”

“Stanley… he refuses to wear his glasses.” Ford said weakly. Fiddleford snorted.

“He’s been usin’ yer spare ones all day. Says ‘e likes bein’ able to see for once. In fact, he basically said yer father refused to buy ‘im glasses after his old pair got broken!”

“He’s been wearing my-?”

“Of course you didn’t notice. Have ya even laid eyes on the kid?”

“Of course I have.”

“So you did notice him wearin’ your spare glasses? No wonder ‘e thinks he’s stupid, he can’t read the words on a page two inches from his nose!”

Ford looked devastated. Right now, Fiddleford didn’t care. “But… no, that’s not right. Stanley always told me he hated wearing them.”

“Even besides that, what about the bruises?” Fiddleford challenged. “The kid’s covered in ‘em. And I’m givin’ you the benefit of the doubt here, because I don’t believe you’re the one who’s been roughin’ him up.”

“I – I-”

“So you’ll forgive me for bein’ a little concerned here! What kinda father would I be if I just sat back and ignored this? Yer brother’s been abused, plain and simple.”

Ford floundered. Fiddleford sighed, a little of his anger evaporating.

“Well... I suppose if ya are really twins, ya probably wouldn’t have had a hand in it. An’ I don’t know the full story. But I do know this.” He leveled a finger at Ford’s face. “That kid trusts ya, more than he probably should. An’ we’re gonna have words if you hurt him, or put him in danger, or do anything that’ll cause him harm. The boy’s suffered enough, I’ll not stand around and let it happen again. Ya understand?”

“Yes.” Stanford said quietly. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that’s outta the way, I gotta ask; why on earth didja not tell me about him before? We went to visit Shermie and his kids during that Christmas break a while back an’ no one mentioned another brother.”

Stanford flushed. “It’s… a family matter.”

Fiddleford leveled a cold stare at him. After a moment Ford sighed and averted his gaze.

“When we were teenagers Stanley sabotaged my one chance at getting into my dream college. He says it was an accident, but… anyway our father kicked him out and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Fiddleford held up a hand. “Hang on. Are my ears decievin’ me? You’re telling me your brother, who got booted outta his own home as a teenager, hasn’t been mistreated? My friend, you’ve got issues.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by Stan’s return. Fiddleford turned his attention to the sheepish boy who was currently wringing his hands and wincing at the doorway. “Um, sorry Fidds. I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, I musta left it somewhere else. Now, didja wanna help me with makin’ dinner?”

Stan perked up at Fiddleford’s breezy tone, as if surprised he wasn’t in trouble. “Jeez! Can I?”

“Well sure, why wouldn’t you?” Fiddleford flashed the boy a smile. Stan beamed in return and scrambled to join him in the kitchen.

“Pa says cookin’s for ladies and we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well, your Pa seems to be wrong about a lotta things. Now, you know how ta use a grater? I’ll show you.”

Fiddleford could feel Ford’s gaze searing into his forehead. He flicked his attention up from Stan and cooking, just for a moment, to catch the conflicted stare. Ford looked away when their eyes met and cleared his throat.

“I’ll just – um – put these ingredients away for later.”

“You do that.” Fiddleford agreed coolly.

Stanford walked away, more subdued than usual. The sight of his slumped shoulders was enough to send a spark of guilt through Fiddleford’s chest. He knew he was being too hard on the guy – especially with how wrecked Ford was looking – but his blood boiled for this gap-toothed child with his cute curls and nervous laughs.

Fiddleford couldn’t comprehend the idea of kicking out his son. The idea was as foreign to him as the idea that they should all put sticks of butter under their hats and walk on their hands instead of their feet. Tate was his son – his boy, his child. Fiddleford was sure that there was nothing Tate could do that would made Fiddleford throw him out. The idea of Stanley and Stanford’s father kicking out a helpless teen? No matter what mess that teen had gotten himself into, it shouldn’t have happened. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in him.

No, and it most certainly wouldn’t happen again. No kid was getting kicked out on his watch. Nor hurt, even unintentionally by an oblivious scientist of a brother. Fiddleford would make sure of it.

He made sure both the Pines boys were fed before packing up his things with the promise of returning tomorrow. Stanley hugged his legs with a surprisingly strong grip – Fiddleford crouched down to return the hug properly.

“I had a real good time today. We’ll have to do this again some time, huh? Now, you got my phone number? Good. Call me if you need anything. Especially if that brother of yours gets into any trouble, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Stan saluted enthusiastically. Fiddleford laughed and ruffled his hair before glancing up to meet Stanford’s eyes. Ford was hovering in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to join them.

Fiddleford took pity on him and offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Stanford. Take care of ya brother.”

Ford smiled back nervously. And maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

_______________________________________________________________

Stanford couldn’t smother the huge yawns that bubbled out of him. Curse this sleep deprivation! It made everything harder than it had to be. His sentences kept being interrupted by his own body’s involuntary reflexes.

Stanley followed him like a baby duck – a rather apt description, actually – while Ford bustled around the house. Ford sighed in annoyance when he very nearly tripped over his brother yet again, upon doubling back to retrieve a piece of equipment he’d forgotten.

“Stanley, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Stan glanced away and rubbed his arm. “Well, I guess. But every time I go to sleep I get these weird dreams. I dunno, I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you?”

Dreams – dammit, Ford had forgotten to warn his brother! He dropped down to be at eye-level with Stan, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“Uh, what-?”

“You’re having odd dreams, correct?” Stan nodded so Ford continued. “Rest assured, they won’t be able to harm you, so long as you never make a deal. If you come across anything triangular or yellow while in a dream you must not talk to it. It will talk to you and try to be your friend. Don’t trust anyone with yellow eyes, even if – no, especially if that person is me. Don’t talk to it and never shake its hand. Do you understand?”

“Um, yeah, but why? This is all soundin’ like Ma’s predictions.” Stan perked up. “Can you tell the future too? Does that mean I can as well?”

Ford sighed. “No, I can’t tell the future.”

“…can you make the weird dreams go away?” Stan questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, when I manage to get that unicorn hair – though I fear it may be a hopeless endeavor.” The weight of the day’s events – how could he ever hope to be pure of heart with all the wrong he had done? – sat heavily on his shoulders. Ford lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “Go to bed, Stanley, and remember what I said about people with yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, never make a deal, I get it.” Stan paused, eyes flickering to the journal resting in Ford’s pocket and lighting up. “Can you tell me some more stories from your book before bed? Yesterday we got to the hidey-thing!”

“I don’t have time to read you stories, I have important work to do.”

Stan pouted. He looked up at Ford with those big brown eyes that were bigger than usual. It was then that Ford noticed the glasses – yes, Fiddleford had mentioned them, hadn’t he? Stan was wearing Ford’s spare glasses and they threatened to slip down his nose at every movement, far too big for him. They also had the added benefit of making him look very, very cute.

“How about I lend you my journal?” Ford relented. “You can read it by yourself before you go to sleep. I can tell you other stories later.”

Stan hesitated. “…yeah? I can borrow it?”

“So long as you don’t damage it, you may.” Ford dropped the book in his brother’s hands and turned to gather up an armful of equipment. “Go along now.”

Stanley scurried off to read, and Ford descended into the basement where his work waited.

When he emerged at seven thirty the next morning, Stan was gone.

#writing #gravity falls #rewind #chapter 4

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 3

Awareness came in pieces, like waves lapping over the shore, slowly bringing back each sense. Ford yawned and rolled his neck to ease out a crick. He really should stop sleeping sitting up.

The warm form cuddled against him stirred and he placed a soothing hand on their head of soft curls until they stilled, burying their face in his shirt. Ford hummed happily and let his head rest back against the headboard, content to just stay here forever…

…wait a second.

Ford’s eyes flung open with a jolt.

What had he been thinking, falling asleep? Sleep was the one thing he couldn’t afford! He looked around quickly, heart pounding. He was still sitting against the headboard of his bed, pillows propped behind his back and a child-sized Stanley curled up in his lap, the way they had been when he must have fallen asleep part way through telling stories of his previous discoveries. His journal lay open at his feet. To his relief it was bereft of cryptic code and taunts. Bill must have been busy, or perhaps had not noticed Ford’s slip-up. He hadn’t been possessed.

Ford cursed himself. How could he have made himself vulnerable like that? The portal was wide-open for the taking! And there was no telling what Bill Cipher would do to his brother – his child brother, who was currently helpless and foolishly, trustingly snuggled against the front of Ford’s turtleneck.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t change the past, only the future. Now he had other things to concentrate on – namely, building a Bill-proof barrier, since his investigation on how to cure Stanley had hit a snag – he had none of the components he would need to start reverse-engineering a cure. The sun peeking through his window told that he must have been sleeping for at least an hour. Morning was already slipping away from him.

“Mmmph.” Stanley mumbled. Ford’s hand was still in his curls. Ford couldn’t resist ruffling those curls as Stan pulled his head up, yawning and blinking sleepily. “F’rd?”

“Good morning, Stanley.”

Stan rubbed at his eyes. “Whaza time?”

“Time to start working. Come on, up you go.” Ford lifted his brother from his lap. Stan whined at being put down on the covers.

“Nooooo, ‘s cold!”

“Then hurry up and get moving.” Ford swung his legs over the bed and stood. “I have a lot to do today.”

Stan grumbled the whole time. He was still wearing that old shirt. Perhaps Ford should get him something that fit better? No, it would be useless in a day or so anyway.

Ford spoke to himself as he walked.

“Now, I’ll have to go as soon as possible to get that hair – what’ll I do with you? Oh, children need to receive their daily nutrients, don’t they? Hmm, when was the last time I ate?” He couldn’t recall. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m an adult, I can stand to skip a few – hmm. Weeks? No, that can’t be right. I should eat too. I have coffee? Is it safe to give a child coffee?” He opened the fridge and stared in dismay at the rows of empty shelves. “Oh. That’s why I haven’t eaten. Guess I’ll just have to – buy some supplies. Yes. Come along Stanley, we’re driving into town.”

“Who’stha whatnow?” Stan stumbled into the kitchen after him. That was right, his brother was certainly not a morning person. Ford wondered again how ethical it was to give a child coffee. Probably shouldn’t risk it.

“Town, Stanley. I have to do some shopping. And come to think of it, you’ll need someone to watch you…” Unless he could just leave the child locked in a room? Ford wasn’t exactly familiar with babysitting protocol. Maybe it was better to just bring him along for now.

He dropped one of his old coats around Stanley’s shoulders and ushered him outside. The coat was a good call – it was still freezing. Ford was climbing into the car when he hit another snag.

“…ah.” He didn’t have a booster seat. Stanley would be riding in the back seat, it seemed.

Luckily the town was still waking up, so it was quite simple to walk in, grab some supplies, pay and leave without having to deal with the hustle of crowds. Ford pulled up in his driveway with a relieved sigh. He thanked his lucky stars that Gravity Falls was slow to wake on a Sunday… wait, no, what day was it?

Didn’t matter.

With his arms full of groceries, Ford nudged the door open with his foot. He could hear Stan grunting under the weight of his own load as he placed the bags on the kitchen bench.

Maybe he had gone a little over the deep end, Ford admitted to himself as he went about sorting groceries. He hadn’t realized until this morning that his fridge was empty. That did explain the hollow feeling in his stomach though. Come to think of it, when was the last time he ate? Not counting the copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks he ordered weekly.

It also explained Stan’s rumbling stomach. Honestly, Stan should have said something if he was hungry!

Said child wobbled his way into the kitchen with a shopping bag in his arms. Ford took it and started unloading it as well. Marshmallows – he didn’t remember buying those. Maybe Stanley snuck them into the cart. Ford could remember the gleeful giggles he and Stan would break into when they’d managed to sneak a treat into their mother’s shopping cart. Stan was always better at it than Ford.

Ford shook his head to clear it. He had no time for nostalgic thoughts anymore. He snagged two frozen single-serve pies plates and started searching for clean plates to put them on. Finally he found two with only a few crumbs on them – he brushed one off and placed it in the microwave, trying to remember if he’d paid his electricity bill recently.

He must have, because the microwave was heating and glowing when he pressed the right buttons. Ford sighed and leaned against the bench to wait.

Stanley was in the process of pushing a chair towards the table. He paused to let out a gigantic yawn, rubbing his eyes with his too-big sleeve.

“Tired?” Ford found himself asking. Stan nodded and yawned again.

“Mm hmm.”

“Did you have trouble getting to sleep?” The uncomfortable position must not have helped.

Stan finished pushing the chair and now he crawled up into it and rested his elbows on the table. On closer inspection he did look tired, dark bags collecting under his eyes.

“Nah.” Stan rested his cheek on one hand, squishing his round face slightly. “Just had weird dreams.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s spine.

He hadn’t even considered if – what would happen if Stan made a deal with Bill Cipher? Had already made a deal? It would explain why Bill wasn’t in Ford’s dreams. Ford hadn’t warned his brother about the demon, he’d been so sure that Bill would focus on him and him alone, but Stanley was vulnerable here and Ford hadn’t even thought about it-

“Did you make a deal?” He demanded. Stan blinked at him blearily.

“What?”

“A deal. In your dream. Did you shake anyone’s hand? Talk to anyone?”

Stan shook his head with another yawn. “Don’ think so.”

He was a child, Ford reminded himself sharply, a child that didn’t grasp the significance of what was happening. He needed to have patience. Or else Stan might clam up and refuse to talk to him further.

“Stanley.” Ford forced his tone to stay even and slow. Stan send him a curious look. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in your dream. It might be important. Okay?”

Stan frowned. “Uh – okay. Are you gonna interpret my dream, like Ma does?”

“…something like that. But it’s very important you don’t leave out any details.”

“Okay.” Stan hummed for a minute, in thought, before he brightened. “Oh, yeah! So I was in my car – I mean, I don’t have a car, but it was a dream and you just know stuff in dreams so even though I don’t have a car I knew it was my car – and it was all snowy outside. I think I was stuck in a snow bank or something. Hey Ford, where do snowmen keep their money?”

The microwave beeped. Ford placed the hot pie in front of Stanley and searched for a fork. “A snow bank. Continue.”

Stan pouted. “You ruined my joke!”

Ford handed him a fork. Stan sighed and poked at his pie while Ford started heating up his own. After a moment the child continued, his voice uncharacteristically somber.

“It was really cold. Like, really cold. I could see my breath and it wasn’t even cool. Haha – cool. I… didn’t know cold hurt so much. It was like my bones were made of ice, all cracking and popping.”

“Was anyone in the car with you?”

Stan screwed up his face in thought. “Um, no. Just me.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I had some matches and I was lighting them for warmth, but then they ran out.” Stan paused for a moment with a frown, comedic on his childish features. “I, um, was looking for some more in the glove box and a gun fell out. An’ I don’t know where I got it but I know it’s mine. S’ gotta be, if it’s in my car, right? But I don’t remember where I got it and I don’t know if it’s got any bullets in it.”

Ford nodded along. If Stanley could recall the dream so vividly, it probably wasn’t a normal dream, the likes of which tended to fade as quickly as they had appeared. But so far it didn’t seem like Bill’s style.

“What happened then?”

Stan bit his lip, wincing. “Um, you remember how we used to play Russian Roulette with soda cans? How we’d shake one up and take turns opening ‘em and try not to get the fizzy one?”

Ford got a bad feeling in his gut. “Of course.”

“I, um, I can’t remember why, but I wanted to find out if it had bullets in it. So I put it to my head and pulled the trigger.” Stan pulled a face like he’d tasted something sour. “There was this click and I guess it was empty because nothing happened. So I put it back and curled up all small, because it was still super cold, and I think I went back to sleep.” Stan shrugged with one shoulder. “Then it ended.”

Well, there was a lot to unpack there, and Ford could unpack it later. The microwave beeped to signify his breakfast was sufficiently warmed. He took it and slid into the seat opposite Stan.

“Is that everything? No one talked to you? How clearly do you remember it?”

“S’weird.” Stan admitted, pulling off the top of the pie to get at its insides. “So normally dreams kinda fade, all fuzzy-like, right? But the ones I had last night aren’t fading. It feels real but not-real.”

“Vivid?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stan shrugged. Ford took a bite of his pie and was chewing before he registered what had just been said. He spluttered a little.

“Ones? Plural?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stan shrugged again. “The other one was weirder. Do you wanna know about that one too?”

“Do I – why wouldn’t I? Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Well, it was shorter and way more blurry. I couldn’t even see anything so I don’t think it really counts as a dream.”

“Tell me.”

Stan scrunched up his face. “You sure? It’s kinda silly.”

Ford sent him a look and Stan sighed.

“Fine. In the second one it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything. Well, not at first. There was this… man.” Stan shuddered. “This, uh, really creepy guy. And he put me in a coffin? No, um, a car trunk I think. It was all dark and then I couldn’t see anything. Then there was just lots of noises, and rumbling, and it got all wet.”

“Wet?” Ford echoed. Stan shrugged.

“Yeah, all wet. And cold. Like I’d been dumped in a lake or somethin’! Cause the whole trunk started flooding, which was really scary. An’ I don’t remember how I got out but at some point I was swimmin’ up feeling like my lungs were gonna explode.” Stan shivered, hugging himself. “An’ my mouth hurt and the water tasted like metal an’ it was so dark. Then, um… I dunno, I woke up or something?” He frowned. “Wait, no, there was something else – about a llama that knew too much? It all kinda gets smudgy.”

Unsettling, certainly, and something to ask questions about later – but for now it sounded like Bill had missed his chance to mess with the Pines twins. Ford let himself relax slightly.

“Thank you, Stanley, for telling me.”

“So are you gonna read my future or something?”

“No.”

Stan poked out his tongue. Ford sighed. The matter aside, he still had to find someone to look after Stanley while he got the unicorn hair! But there was only one person in Gravity Falls he trusted, and…

Well, that person might not pick up the phone.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely, surely Fiddleford would at least hear him out? And if that failed Ford could always lock the child in a room for a couple hours.

Mind made up, Ford excused himself to go make a call.

His palms were oddly sweaty as he dialed the number he knew off by heart and pressed enter. The phone rang once, twice, thrice in his hand. Surely a hopeless endeavor. Ford was sure he wasn’t going to pick up, when there was a click and a crackly voice sounded tiredly down the line.

“Hello?”

His old assistant’s voice sent his heart leaping in his chest. Ford hurriedly cleared his throat. “Fiddleford? It’s me, Stanford.”

In the half-second of frigid silence that followed, Ford began to realize he might have made a mistake by introducing himself.

“Wait!” He gasped out. “Please don’t hang up.”

“What do ya want?” Fiddleford growled out. He sounded so unlike himself that it made Ford pause. But – no. This was Fiddleford. His research assistant. His friend. The one person he could trust.

“I – I need your help.” Ford admitted. He plunged on before Fiddleford could interrupt, “I was an idiot. You were right – about the portal, about Bi- the demon.”

There was a crackly silence. Ford took a deep breath.

“I know that what I did is unforgiveable. I abandoned you and refused to heed your warnings. I understand if you can never forgive me. But please, I need your help to fix what I’ve done.”

“I aint goin’ near that portal!” Fiddleford’s voice lifted in both volume and pitch. Ford hurried to reassure him.

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I need your help with. And it’s not for me, it’s for my twin brother.”

“You have a twin?” Fiddleford demanded, a lilt of curiosity sneaking into his tone. He sounded a little more like the man Ford knew. “Why didn’t ya tell me that?”

“Stan and I haven’t on the best of terms recently.” Ford explained. “Fiddleford, you’re a father, you know how to take care of children. I need you to take care of my brother – just for a little while.”

“Whoa, hold up.” There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna need ya to go back to the beginning. What did ya get yourself into this time?”

Ford chuckled humorlessly. “An experiment gone wrong. Stanley – my twin brother – has been reverted back into a child.”

A pause.

“Fiddleford?”

His friend let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure, course this is happening. Weird stuff always happens around you, Stanford.”

Ford chose to take that as a compliment. “I currently have my hands full. There is a spell – a magical barrier, in fact – that can protect us against the demon you warned me about, allowing me to disassemble the portal without risk. But to do this I have so obtain several rare ingredients. I can’t take Stanley with me, and I can’t leave him alone. I was hoping you would be able to watch him. Just for a little while!” He added nervously. “I know Stanley can be a handful but I’ll be back as quickly as I can and-”

“Ford, shut yer yap.”

Ford shut up.

“I’ll not leave a child alone, no matter what I think of his brother. When d’ya need him taken care of?”

Ford let out a breath and thanked any and all deities that may have lent a helping hand. “I was hoping, today? As soon as possible?”

Fiddleford groaned. “Fine, fine – but only for the kid!” He added. “And in the name of keepin’ that demon away. Not for you.”

“I understand completely.”

“Ya still at yer cabin?”

“Yes.”

“’Course ya are. Now, how old’s yer brother?”

“Ah…” Hmm. Ford had never been good at ages. He’d passed through them himself and never looked back. “He’s old enough to talk. And complain about not having clothes that fit. Maybe about as old as Tate was when I last saw him…?”

Another long-suffering sigh. “A’right, a’right. I’ll bring some old clothes of Tate’s, see if they fit, and I’ll watch the little tyke for ya. But I’m not goin near that portal. Or any of your hinky experiments, ya hear?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.”

“Thank you.” Ford said again. Fiddleford hung up.

#fic #chapter 3 #gravity falls #The stans #stangst #rewind

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 2

Stan’s head was full of cotton. He mumbled and buried his face into his pillow, wishing he could block out the world. Had he been hit in the head during gym class? He couldn’t remember, but that might explain the fuzziness in his brain and why his arms felt all weak and noodly.

Someone was talking to him, probably Ford, trying to get him up for school. Ew, school. Did he have a test today? Stan could have sworn there was one coming up but he never really paid attention to when. Not like studying would change his score much anyway. He had to squint to read the questions and it took him way longer than everyone else to answer anything at all. Pa said it was because he was stupid.

He didn’t want to go to school today. His head was all stuffy and he was tired. Was he sick? If he was sick maybe Pa would let him stay home. It was Ford’s schooling he cared about anyway.

But no, that would leave Ford alone all day! He couldn’t leave his brother with that stupid Crampelter. Ford tried to hide how the other kids picked on him when Stan wasn’t there, but Stan wasn’t a total idiot. He knew it got worse when he wasn’t by his brother’s side, fists clenched and rearing for a fight. They would take advantage of his absence to mess with his brother.

No, he’d have to go to school, for Sixer. Filled with indignation on the part of his brother Stan lifted his face from his pillow-

And froze.

He wasn’t in his room, on the bottom bunk while Ford leaned over from the top bunk to talk to him. He wasn’t in his room at all.

The bed he was on was big and messy with slightly grubby sheets. It sat in a weird room that looked like it was part of a log cabin, rife with random objects that sat on boxes or desks or were pinned to a corkboard on the wall. And there was someone standing over him.

Stan yelped and threw himself away from the reaching hand, only to topple off the bed and let out a pained cry when his elbows scraped the wooden floor. The person rushed around towards him. Heart pounding, Stan rolled under the bed and curled up as far in as he could get.

It was cold down here, and dusty, spider webs crisscrossing the beams above his head. Stan hugged his knees and gasped for breath.

Where the heck was he? Who was this guy? Where were Ford, and Ma, and his room and his house?

“Stanley?” A voice called. Deep and male and it sounded like Pa but not quite. Stan would have taken being alone with Pa over this. There was rustling as the person knelt next to the bed. Stan whimpered and curled up tighter. Maybe if he stayed still and very quiet, they would go away.

A man’s face peered into the shadows. His glasses reflected the light but – there was something familiar about those brown curls, the shape of his mouth, the concerned tilt of his brows.

“Ford?” Stan blurted. Ford – because it was Ford, wasn’t it, even though he was grown up? – nodded, seemingly at a loss for what to do. They sat there for a moment before Ford reached a hand towards him.

It was probably to help him out from under the bed, but Stanley took the chance to count his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yep, this was Ford alright. He grabbed the huge hand and crawled out of the dusty shadows.

Ford was huge. He looked like an adult, Stan realized as he shook dust from his clothes and sneezed. He looked like Pa, but without the sunglasses and the scowl and the grey hair.

“What happened to you?” Stan demanded. “You’re all – big.”

Ford’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t made a move to stand up from where he was kneeling. To be honest, Stan didn’t want him to stand up – he didn’t like the idea of his brother looming over him.

“You don’t remember?” Ford’s voice was deeper than he was used to. It still sounded like a nerd’s voice, though, so that was something. Stan frowned.

“Remember what? This isn’t home. Where are we? And you – you’re old. What’s going on?”

Ford ran a hand across his face and groaned. “Okay. This is fine. So you reverted to a child in memories as well. Just – great.”

And then he stood up and started walking. Stan trailed after his brother as he sat at a desk and started writing in a big book. Stan wasn’t tall enough to see what he was writing.

“Uh, Ford?”

No answer. Stan stood there awkwardly while Ford scratched away in his book. He really wasn’t liking how – how weird his brother was being. He felt like he’d missed something big. But with the way Ford was acting Stan was nervous to ask, and that made him even more worried. Ford had never been this distant before.

“I called you here.” Ford said suddenly, making Stan jump. The nerd still wasn’t looking up from his book. “I needed your help hiding my journals. You came to my house. Do you remember that?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A thought struck Stan and he blinked. “Wait, are we in the future?”

“In a manner of speaking, you are.” Ford sighed. “Listen carefully, Stanley. I asked you to come, so you could take my journal far away and hide it.”

“Why?”

“It contains very dangerous information. I have to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

“Oh, okay.” Yeah, that made sense. That kind of stuff was always happening in the new Sci-Fi show Ford loved. Of course, that was a show, but they’d seen weird things before. Like the Jersey Devil! Plus, if anyone was gonna write something epic and powerful and smart, it would be Ford.

His brother sent him an odd look out of the corner of his eye but continued.

“When you got here – you were my age then – we got into an argument. You knocked into one of my samples and got it all over you. Then you turned into – this. A younger version of yourself.”

Stan blinked. “I was old?”

“We’re twenty seven, Stanley – or at least I am. I was investigating water from the spring of youth, but I only came across it recently so I haven’t had time to work out how to undo its effects. I’ll have to get a new sample to experiment on, since you destroyed the only one I had.”

Destroyed? Stan rubbed the back of his neck, shame twisting in his stomach. “Aw man, bro, sorry I broke your thing.”

Ford stiffened. Stan rushed to continue, afraid he’d said something wrong.

“But you can – can get a new one, right? And I can help. And then we can do the thing you wanted, hide the book, right? It’ll be like burying pirate treasure! Oh! If this is the future, did we get the Stan O’ War fixed?” He vibrated with excitement. “Is she seaworthy? Do we go sailing?”

“I’m trying to write, Stanley.” Ford said stiffly, coldly. He’d never used that voice with Stan before. It was unnerving. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat?”

“Uh… okay. Sure.” Stan mumbled, subdued. Maybe the Stan O’ War could wait.

For the first time he noticed the state of his clothes – well, cloth, since there was only one piece – a too-big shirt that hung off him like a huge smock. He considered asking for a change of clothes. But if he used to be a grownup, they would probably only have grownup clothes. Plus, Ford seemed pretty upset and Stan didn’t want to bother him.

So he held his tongue and wandered out of the room, into the rest of the house. It was big, and super messy. Stan passed what looked like a – a triangle shine? – as he explored a room that may have been a lounge. He poked his tongue out at it. The grumble of his stomach seemed very loud in the quiet. Ford was right, he hadn’t even realized he was hungry!

Eventually he found the kitchen. An investigation of the fridge showed it was empty except a quarter-full jar of peanut butter. Well, better than nothing. Stan found a spoon among the dishes and shuffled over to the dingy table to eat. He had to brush a few papers away to make space.

Okay. So this was really weird. Definitely not scary though. Stan refused to be scared. Even if he desperately missed the security of home, of having his brother by his side-

But this Ford was his brother – just a bit older. And wasn’t that good? Ford was older, he knew what was going on, he could fix it. Stan just had to wait for him to make things go back to normal. And wasn’t it so cool that his nerd brother would grow up to be a nerdy scientist? He couldn’t wait to go back home and tell his Ford the adventure he’d gone on.

Secure once again, Stan decided to investigate this weird place. His Ford would wanna ask a lot of questions about it, after all. He shoved a final spoon of peanut butter into his mouth and jumped up to explore.

There was so much weird stuff here! Stan had no idea what half of it did. Though, that was true of a lot of things. He peered into some kind of office room with a chalk circle on the floor and candles scattered around, before deciding Ford probably wouldn’t like it if he messed with his stuff.

There was a door that, once opened, showed a dark, yawning staircase stretching out below. Stan peered around for a light switch. Finding none, he shrugged to himself and decided to brave it.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. Stan’s breathing and the tap-tap-tap of his footsteps seemed uncomfortably loud in the enclosed space. A flickering bluish light lit up whatever was below. Stan squinted to try and figure out what it was.

He soon found out, however, when he ended up in some huge lab. The majority of the space was taken up by some gigantic structure, a big circle like the kind you’d blow bubbles with but surrounded with technology junk. It looked like something straight out of Star Trek!

“Whoa.”

Stan walked over to a console to stare at all the buttons. Did Ford know how to use this thing? Did Ford build it? Jeez, he’d always known Ford was the smart twin but this was epic. And if Ford could build this thing, between the two of them the Stan O’ War was gonna be the greatest ship ever!

Stan paused. He knew he really shouldn’t be messing with Ford’s stuff, but that big red button was tempting him. Surely it couldn’t hurt to find out what this thing could do?

Stanley bit his lip, tossing up his options. He was spared from having to make a decision by stomping footsteps and a shout.

“Stanley!”

__________________________________________________________

In hindsight, letting a child roam freely around a house that doubled as a lab and testing site was… not the smartest move to make. In Ford’s defence he had been distracted when he suggested it. Stan had started talking about breaking projects, and that stupid boat, and it took every iota of Ford’s self-control to not snap and yell at him.

He’s a child. He has no memories of what happened. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

After about twenty minutes of writing observations in his journal Ford had come to the conclusion that letting a child – even worse, Stanley – loose in this place could be dangerous. He closed his journal and descended to make sure he was staying out of trouble.

But Stanley wasn’t downstairs. He wasn’t anywhere Ford checked. With increasing distress Ford stuck his head outside to see if the child had ventured into the woods. No sign of him, and the thick layer of snow was untouched. But the only other place he could have gone was-

The lab.

Ford cursed himself for not noticing that the door to the lab was hanging ajar. Stupid sleep deprivation! Ford stormed down the stairs, caught between fury and concern. What if Stan hurt himself?

When he reached the bottom, however, and found his brother staring at the portal’s controls, fury won out.

“Stanley!”

Stan snapped around guiltily. “Uh, hey, Ford-”

“What are you doing down here? This is my lab, it’s dangerous! You can’t touch anything!” Ford marched over and snatched his brother away from the controls. “What if you broke something? Or got hurt?”

Stan yelped. Ford tucked him under one arm and started back up the stairs, gritting his teeth.

“From now on you are not to come down here. Understood?”

“Mm hmm.” Stan mumbled. Once at the top of the stairs Ford placed him down to close and lock the door firmly. He turned back to Stan to continue the scolding, but… Stan looked like he was about to cry. His face was screwed up and he stared at the floor as if he could will away the tears that Ford could see gathering in his eyes.

A surge of guilt washed over Ford, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing to be guilty about. He sighed.

“Stanley, I…” What was there to say? “It’s late. I’ll set you up in the spare room.”

Stan sniffed and nodded.

Luckily Stan had always been resilient, and he perked back up while Ford went about preparing the bed in the spare room. He hadn’t had visitors for so long that he’d started using it as a workbench.

This had been Fiddleford’s room, back when they had worked together. The thought of his old research assistant sent a spike of guilt through him. Yet another warning that he had ignored, and in the process he’d destroyed the one human friendship he had.

No, he didn’t have time to reminisce. Not with Stanley to deal with and the threat of Bill looming over him at any given time. Ford harshly shoved all thoughts of Fiddleford from his mind and threw a blanket over the bed. It wasn’t very thick but it would have to do.

He was lost in thought as he absently picked up his brother and placed him on the bed. There, problem solved. Ford had more important work to do. For starters, he had to figure out some way to get the unicorn hair he needed for a protective spell against Bill. Until he could put up the barrier it wouldn’t be safe to dismantle the portal, which meant Bill had a much better chance of figuring out how to get in and activate it.

He paused in the doorway to glance at his watch. What was the time, somewhere after midnight? Two-ish apparently. At daybreak he could try again to get the unicorn hair. But he also had to figure out how to cure Stan. Would it be better to leave that until after he had Bill-proofed his house? Stan would be in the way the whole time, but he would be less of an obstacle than he would be as an adult.

But then again, an adult Stan could drive away and be out of the equation entirely. While he was a child Ford was stuck with him. Also, adult Stan also might agree to take the journal when he found out that Ford had cured him. Yes, it was probably better to do that first-

“I can almost see yer ears smoking!”

The chirp made him jump. Ford whipped around to stare at Stanley, who was blinking at him from his spot on the bed.

“Ya were standing in the doorway looking blank for like, five minutes.” The child explained at Ford’s stare. “Watcha thinking about?”

Ford took a slow, steadying breath. “Truthfully? The situation I’m currently in. I have far too much on my plate, and very little time to deal with it.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?” Stan tipped his head. The action made him look rather like a puppy. Despite his tiredness and frustration, the sight made Ford’s mouth tip into a smile.

“I don’t suppose you can charm unicorns as well as you charm old people into giving you sweets?”

“Hey, I don’t make ‘em give me stuff, they just wanna! All I gotta do is play it up a bit.” Then Stan seemed to register the first statement. “Whoa, hold up. Did you say unicorns?”

“Yes, but believe me, they’re not quite as pleasant as the kind you’re imagining. And they very much dislike parting with their hair.” Ford’s lip curled. “Quite irritating, actually.”

“Where did you find unicorns?” Stan demanded excitedly, slipping off the bed to rush to Ford and grab his coat in chubby fists.

“The forest, of course. Gravity Falls is home to numerous creatures not found anywhere else in the world. Why do you think I moved here?” Ford couldn’t quite hold in a snort at the way his brother’s eyes sparkled. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen any gnomes already. They often sneak in to raid the pantry.”

“Are they here now? Can I see ‘em?” Stanley gasped out in a rush.

“No. I do have some sketches in my journal though…”

Stanley let out a whoop and darted past him. Ford watched him scramble up the stairs to where Ford’s room was. How did he… no, he’d woken up in Ford’s room, of course he knew where it was.

“Stanley!” Ford called after him. “Stan, you should be in bed!”

“I’m not tired!”

Oh, for the love of…

Ford sighed and followed, albeit at a slower pace. He had no idea how they’d had that much energy as children. It seemed boundless.

At any rate, he doubted Stanley would be getting to sleep any time soon, and he had to keep an eye on the child to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. At least his presence shouldn’t hinder Ford too much. Stan could draw or look at pictures or whatever children did while Ford worked on finding a cure.

“FO-ORD!” Stanley yelled. “Come on, hurry up! You got so many books here! Are there mermaids in this weird place too? Oh my gosh there’s mermaids aren’t there? Which one’s your diary thing? I wanna SEE!”

“Coming.” Ford huffed out another sigh and picked up the pace.

#gravity falls #stangst #rewind #chapter 2

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