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gosecretscribbles · 6 years

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Forduary 2018 Week 4: Stan O’ War

Thanks for this piece go to Mubfsw (on Archive of Our Own), who came up for the idea behind this story. Enjoy!

Ford sat in the kitchen of the Stan O' War, various bits and pieces of machinery scattered around him.

“My bonnie lies over the ocean...”

His jaw tightened and he drew the machine closer, trying to screw in the little nails as fast as he could.

“My bonnie lies over the sea...!”

Ford finally gave up and stood. “STANLEY WOULD YOU CUT THAT OUT!”

The cabin door opened and Stanley stuck his head in, grinning. “Whatsa matter, Sixer? Want me to pick a different song?”

“Yes! Preferably one with no lyrics whatsoever!”

“You got it!”

“Wait no wait –”

“AAAAAH-OOOOOH-EEEEEH-YAYAYAYAAAAAA –”

Ford slapped his hands over his ears. “Uncle, uncle!”

“You mean grunkle, baby! POW!”

Ford groaned. About a week ago they'd found a strange golden goblet with odd encryptions around the rim. Stan, of course, drank from it the first chance he got, which was how they found out it cursed the drinker to hear the voices of the dead. Apparently the sea was heavily populated with ghosts from hundreds of years ago, and Ford had been excited to hear their first-hand accounts of ancient anomalies (well, second-hand, since Stan had had to repeat everything they said. Occasionally with his own colorful interpretations).

After a few days, though, Stan got annoyed with having to listen to them nonstop. They had yet to find a cure for the curse, so Ford was working on an astral disruptor to keep the ghosts at bay. It would make the area very painful for any ghost to endure for long.

Unfortunately, Stan had hit upon something even worse: his singing.

“I am literally begging you to stop,” Ford said, looking up at his brother.

“Sorry, pal! Can't hear you over this drowned damsel screamin' in my ear!” He inhaled deeply, preparing to sing.

“WAIT! Look, since we can't put enough distance between us, you've got to stop singing. Just for ten minutes, or I'll never get this disruptor done!”

Stan cupped a hand around his ear. “Did I hear that right? The great 12th-degree genius can't fix a machine? Do I detect a sore spot?”

“I'll give you a sore spot!” Ford snapped.

“Yeesh! Alright already. But don't expect to hear any more second-hand accounts of Atlantis from me.” He pulled back and closed the door.

“That is the point of the whole disruptor!” Ford called after him.

He collapsed back on the bench next to the table and held his breath. He was waiting for another migraine-inducing song from his brother. When he counted to twenty, and the ship was still quiet, Ford let his breath whoosh out. Dipper and Mabel had told him that the three of them defeated a horde of zombies by singing. Given Stan's vocal cords, Ford believed Stan could've done it solo.

That must be what it's like for Stan, hearing those ghosts all the time. Serves him right, Ford thought.

But he pulled the disruptor close again. Karmic justice aside, there was no reason for Stan to keep paying for what had clearly been a dumb mistake.

It took him about three minutes to finish the machine, attach the feed, and turn it on. He brought it up to the deck.

“Okay, Stanley! How's it...ah.”

Stan was fast asleep, slumped against the wheelhouse, fishing pole still held tightly in his hand. His head was thrown back and he was snoring loudly. It was almost...cute. In a really crusty way.

Of course. The ghosts had been pestering Stanley nonstop. Ford hadn't noticed a change in Stan's behavior, but he really should've noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. They must've been keeping him awake at all hours of the night.

Well, it was clear enough that Stan needed the rest. Ford made to go back below deck, but his brother suddenly startled awake.

“Ehn? Wazzat?”

Ford turned back. “I didn't mean to wake you. I just finished making the astral disruptor. Do you hear any ghosts?”

Stan blinked and looked around blearily. “Um...no.” He blinked a few times. “Wow. Wow! No wonder I fell asleep! Those stupid things have been yackin' my ear off for days and now it's finally quiet!” He sprang to his feet. “Take that, you ectoplasmic whiner-babies! Who's yellin' uncle now, huh? Hahahaha!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I strongly suggest we treat this as a trial run only. And pay particular attention to any sounds you hear, whether or not you think I can hear them. There may be some side effects to mixing an astral disruptor with your curse. In fact, the particular wavelengths that the ghosts seem to use may also have been duplicated by other supernatural –”

“ROLLIN' DOWN TO OLD MAUI, BOYS/ROLLIN' DOWN TO OLD MAUI!”

Ford jumped so badly he nearly dropped the disruptor. “Great Einstein's Ghost, Stanley! I just told you the disruptor's working, you don't need to sing!”

“Sure I don't, that's why I feel like singin'! WE'RE HOMEWARD BOUND TO THE ARCTIC GROUND –”

“That's it!”

Ford dropped the disruptor safely on the deck and lunged at Stan, literally bowling him over.

It was like being kids again. They rolled around on the deck, the fishing rod long forgotten, wrestling and trying to grab at each other. Ford knew Stan's every weak spot, all the little places where, if he did it juuuust right...

“Sweet Mo – Moses, Ford!” Stan gasped, laughing so hard tears streamed down his eyes. “You have twelve fingers, it's not –” and then he ran out of breath to say anything else. He was practically doubled up laughing.

Ford paused on top of him, grinning. “Give up yet?”

“I give, I give! Grunkle!”

Ford laughed and rolled off. Stanley sat up, still wheezy with laughter and clutching at a stitch in his side.

“You tryin' a make me wet my pants or something?” Stan asked, smiling, when he'd gotten some of his breath back. “I mean geez, that's just playin' dirty! You coulda just asked me to stop singin'.”

Ford punched him lightly on the arm. “I did ask, you knucklehead.”

“Musta been short-term memory loss!”

He rolled his eyes. “Really, Stan? Must you kid about that?”

“'Must you', 'must you',” Stan mimicked. “Aaand you're back to bein' a stuffed shirt. And here I thought my good influence was finally rubbin' off on you.”

“Too bad,” Ford said dryly. “How're those ghosts of yours?”

“They're not my ghosts,” Stan corrected, and he yawned hugely. “I dunno, can't hear a thing. Maybe the curse just wore off?”

Ford shrugged. “We could turn the disruptor off to check.”

“No way.” Stan yawned again. “At least not until I actually get some sleep here.”

“Sure, sure. Why don't – you mean here here?” Ford looked down, surprised. Stan was lying down right on the deck, folding his arms under his head for a pillow. “Stan, your back is going to stiffen up if you do that and you'll be in no shape for your chores around the Stan O' War.”

“Even better,” Stan mumbled, closing his eyes. “Wake me when you...” The rest of his sentence was lost in a snore.

Ford smiled and got up to retrieve the fishing pole. It had fallen on the deck and the line had snapped, but the actual pole was still in place. He brought it down to the cabin, found Stan's orthopedic back pillow, and brought it back up. After he made Stan as comfortable as he could, he took up his post in the wheelhouse and checked to make sure they were still on course. He supposed he could do the evening chores tonight, too.

A/N: I DID IT GUYS FORDUARY IS DONE!!!

Wait...Forduary is done?! NOOOOOO!

Thanks again to Mubfsw. I wanted to finish Forduary in the actual month of Forduary, and the only reason that happened was because Mubfsw gave me an awesome idea. Thanks again, Mubfsw!

#forduary #forduary2018 #ford #stanford #stanfordpines #stanley #stanleypines #stanowar #stan o war #ghost #fluff #i did a thing #Gravity Falls #after the falls

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