Chapter Text
"PLEASE COME! -FORD" Tch, figures. Even after ten years apart, Ford seemed to have a knack for being overdramatic. Stan set down his bat and sat heavily on his bed, the springs in the mattress squeaking and digging in uncomfortably, but he didn't pay attention to any of that. Ten years. Ten years and this is the letter he got? Two words, three if you count Ford's name? It seemed... Underwhelming was a good word. Yeah, it seemed underwhelming. But... it was an outstretched hand, right? An opportunity to set things straight between them, and while Stan Pines was a no-good idiot, he wasn't dumb enough to let it slip by. How many times had he called Ford, only to chicken out as soon as his brother picked up? How many times had he almost sent his own letters to Ford, only to throw them in the glovebox instead? This could be Stan's chance to see his brother again and set things right. Besides, Ford was family. He wouldn't bite.
It was easier for Stan to pack his meager belongings into his car than it would be for most people, dodging the bill from the motel he'd stayed at and driving away like a madman toward Gravity Falls, Oregon, the address written on Ford's card. Gravity Falls was a weird name for a town if you asked him, but it sounded like the type of place Ford would love. Stanley just loved that he wasn't banned from there yet. He stopped for gas, keeping his eyes peeled and his head down as he did. Rico and his goons were still sniffing around this part of New Mexico looking for him, and he couldn't risk getting caught, not now. Luckily, the gas station was deserted, and he got back in his car and headed down the road with no problems at all, a stash of stolen snacks on the passenger seat. Hey, a guy had to eat.
Stan sighed, slumping a bit as his mind inevitably wandered to one thought; What would he do when he saw Ford again? Of course, apologizing was first on the list, even though the word "sorry" left Stan's mouth dry, but what about after that? Would they go their separate ways again? Ford might not even want to reconnect with Stan; maybe he's just trying to clear the air. Meeting with Stan to talk things over didn't mean they'd become buddies again. Maybe once Stan says sorry Ford'll just nod and send him away, pleased to know the past has been somewhat righted and all too happy to watch Stan leave his life again. Maybe it's what Stan deserves. He's messed up so many people's lives– Maybe he's got some sorta curse that rubs off onto people who get too close to him. It would explain a lot, actually. He turned on the radio, trying to focus on the good. Ford reached out to him; Ford wanted to see him, and he might have a chance to fix everything.
Things were finally looking up.
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Sometimes Stan wished he could go back in time and punch himself in the mouth. Had he learned nothing? Rule number one of living on the streets (or of any good horror movie) was that you never said, "What could go wrong?" Rule number two, you never acknowledge when things are going right because as soon as you do, everything goes to shit. Kinda like right now, with Stan standing in the snow with nothing but a thin jacket and boots that were definitely not waterproof, his hands held in the air while a fucking crossbow (like, a real, legit crossbow, what the fuck?) was pointed at his chest. The kicker, though? The thing that really made this whole situation a real knee-slapper? Ford was holding the crossbow and just asked if Stan was going to steal his eyes. Where did his brother even learn to use one of those things?!
"Stanley! Did anyone follow you?" Ford asked frantically.
"Uh, hello to you too, pal," Stan muttered. One of Ford's hands dug into the pocket of his trench coat (yikes, bad fashion choice, Sixer) while the other hand kept the weapon shakily pointed at Stan. Stan almost wanted to joke about how Ford's uneasy hand was making him nervous, but he figured he might get shot if he riled Ford up. A moment later, his brother pulled out a flashlight and promptly blinded Stan by shining it in his eyes.
"OW! What the shit– What is this?"
Ford put the flashlight away and lowered the weapon– thank Moses– with a tense expression. "Sorry, I just– I needed to make sure you weren't– Nevermind. Come in, come in." Ford turned on his heel and walked into the house, not once looking back. Stan huffed and shivered violently. Sure, yeah, thanks for the warm welcome. Not like Stan had just driven 20 hours to see him or anything. Entering the cabin, Stan was taken aback at the sheer mess of the place, and sure, he lived out of his car, so maybe he shouldn't be throwin' stones or whatever, but this felt next level. It wasn't just trash or some dishes; it was broken furniture, torn-up books, piles of papers, and laundry that Stan could smell from across the room. Shattered plates and mugs of stale coffee were sitting on the table and even on the floor, and odd stains were splattered randomly throughout the room. There were other strange items that– while technically making more sense in Ford's living room than anything else– were still creepy; A dinosaur skull, a hand in a jar, a human skeleton (hopefully not real), and mechanical devices of some kind. Stan shivered again, trying to ignore his wet socks.
"So, uh, you gonna explain what's goin' on here? You're actin' like ma after he tenth cuppa coffee." Stan asked. Ford froze, clutching the book in his hands tightly. When had he gotten a book? Had it been there the whole time?
"Listen," Ford began. "There isn't much time. I've made huge mistakes, and I– I-" He paused, staring at the skeleton. He turned its head in the other direction, so it was staring at the wall. "–I don't know who I can trust." Right. A sense of unease prickled the back of Stan's neck, but he pushed it aside.
"Hey, easy, alright? Let's... talk it through, ok?"
"There's something I have to show you. Something you won't believe." Ford's voice wavered slightly, clearly very sure that Stan wouldn't believe or help him. Stan spread his arms out wide, grinning.
"Look, I've been around the world. Whatever it is, I'll understand."
Ford pursed his lips, looking unsure, and Stan almost worried that Ford would shake his head and send Stan away. But, instead, Ford nodded slightly.
"I hope you're right. Follow me."