Chapter Text
It was never a surprise when the police showed up on Stanley’s doorstep. When he had a doorstep for them to show up on, that was, and this was one of those rare occasions where he actually did. He didn’t own it, technically, but Stanford wasn’t here to complain about his self-appointed ownership of the house, nor its gradual transition into the Mystery Shack.
It had initially been called ‘Murder Hut’, but that name had lost its appeal once actual murders had started taking place in town. He suspected this unfortunate choice of name was the reason the local law enforcement was currently looking down at him from his (Stanford’s) porch. He was reluctant to talk to them, but he knew it would be incriminating if he didn’t, so he feigned a smile and stepped out onto the doormat to greet them.
“Mornin’, officers.” The coffee he was holding steamed in the chilly morning. He took a sip, and it immediately warmed his belly. “Can I help you with something?”
“You can, yes,” the younger of the two replied. He had short blonde hair and dark brown eyes, and his pale skin suggested he didn’t get out much. “But first, I’m Ennis. Ennis Suite, and my partner here is Rayban Regan.” Ennis gestured to his much shorter, fatter friend. What weird fucking names, Stanley thought. Rayban Regan, Eustace Huckabone Befufftlefumpter, Bud Gleeful; the people of this town must have all been conceived by parents who hadn’t planned on kids. ‘Whoops, well, I can’t think of a normal name, so I’ll just name them after a brand of sunglasses. Or better yet, give them the most nonsensical name imaginable’.
Stanley had to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Uh huh. Stanford Pines. Y’probably already know me, though.” There had been enough gossip about him that he was sure everyone in town knew his name. Or the name he was currently choosing to go by, anyway. “So, now that introductions are outta the way, what do’y want?”
“We were actually hoping you would be able to help us with the murder case.” Ennis flashed white teeth. It was probably meant to be a disarming expression, but Stanley found it disconcerting.
“Huh? Am I a suspect or something?”
“Oh, no. What I mean is, we want you to help us solve it.”
Stanley looked incredulous. “Why would ya come to me for that? I’m just some guy who lives in the woods.”
“You’re also one of two scientists that live in town, and we're a little doubtful on that other one,” Ennis went on to say. “You’re the closest we can get to real help. No one else is willing to come down here to assist. Not to a place like Gravity Falls.”
Stanley laughed. When neither officer followed suit, it tapered off into awkward titters. “Ha…ah… you’re serious?”
“Very serious,” Ennis confirmed.
Gravity Falls was a secluded place, hours from high society and surrounded by forests and mountains, but it was still hard to believe law enforcement would call on the help of a man who had spent the majority of their time in Gravity Falls holed up in their house. Six years, and he knew from reading Stanford’s journal entries and looking at the calendar that Stanford had only ever ventured into town for necessities. He hadn’t led the sort of life that would have made him seem like a good candidate for this sort of job.
Stanley was aware the police here weren’t exactly competent, but this was beyond embarrassing.
“Nah, sorry. I’m not a guy you want working on something like this.” He scratched his left butt cheek and yawned, which he was sure conveyed his point better than any words could have. “Go ask some other smuck, because my specialty is electronic thingies and science stuff, not… Sherlock Holmes shit.”
For the first time, Ennis’ companion spoke up. “Mr. Pines, please. You’re quite literally the only choice we have left.”
“Gee, that sure makes me feel wanted.” He leaned into his door frame, arms folded and coffee nestled into the crook of an elbow. “Who else didya ask?”
“Who do you think?” Ennis mimicked him, folding his own arms. “Other stations, ones several hours away. No one was willing to come down. They said we’re already well-equipped to deal with something like this, but no one on station has been able to get anywhere with these murders-”
Ray’s gravelly voice interrupted. “We’ve read about your contributions to science, and they’re amazing. To be frank, you have more experience with the observation, evaluation, and forensics of a case like this than anyone on station. We’re country folk. The closest we’ve gotten to a real crime until now was the occasional robbery by unruly teenagers who voluntarily came forward.”
“Oh, geeze.” A whole dimension apart, and Stanford was still managing to make his life difficult. Stanley downed the last of his coffee and set the still-warm ceramic mug against his pink nose to warm it. “I doubt I’m gonna be able to help. I’m really not as amazing as you think I am, but if you’re insisting, and I think you are, I will. Are you insisting?”
“That’s not the term we’d like to use, but…” Ennis glanced to his companion, who continued for him.
“Yes, we’re insisting.”
Well, fuck.
There were some people who prayed to God, but Stanley was going to pray to Stanford once he was alone and let his brother know what a massive inconvenience his intelligence was. Oh, and remind him he was a huge cock. He did that at least once a week.
He didn’t see any way out of this, so he gave a reluctant nod. “You’d better not be expecting any miracles, because like I said, this isn’t my thing. I just do science-y stuff with gadgets.”
“Any help is good help, Mr. Pines. We’ll brief you once you’re dressed.” Ray glanced down at Stanley’s legs. Or more specifically, at his absence of trousers. “Meet us at the local station in one hour, and we expect you to be wearing trousers.”
“Uugh, okay.” Stanley peeled his shoulder off the doorframe to better secure his – Stanford’s – dressing gown around his waist. That covered up the blemish that was his naked legs. “I’d better be getting paid for this,” he added in a grumble, deliberately loud enough for the officers to hear.
Ennis took the bait. “We will compensate you for your time. You’ll be receiving the same wage we do at the end of each week.” A police officers wage was nothing to bat an eye at. They made more in a day than Stanley did in a five. He’d been living on bread and butter since running the pantry dry, and it’d be a nice change of pace to have enough money to incorporate meat and vegetables into his meals. He grinned and stepped back into his house, suddenly enthusiastic.
“Well, I’d better go shower and get ready, then!” he exclaimed as he slammed the door in Ennis’ and Ray’s bemused faces.
He was no stranger to the interior of a police station. He had been in his fair share of them as both a victim and a perpetrator. There was nothing that could surprise him.
But the station in Gravity Falls sure was old. It was more reminiscent of Alcatraz than any of the other stations he had been inside, its pasty yellow brick walls and cement flooring giving one a feeling of claustrophobia. As he was guided into the office portion of the building, he couldn’t help but notice every room smelt faintly of dust and stale coffee. He wrinkled his nose; he really didn’t like this place, even if he was an esteemed guest. It was dark, cold, smelly, and he felt as if the walls were closing in on him the further inside he got.
Well, the sooner he got this briefing done, the sooner he could leave. He sat down opposite the two officers – who appeared to be the only ones on duty – and extended a hand for the manila folder on the desk.
Ray looked his hand, and then back at him. “Mr. Pines, if you want something, you’re going to have to ask for it.”
“It’s alright, Rayban.” Ennis smiled tightly at him. “Stanford means no harm. Here you are.” He dropped the folder into Stanley’s hand, and Stanley immediately set about spreading it's contents out over his thighs. Not exactly professional, but there was no room on the desk. It was cluttered with various documents and utensils and a bulky typewriter.
He almost dropped the entire thing when he pulled out a photograph of a man with his brain splattered across cement. “Holy shit! His head! What the fuck-?” Of course, Stanley had known this was a murder case; he’d read the newspaper articles, reacted accordingly, but he was still surprised by the brutality of the murder.
“He was shot in the head, point blank,” Ennis provided. Stanley’s throat felt unnaturally dry as he listened. “He didn’t suffer, if you’re worried about that. He died instantly.”
“He was our second victim,” Ray added.
“Second? How many more?”
“So far, only three.” Ennis reached over the desk to swipe a line of photographs out of the folder, each as bloody and disturbing as the first. A man with his skull barely attached, a woman with her jaw blown off. Dozens of photographs taken at every conceivable angle.
The sour taste of vomit coated the walls of his throat, but he swallowed it back down before he could be compelled to retch. “Augh, J-Jesus, I dunno if I can get used to seeing this sort of thing.”
Ray offered him a small smile. “It takes a little while to desensitize. A couple of weeks. You’ll probably still feel uncomfortable after that, but you’ll have learned ways to cope by then.”
“How would you know? You said yourself you don’t get any action down here.”
“Dealing with this sort of thing was part of our course,” Ray said. “One of the final things we did to ensure we were up to the job was watch an autopsy. Absolutely hated it. Gave me the willies.”
Ennis didn’t seem able to relate, because he looked across the room in an obvious attempt to feign interest in something else. “Glad I didn’t choose this as a career, then,” Stanley sighed. “I probably would’ve vomited.”
Ray shrugged. “You’d be surprised what you’re able to deal with when it’s right there in front of you.”
Stanley had no interest in finding out how able he was to deal with corpses, so he was careful not to dislodge the photographs as he removed the written documents from the file. The officers were silent as he flipped through the information. They described each murder scene in explicit detail, right down to what one of the victims had been wearing on their little toe. It would have been impressive were it not so disturbing.
The third and final document was considerably shorter than the others. It only filled one page, while the others filled several. He held it up for the officers to see, frowning. “I’ve read cereal boxes longer than this.”
“Yes, well, the person responsible for the other ones was the third victim.” Ray gestured to the document. “That’s the file we wrote up for him.”
Stanley felt shame colour his ears and slid the document back into the folder without another word. He wasn’t a man with a great deal of empathy. He rarely ever spared a thought for the people he scammed, but scamming customers out of a few bucks wasn’t quite the same as inadvertently insulting people who’d just lost a work colleague.
When he looked up, Ennis began to speak. “You might have noticed the documents only describe the victims. We have no clue as to who the murderer might be. Male, female; tall, short. We don’t know.” He reached a hand into his jacket, feeling around for something. “So, we want you to go into town and talk about the murders with people. With anyone you think might be relevant. People will be more relaxed talking about it with a fellow resident, so they’ll be more likely to provide information that could potentially incriminate them. Think of what you're doing for us as a public service.” When he withdrew his hand from his jacket, he was holding a taser. He held it out for Stanley to take.
Stanley was comically awed. A police officer was giving him a taser. Not shooting it at him, like they usually did, but handing it over as a means of self-defense. He was giddy as he took it, turning it over in his hands with all the dignity of a school boy. He didn’t see the officers exchange a look, which was probably a good thing.
“Thanks! Do I get my own police car too?”
“Of course not,” Ray scoffed. “We want you to be subtle, remember? Make the residents feel at ease.”
“Oh, right.” Stanley sounded disappointed. It was probably for the best, though; he didn’t need more reason to have to come back here, into this cold claustrophobic station with a lingering scent of stagnation.
Ennis reached over to take the folder, and Stanley made no attempt to stop him. He’d seen enough. “If you need this,” Ennis began, opening a desk drawer and hovering the file over it. “You’ll find it here. You’re welcome to access it and add to it any time you like.” The file was dropped inside, the drawer slammed shut. Stanley jolted a little at the reverberating thud of wood against wood and nodded rapidly; this environment was making him jumpy. He hadn’t been this tense since the night he had lost Stanford.
He took that as his cue to stand from his chair. He tried to remain composed as he turned, waving a hand over his shoulder in farewell. Neither police officer spoke as he journeyed his way through the building and out the front door. Once outside, he let a full-body shudder wash over him, shoulders quaking and teeth chattering, but he didn’t vomit. He spat off to the side just to make sure, and it was translucent rather than the expected yellow. Maybe he was handling this better than he thought.
Stanley wiped his mouth on the back of a hand and continued walking.
The residents of Gravity Falls weren’t smart enough to suspect he was questioning people about the murders for any reason other than curiosity. “So, how about those murders? You guy know anything?” Hardly subtle, but the residents were more than happy to spill every detail they were aware of to a willing ear. Susan was especially vocal, going on and on about how one victim was found just outside her diner with his skull several feet away from his head. She gave him a slice of pie to eat while she divulged all the information she had, and by the time she was done, Stan had moved on to drinking his third cup of coffee.
No one had information relevant to the perpetrator. Everything he was told had already been thoroughly covered by the documentation. It was late when he finally headed back to the shack, and he had nothing to show for it.
He fell into bed with his clothes still on and rolled until the blankets were wrapped around him like a cocoon. The house was pitch black, and it seemed to make more noise than it had any night prior. He didn’t sleep well.