Chapter Text
People say that your wedding day is supposed to be the best day of your life, but they fail to mention all the nerves and fear leading up to it. The culmination of everything causing a tangle of panic in your chest that you would do anything to stop.
Without getting married, most people also wouldn’t know that once you see them- your person -again, everything stops.
Stanley’s always been able to do that, calming his worries and making everything okay. It’s nice to finally be able to do the same for him.
Today is far from an actual wedding day- LeeFord couldn’t give an estimate on when gay marriage might be legal, much less incest (what good is having a resident psychic then???) -but its close.
The sun came up brighter than seemingly ever before casting rays of orange, pink, and purple across the sky with small wisps of blue peeling at the edges through the patchworks of clouds. A beautiful beginning, for a perfect day. Even the red sunset last night had seemed to be working in their favor.
Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning
They had spent yesterday packing up the rest of what they’d need, cleaning up the house, and finalizing an escort with the local officers. Everything was ready.
All that left was them.
It’s odd, to feel the ebb of homesickness already settling into place despite the horrors to occur in these very halls. So much pain and terror.
But also, so much joy. The wonder and pride of having a home of his very own, discovering the secrets of this mythical unfathomable valley one by one.
And now, most importantly of all, Stanley being here. This place has been the heart of Ford’s work, the success of every effort- but Stanley made it a home. Warm and inviting instead of dark and empty.
Cooking, washing dishes together in the kitchen. Hanging clothes up outside to dry on the clothes line stretched between the porch and out over the driveway to the garage. And dancing, laughing in the living room.
It wasn’t easy or even possible to forget the pain that Bill had left in his wake, but now Ford had something better. Something that would last. Maybe shorter then until the end of time, but so much sweeter as a result.
The last of the eggs from the fridge and a half pack of bacon was split between them along with the last two cups of milk out of the fridge and too much cereal for two people, with Stanley pouring them each another bowl in an effort to finish the bag before leaving. Might as well, they won’t have as much fresh food at sea. No eggs, unless they decide to get a chicken.
Maybe they’re both a little nervous, given how tight Stanley’s smile looks from across the table. “Come on, eat up, because unless you think LeeFord can cram a cow in that fucking closet of his enjoy the milk while it lasts. Brain food, and all that shit.”
There can’t really be any good way to do this other then just jumping to the point. Otherwise, he’ll never actually get through this before everyone shows up to help see them off.
Ford clears his through, pushing the soon to be soggy food around one more turn before looking up and across at his brother. “I have a gift for you, before we leave.”
The slight twitch of both eyebrows almost furrowing into a frown only lasts a second before Stanley stops it, instead pushing them up into a lively show of joy and surprise. “Ahh, you really didn’t have to get me anything. Isn’t the whole boat enough?” The hand rubbing the back of his neck is a well known tell.
Sitting up, Ford reaches across the table to tentatively take the hand Stanley isn’t using to push around his eggs. “Our boat isn’t a gift. It’s a promise- as close to a wedding vow as I’m capable of -that we’re in this together. Forever. That boat is made of materials strong enough to last millenniums beyond our lifespan given their extraterrestrial origin.”
Ford takes a breath, letting it out with a quiet sigh, “Truly, if our own special brew of stupidity and home-grown pigheadedness wasn’t enough to keep us apart, well- then nothing else in the multiverse ever stood a chance.”
It’s okay that Stanley looks on the verge of falling into tears, if you read between the lines. To be honest, Ford’s face has been wet many times over this last week of preparations. This is safe. Somewhere they can be vulnerable, because- now, they have each other.
Instead of making Stanley come up with some sort of joke- as is his traditional sense of deflection these days -or even a real response, Ford gets up and walks over to the table by the front door, where they usually keep the mail, to grab a medium sized yellow envelope out of a drawer, which he hands to Stanley before hovering on one leg in his chair rather than sitting properly.
Between the boat and building the garage outside the two of them had poured over a lifetime worth of government paperwork. Enough so that it didn’t take more then skimming the first page to register what was inside.
It was a copy of Ford’s deed. Something he had found during the long and thorough deep clean of the place ages ago. The only difference was the addition of a second name, right in front of Ford’s.
Stanley Pines and Stanford Pines. Both written in stupid big loopy cursive letters with the government stamps and official shit surrounding those five words.
In all honesty, he had thought Ford was kidding about putting him on the deed. Okay, sure, he may have contributed to paying off the mortgage, but at the time it had seemed like the least he could do.
Mentally, it was still hard some times to let go of the idea that he owed his family. Even if that dept had been paid, with the intent of his life. Everything was basically just fluff at this point.
It made the constantly reinforced mantra ‘this is your home too’ hit a little harder. This was something tangible and real in front of him as legal proof. Not that the government having a say was usually ever a good thing (as made obvious by all the dragging of feet just getting on the water involved) just a bunch of no-good politicians sticking their noses in other people’s business-
In the middle of the kitchen there wasn’t anywhere beyond behind the paperwork to hide just how much he was crying over the gesture. This must be how women feel during pregnancy with how often Ford manages to cause an eruption of waterworks and a volcano of snot. Equally as gross to.
Ford doesn’t hesitate to cross the table, to comfort Stanley. They’d done more crying since killing Bill combined then any Pine had probably done in the last century, but this was still an impressive bout of emotional release.
After a while of rubbing Stanley’s back and awkwardly crouching to keep an arm around his shoulder Ford eventually ended up sitting in Stanley’s lap, happily letting his shirt be made a mess.
There was only so long he could keep putting off showing Stanley the tattoo LeeFord had been so kind as to give him, so they’d match wearing the same brand on the left shoulder, especially since it was nearly healed now, but after an already long day ahead tonight didn’t seem like a good time either.
Later. There would be lots and lots of time, later.
The sound of a car honking outside interrupting them was what finally prompted Ford to let go and withdraw from the hug in order to gather up the dishes and dispose of the food they’d mostly finished. “Run that upstairs into the safe, will you? I’ll head outside and get everyone organized after taking the trash out.”
It was as good excuse as any for Stanley to retreat and compose himself.
The house is eerily quiet walking through it the short distance to put the envelope away, upstairs, in their safe.
Safe. What a concept. This, here and now, living in a house they officially share-
Hell, even just the idea of having Ford back a year ago, without all the bells and whistles on top, would have earned whichever wanna be psychic a black eye and a broken nose.
Now the biggest problem Stanley has every morning is deciding what’s for breakfast in a usually well stocked kitchen and which part of the woods Ford wants to charge through digging around for something interesting. The nautical equivalent will no doubt be taking detours to random islands they shouldn’t be stopping at, poking things to big to be messing with so far from land, and fishing. They’re going to be eating a lot of fish.
The shack isn’t empty, just neat. Ready for when they come back in several months’ time, hopefully a little tanner but just as happy.
Stanley doesn’t linger or bother doing another walk through of the place since they’d already wondered around double checking window locks and turning off lights before breakfast.
He only has one stop in mind, and his feet bring him to the downstairs bathroom almost like second nature.
Lots of really shitty things happened in this bathroom, both here and in all the other weird freaky nightmares Bill orchestrated just for them across the multiverse.
Ford drowned in here after a long night of waterboarding in one of them, and in another Bill took great pleasure in finding out how many cuts a human body can take before passing out, followed by waking Stanley back up with a few cups of acid.
The tiles are clean, scrubbed of any blood or soup residue. It looks like nothing ever happened here at all.
Maybe the Axolotl was onto something else, creating LeeFord, because without him, he would have to dream. It’s a little early yet to be cashing that ticket into hell. The little leech can stick around, might even do them some good- If you ignore how running a body twenty-four seven will inevitably age it faster no matter how little LeeFord moves around at night.
How long until he starts looking older than Ford?
No grey hairs just yet, but that’s only a matter of time-
But today’s a good day. So, instead of thinking about any of that, Stanley closes the bathroom door and gathers the last of his crap before joining the chaos that’s happening outside.
As far as plans go, this one isn’t the worst Ford has ever cooked up. It’s easy enough and unlike most has a fail safe in case something goes wrong.
The Stan O’ War is too big to fit on a flat bed trailer, so it can’t be hauled out of Gravity Falls by a Semi in any capacity. Even if they could have gotten approval for road closures all over the upper half of Oregon and found a company they could afford to do a special ‘oversize load’ job, it wouldn’t work.
Oregon roads bend and curve all over the place, making transporting something long and straight extra difficult, and that isn’t even mentioning the bridges that simply wouldn’t be able to support that much weight between here and the marina they’re launching from.
So. If there wasn’t room on the road for the boat, and its weight couldn’t be withstood by the infrastructure they need to pass, that really only left one mode of transportation left. Flight.
Not a plane or a helicopter, no. Instead, Ford’s plan is that’s he’s going to sit in the back of the car and carry it. With an anti-gravity gun. The whole way.
At that point it in the discussion it had sounded easier to just shrink the damn thing, but suggesting so had almost gotten Fids and Ford into another fight. (Something about how the crystals don’t work on the alien metal?) So, Stanley had no choice but to relent and accept ‘Operation Seaplane’ as the best option.
However something like that is almost guaranteed to attract a lot of attention, which is why they had reluctantly asked the local police for an escort. The battery life on the gun is already limited to about an hour so even with backups they can’t be wasting time stopping constantly.
Over by the boat Stanley can tell Fiddleford is using a lot of self-control listening to Ford go over the order he’ll need to release the boat in once it’s under the rays’ effects. As if he didn’t help build the wooden structure holding the hull safely in place.
Ford means well, he’s just a little nervous. It makes his nervous ticks, such as rambling, worse.
Stanley disconnects the latches on this end of the clothes lines from their hooks and lets them drop as they automatically retract into the coils situated above the garage door just below the roof.
The garage is just slightly bigger than Schermie’s back in California and stepping inside through the side door to see it still makes Stanley chuckle every time. It’s all white and grey with the lift to put a car on for maintenance down at the far end.
Steve hasn’t seemed to have picked up on the fact that his favorite snack- cars -are stored inside of this building. Best to keep it that way.
Backing out of the garage Stanley parks the car about halfway down the driveway a good distance from the boat before getting out to lower the roof and strap it down out of the way.
By the time he’s done checking that everything is secured the sight of flashing red, white, and blue lights from out on the road are there to greet him, and Ford who has seemingly teleported across the yard while Stan was busy.
He laughs, “You know, this is probably the only time I’ll ever be excited to see cops. Come on, let’s get this show on the road.” After a sharp elbow to Ford’s side, he walks around to climb into the front seat.
All he has to do is drive. Easy.
Ford on the other hand, not so much.
They’ve practiced this several times by now, with Stanley driving the car and Ford using the ray gun to pick up an overly large rock. He has experience, in theory, with lifting something impossibly heavy and dodging trees around curves and up hills.
A rock is just a bit smaller than their ship. They’re very important and one-of-a-kind ship that he couldn’t stand the idea of damaging.
Without giving a proper response Ford follows after Stanley, climbing into the back seat of the El Diablo to double check his supplies. Both backup battery packs to accompany the two different gravity rays to be switched out as needed and two different walkies-talkies to be used to communicate with the four other drivers.
There are also both of their backpacks, which Ford promptly tucks away in the foot-well to avoid jostling too much. Then donning the sash of supplies to keep close at hand.
Running down his mental checklist Ford can’t think of anything else to do other then get on with it. Just pick up the gun, turn it on to warm up, and ensure the connection between the beam and the boat.
For perhaps a minute or two Ford continues to kneel on the back seat looking at the boat, the support structure holding it in place, only vaguely aware that Fiddleford is patiently waiting from across the way.
Emma-May and Tate are both back in the second car- borrowed from one of her friends in town that also owns a convertible -ready for Fiddleford to climb in after the boat is secure as a bit of extra insurance. A matching set of supplies, plus Tate and his car seat, are in that back seat. It’s not like this will all be on him, not completely, if he fucks it up-
“Hey.” Stanley puts a firm hand on Ford’s shoulder, jostling him a bit with a shake.
Without much thought, Ford turns back towards the front of the car to look at Stanley.
“Stop worrying so much. Even if you total the stupid thing, I’m still gonna love you. Stop acting like I won’t. Like there’s anything you could do to change that. Your stuck with me!” He gives Ford’s shoulder- the one with the still new tattoo -a squeeze before letting go and motioning towards the boat with the hand not on the wheel.
“Go on now, show me what the big brain of yours can do.” The smile he wears is almost blinding.
That building anxiety and fear melts, easing the way for Ford’s muscles to momentarily relax into a sentimental smile. I really am the luckiest man in the multiverse to have you by my side.
This time Ford doesn’t hesitate, just checking that the battery pack is locked before raising the gun and flipping the switch on the side.
A minute later it’s primed enough to press down the trigger, aiming the beam at the bow of the boat between the wooden structure. It’s a faint blue color that stands out against the hull as it slowly spreads to cover the length of the ship.
As far as Ford can see the ship looks covered, so he holds up his free hand to give Fiddleford a thumbs up across the way.
There is a series of eight locks holding the wood and mental framing around the boat in place and Fiddleford has to spend about ten minutes releasing them in the right order. As he does the ship slowly becomes less and less supported with the upper platforms lowering down and collapsing in on themselves until all that’s left is the two large square stones along the base and a maze of materials scattered across the yard.
Slowly, Ford tilts his hand and the gun up just a little to avoid jerking too high, and that’s it. The boat is airborne. Operation Seaplane is go! He tries not to smile like an idiot to much while waiting for Fiddleford to give him a mirrored thumbs up from all the way across the yard.
Of course, the gun is strong enough to hold it, they built it after all.
It’s still good to have confirmation that the blue energy has settled over the ship all the way to the stern before they make any real movement. A fall from this high would jostle the ship, but not dent anything. Probably.
Durability on the ship as a whole is something Ford would really rather not test. Not like this.
It takes several minutes for Fiddleford to climb and make his way around the mess to get into the backseat of the car with his family before giving a second thumbs up and an okay symbol using his fingers.
Lifting the boat higher up into the air is easy since the gun has a dial on the side above the trigger to control up and down movement so the user doesn’t have to hold the gun straight up the whole time. At chest level is already going to be a test of arm strength given how long this might take.
With the boat well above the tree line and both cars fully packed the next obvious step is to start the hard part. Moving.
The last time they had practiced this with Ford in the back seat Stanley had made sure to point out how a wide stance of both legs caused less sway when making turns.
Followed immediately by pointing out how such a position basically puts his ass in direct view of the rear-view mirror. He tries not to think about that, instead focusing on bracing himself for the turn out of the driveway. “Alright Stanley, let’s go. I’ve got it.”
As requested, the radio remains off, but Stanley does make sure to adjust the mirror properly for the best view at the rear before putting the car in drive. Sometimes the best way to deal with things is to pretend its not there. Like the billion-ton boat currently floating in the air that with one release of Ford’s finger could crush them to death.
Picking up his own walkies-talkies, Stanley slowly heads for the end of the driveway. “Alright, this is Cockpit One to Blue Jay, you’re clear to pull ahead first, over!”
Ford can’t find the spare energy to be annoyed at Stanley using call signs unnecessarily when he’s so focused on not hitting something. Now would be a really bad time to go to prison for crushing Fiddleford and his family since they happen to be briefly underneath the boat right now.
Tate is buckled in but appears to be taking a video with the camcorder of the hull above them.
The first police car- Blue Jay -pulls ahead on the main road first, starting the convoy so that Stanley can turn and follow behind. If they went this slow the whole time it would literally take all day to make the forty-five-minute journey. Stanley doesn’t really need to go slow right now with the boat too high to hit anything, so of course he doesn’t.
He waits just long enough for Fiddleford to pull out a safe- uncrushable -distance behind them before picking up a little speed, with the second cop car following at the back.
It’s far from safe to be riding in the back of a car like this, but Ford would be lying if he didn’t feel really cool right now. It’s not very often one of his inventions gets to be shown off- actually never unless you count the science fair project that flopped or the tie used during the Campaign that preceded Regan's successful presidential election, which most people wouldn’t -in such a public way.
On the way out of town they have to go straight through it past everyone.
They’ll have to ask Fiddleford to get a copy of tomorrows paper so they can keep it like the tape from Summerween. Another keepsake to be added to their growing collection.
Maybe Ford can’t move so much as an inch, but Stanley takes full advantage of having a free hand, waving at everyone outside on the streets watching them while driving past. Most of them are staring up at the boat rather than looking at the car, but that’s fair. It’s not every day you see something defy all laws of science and physics or whatever.
Just when Ford decides they don’t work for him.
It takes a little longer than it should to get through town because people keep stopping in the direct way of the cop leading the charge, but eventually after about a ten-minute delay they make it through, leaving them no other obstacles other then trees and rocks. Mostly.
Perhaps they should have expected it, but not even twenty minutes out of Gravity Falls is when the traffic from in town starts to catch up. Fiddleford passes that info along since he’s far enough back to be able to see past the boat. Some of the towns folks have decided to follow along for the trip.
Which isn’t really an obstacle so much as a mild inconvenience.
Ford does his best not to think about it because if he starts thinking about anything other than the exact height of the boat above the tree line, or miss one of Stanley’s quietly tapped cues across the steering wheel about if the next turn is left or right, it could spell absolute disaster.
Yeah, yeah. Fids is back there with his own anti-gravity gun set to the same settings and already primed to grab the boat at a moment’s notice if Stanley hits the horn, but. This feels like something he needs to do to finish and finalize the gesture without Fiddleford having to intervene.
Stanley saved potentially the entire multiverse- certainly their universe -so it should be easy to keep up with the mental calculations to keep their ship steady. It’s the least he can do.
The longer into the drive they get, the tenser Ford feels. Tensing and leaning into a turn here, guiding the ship further left, then right, around and up hills while constantly maintaining his own sense of balance. His eyes never once leave the space in the sky where it hovers because that’s his job.
Stanley keeps the car steady, the cops warn off any other cops about what the fuck is happening, and Ford holds the boat. Fids is the hopefully unneeded safety net and the second cop is mostly along for the hell of it. Nothing interesting ever happens in Gravity Falls-
No, that’s not true, but nothing even remotely crime related does. Unless Stanley stealing from the supermarket counts.
“You doing alright back there, hot shot? Just over halfway, you need me to radio Fids to take a turn?” Stanley stifles a giggle into an ear-splitting grin glancing back at Ford’s ass. It’s safer if he doesn’t try and turn around. Makes the whole ‘don’t think about what’s behind you’ easier too.
The wind caused by their speed means Ford has to swallow, produce some spit, and try again before getting out words loud enough for Stanley to hear over it. “Yes, I’m fine! No need, I’ll dial in if I need a break!” At the end of this Ford can already tell both of his hands are going to have cramps from how hard he’s been holding onto the gun and the back of the seat to remain steady.
Tilting the mirror up a little it’s not hard to tell how tense Ford is just from looking at his back through the shirt and coat he’s wearing. It is, however, hard to tell if its stress or just how it is driving a plane from the ground. “Whatever you say, Doc!”
Stanley drops his voice and does some more taping on the steering wheel while taking the next turn. “Doo doo doo, hope my brother doesn’t have a heart attack flying a boat. Doo, doo, doo….”
Gravity Falls isn’t the only town they have to pass through on the way to the Hood River, so they get the joy of passing through nearly half a dozen small communities who all get to enjoy the spectacle in its full glory.
Stanley takes this is as a PR opportunity and enjoys yelling personal information at anyone they pass slow enough to listen. “Hey! When we’re on the news tomorrow, this genius’ name is Dr. Stanford Pines, guys out here casually being smarter then Einstein! Remember this, maybe you’ll get to be in his movie for an interview someday!”
It’s directly after the second to last town they pass through that Ford’s vision gets a little blurry with tears and during on of the few straight shots has to clear them away before the second to last turn down the last main street into The Dalles.
They reach the stopping point along West 1st Street side along to the open slip they’d come out a few days prior to ensure would be big enough. Mostly out of pure lack of any other preparations to do. Of course, its big enough, it’s used by cruise ships and yachts, what with it being commercial grade.
“Alright gentleman, let’s make this quick and easy so we don’t back up traffic all the way to Portland! Ford, raise it up about two feet so we can switch.” Fiddleford, after climbing out of his car, had jogged the short distance to where they’re car is parked on the side of the road as close to the water as it gets without going in over the fence along the bank.
Using the controls Ford raises it up a full five extra feet, to give a little more wiggle room, and after thinking about it for another five seconds realizes it would be really stupid not to do the switch over the water.
One full minute of careful adjusting later, while Fids made his way down the path onto the actual dock so he wouldn’t have to move after the pass, Ford finally relaxes his trigger finger to let go of the boat. It’s nearly seamless with the ship only losing about twenty feet of air, stopping ten above the water.
There isn’t much time for Stanley to linger saying goodbye to the car, but he does give it just a moment between turning the car off and climbing out to run a hand over the steering wheel. It’s not like he’ll never see her again, just not for a while. Fiddleford will take good care of her tell Christmas. Or die. His choice-
Every muscle he knows, and some Ford wasn’t aware of until now, hurts like he just got run over. It’s not so bad that he can’t move, some, gathering up both their backpacks from under the back seat to shove the sash into. He does need a little help getting out of the car, and almost trips, still getting feeling back in his right leg and foot.
By the time Ford feels capable of walking Emma-May and Tate have caught up with the tape recorder going again, with it being pointed at both of them. “THAT WAS SO COOL!” Tate basically yells, jumping up and down with his excitement. “Can you make me fly too?!?!?”
Stanley brings up a hand to ruffle Tate’s already wind-swept hair, “Oh, I bet we can. In fact, your dad and I have a super big job for you, come on.” Before the boy can react, Stanley has scoped him up with the arm not holding his backpack, heading down the sidewalk the same way Fiddleford had taken to get out onto the dock.
The video Tate is getting can’t be very good with how much he’s laughing and bouncing, so Ford takes the opportunity to snatch the camera and get a wide view of Stanley and him before zooming in over on Fids. Then he pans across the boat, past the water of the river, and back behind them to get his own first look at just how many people followed them.
Later, the very surprised noise he makes will forever be immortalized on this tape. Hopefully no one will notice because Ford quickly spins back around to follow Stanley with Emma-May down the dirt path and onto the old wooden dock they’ll be launching from shortly.
The last time they had been this close to sailing had been a decade ago, the day they had water tested and launched the original Stan O’ War what felt like a lifetime ago.
Where before things had been tense and strained then, today has a light air to it, even with the bubbling anxiety caused by the crowd of people lined up along the fence watching the spectacle. With one eye pressed to the camera, it’s easy enough to pretend its just the five of them.
“Yo, Fids. This ray isn’t going to make Tate sterile or something, is it? I’d hate to be the reason you two don’t get any grand kids.” Stanley finally sets Tate down from against one hip upon reaching Fids in favor of pulling out the last thing they need from his bag.
Fiddleford can’t look away from his task very easily because his hand isn’t very steady- he’s had less practice than Ford, so he can only sigh with a soft smile without turning, “No, Stanley. The ray has no effect on organic matter. Its primary use is on metal, why do you ask?”
Out of the bag Stanley pulls a rather nice bottle of champagne he shoplifted in Portland last month just for the occasion. As teens the best they’d been able to manage was a single bottle of beer that had only half broken when Ford tossed it against the bow.
It could give you a headache reading into every little indication that their first ship had been doomed from the very start.
“Because someone’s gotta jump up there and tie the rope into place along the bow. Just get it as close to the dock as you can and I’ll chuck him up there.” He shrugs, walking further down the dock with Tate close on his heels.
By now Fiddleford’s beyond getting worked up over whatever crazy thing the Pines Twins say, but he does still have to pretend to be a concerned father, at least. “What if you miss? He can’t swim!” Fiddleford does, only for a second, look away from the boat before snapping forward again.
“Well, I guess you better get it pretty close then! Otherwise, I’ll have to jump in after him.” Ford doesn’t dare pat Fids or touch him at all while he’s handling something so delicate. He just pats the air over his friend’s shoulder before heading down to help Stanley lift up Tate who is now holding the bottle and rope.
All goes fine, with the two of them more then capable of giving Tate a boost up just high enough to climb up onto the deck- no chucking required, and not exactly flying, but close enough. Stanley had, at some point, taught Tate several very impressive knots which he uses one of to secure the end of the rope with the bottle on to the railing along the bow.
Catching Tate when he has to jump back down is a little harder, and Stanley almost goes off the edge of the dock from the unexpected weight. They both would of, if Ford wasn’t there to catch him.
Emma is the one holding the camera now, down at the far end of the dock to get as much of everything in view as possible. The boat, Fiddleford awkwardly being kinda in the way because he can’t move, and Tate stepping on both Stan and Ford’s feet between their legs where they stand at the edge of the dock, one hand on the bottle each.
Last time Stanley had given him the honors, this time they’ll do it properly. Together.
“You ready? On the count of three?” Stanley nudges Ford with the arm currently sandwiched between them and then manages to discreetly link their hands out of the line of sight of the camera and crowd, thanks to Fids.
Looking up away from the boat and over at Stanley, it clear that this is what its all about. What his teenage self was too stupid and afraid to see. That absolutely radiating joy that Stanley is giving off, -not nervous energy, but excitement that is practically crackling in the air all the way over here from their friends, the crowd, and between them-
This is what he missed out on the last ten years.
No. Not missed. Gets. He gets this, now, because of those ten years. They screwed it up until the timing was just right. They’re lucky.
Luck. It’s one of those fundamentals you just can’t pin down with science, like love, but maybe Stanley can make a believer out of him yet in this too.
Ford smiles, gripping Stanley’s hand just as tight as he was holding the gun earlier. “I’m pretty sure we were born ready for this.”
Leaning back, Stanley briefly let’s go of the bottle to cup a hand around his mouth to yell loud enough for the crowd to hear all the way up along the road the little speech they prepared, as is tradition.
It’s hard to tell which voice is who’s when they’re both shouting, but not like most of the people in the crowd would care anyway. “We, Stanley and Dr. Stanford Pines dub this ship the Stan O’ War, the 2nd! May she bring us clear skies, calm seas, and an endless bounty to which human eyes have never seen! Her crew fair and wise, may the Axolotl, Neptune, and Poseidon himself protect them from a watery demise!”
Stanley quickly returns the hand back to the bottle so they can do a practice swing as they count, “One!”
Leaning slightly over the edge of the dock they then sway back to build up more momentum, “TWO!”
And, finally they take a half a step forward, both pushing the bottle towards the boat as hard as they can throw, together. “THREE!”
The bottle shatters apart, sending glass flying down into the water below, a few small pieces landing on the dock, leaving the rope completely empty from the totality of destruction the combined force they used achieved. A far cry from a half-cracked beer bottle.
Finally, Fiddleford releases his own trigger finger on his ray-gun letting the boat fall the remaining distance safely into the water of the river. It causes the water to swell temporarily, soaking their shoes on the dock, bobbing, and settling successfully in the harbor.
Before the ship can float to far away, they both have to make a little bit of a dash for ropes with Stanley managing to tie off one of the last ones to a boot while Ford makes a run and jump for the ladder to race up and then below deck and start up the engine.
At least Ford making them run drills for this moment was worth something, because they managed not to flounder around or, Axolotl forbid, crash the ship immediately.
With the engines online- fully, for the first time, because testing them at a bare thrum in the Gravity Falls Lake doesn’t even begin to compare -the ship is no longer drifting and more controllable, thus allowing Stanley and Fiddleford to run down the dock tying off the ropes as Ford throws them over.
By the time everything is secure they’re all gross and sweaty. Ford can’t help wondering if maybe they should have started some sort of training program months ago in preparation for all the physical aspects of managing a ship.
Who’s to say its to late to start now? It sounds like an excellent excuse to see Stanley shirtless, actually.
Just this once, Fiddleford is around to help Ford run through all the standard safety checks in the engine room. Mostly for old time’s sake, and it gives Stanley a minute to sit on the captain’s bench by the wheel and breathe for a second.
Most of the crowd seems to still be lingering, chatting amongst themselves about their spectacle. Oh. Schermie is going to freak when he gets an eyeful of their boat. The brief and vague descriptions Ford has been giving him over the phone must have been intentional to give the guy a shock when they roll up looking like millionaires….
“Oi! Is someone going to help me up or did all four of you boys lose your manners?” Emma had made a not so quick trip to their car and was now back at the bottom of the ladder with a bag. Perhaps he’d been staring off- basking -longer than he thought.
Not even a pissed women yelling at him could ruin the mood today. Stanley just smiles, climbs down, and assists her up onto the deck. She has as much of a right to enjoy it as they do, given she saved them from ending up backlogged over paper for months alone.
He also helps her down below deck, away from all the onlookers, and almost runs into Fids and Ford in the galley.
Fiddleford is the first to speak as they all just stand around looking at each other while Tate seems to be doing laps of this level. “Well. Guess that’s our cue to get, isn’t it? We’ll see you again after the honeymoon, won’t we?” He wraps an arm around Emma-May and grins watching both Stan and Ford flush to their own particular shades of red.
Emma lifts up the bag, looks at her husband during which they share a brief look, before she offers it across to Stan and Ford with a nervous smile. “Before you go, we got you a little bit of a going away present though, if you have space, that is-“
Stanley snorts, “Don’t ask, but we’ve got Narnia downstairs. But really, you two didn’t half to-“ It’s a flimsy tote bag, the kind you’d use grocery shopping that’s covered in lemons and oranges, and it doesn’t take much to pull the top handles apart together to see what’s inside.
Ford smiles, picking up the orange inflatable life vest. “Ah, how thoughtful, although perhaps we should have mentioned our nephew is actually older than Tate. This is much too small for Jr. Something this small would be far more appropriate for a baby to wear, though not very safe, mind you-“
Stanley slaps a hand over Ford’s mouth to stop him from talking and looks down at the life vest, across at Emma and Fids, and then for a moment thinks he might faint.
Instead, he laughs, “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, I had no idea you had it in you to knock up your wife!” He does collapse, back into the breakfast booth while trying to process the newly added emotions onto his already full pile. Stanley can’t remember the last time he felt this good.
Ford still looks mostly confused, but Emma and Fids just sort of blushing and smiling without outright denying the claims is confirmation in and of itself.
“I’m going to be a big brother!?” Tate is hanging from the railing on the steps that lead up and outside now, so he’s almost the same height as Fiddleford, and at just the right angle to scream into his father’s ear before jumping on him from behind. “YAY! YAY! YAY!”
Wiping tears from both eyes Stanley forces himself back up, grabs Ford by his coat, and brings them both across the room basically forcing Ford to join in on the group hug Stanley initiates. Which is clearly the right call socially, right! This is wonderful!
“Oh, wow!” The last time Ford had heard Fids was having a child, Tate, he had felt terrible for the man. What success could he find career wise with a family weighing him down? Saddled with that much responsibility had seemed like such a waste of his friend’s potential and genius.
When they part ways, Ford makes sure to grab Fiddleford by the shoulder and tell him the truth this time unlike the lies he’d made up over the phone the time before. “Although I’d really rather not know about your sex life, I’m confident that you will continue to be an excellent father. You are brilliant and I’m sure your children will grow up to be just as bright and hopefully just as kind. The world could always use more of that.”
“Alright! Alright! Break it up. You guys need to get out of here, before we all start crying. The sooner we leave, the sooner we come back! We certainly aren’t going to miss being here whenever he or she arrives. We wouldn’t miss it for the world, right Six?” Stanley pulls back, one arm thrown around Ford’s shoulder and the other clearing up the water from the river that he now has on his face.
Oh look, Fiddleford, Emma, and especially Tate got hit with it to. Must be going around.
Stan and Ford both follow them up and out, watching them climb down the ladder and onto the dock. Fids then has to climb back up- after helping his son and wife down -to grab the car keys, giving Stanley a handshake in the process.
And now that they’ve said a proper goodbye, he goes down the line to untie the ropes one by one.
Together, the twins secure them each properly so deck clean before heading for the wheel. It’s a bit anticlimactic after all the fuss of getting the boat on the water, because the river isn’t anything grand as far as sights go. Little by little the dock they launched from gets further and further away until not even the police lights are visible anymore.
It takes most of the rest of the afternoon to get through the river and out into the Pacific. From there Ford only has to put in the longitude and latitude coordinates into the autopilot navigation's and they’re course is set. Next stop, California. It was only fair, because they had promised to take Schermie out when the ship was finished.
Then Hawaii, back for Christmas, and Mexico at some point to find Shifty a new home, far away from them.
There’s a green light that flips on near the upstairs controls when the autopilot is engaged letting Stanley know that holding the wheel is no longer required. It holds itself steady through what might as well be magic.
He retreats from the deck reluctantly, looking over the horizon of endless blue and breathing in the smell of sea salt before heading below deck to join Ford in the galley.
Built into the wall close to the navigation station is a tape player and a second weird thin slot just above it for a form of media that LeeFord seems insistent will exist soon enough to be necessary.
It only takes a minute to find the tape Stanley had made him during that treasure hunt months ago and using the dial the music plays out of various speakers peppered throughout the ship.
Imagine me and you, I do.
I think about you day and night, it’s only right.
To think about the girl you love, and hold her tight.
Stanley turns, still grinning like a fool when Ford joins him in the middle of the small walkway between the breakfast table and the couch along the outside where they’ve since tucked the table usually in front of it away. Makes for a little more space. “Pulling out all the stops? How romantic of you.”
His voice is joking, but Ford can see the slight hint of a blush. Both of his hands still ache a bit, but its good. He holds one hand out, wrapping the other over around Stanley’s waist so they can dance together. “Only for you, Lee.”
Despite the music being loud the sound of the waves outside can still be heard being cut through by the hull, the occasional seagull chiming in with its calls. Their fingers slot together off to the side and he gives Ford- Mr. Two Left Feet -the honor of leading them in a slow waltz that is little more then marching around in a circle.
So happy together.