Chapter Text
It’s been 10 years since Stanley had moved to Gravity Falls.
To say the transition from living in his car to living in town was rough would be the understatement of the century. He didn’t know what to expect when it came to the town Ford had decided to call home, but Stanley figured that the place was probably a little abnormal, given that Ford had decided to move here rather than literally anywhere else. It was safe to say though, that when Stanley took up residence in Ford’s house, he was not prepared for what Gravity Falls had in store for him.
He thought he had seen what the world (or at least, what the Americas) had to offer during his years as a grifter. He had been to and banned from a plethora of states, been arrested at least three times, and had his fair share of run-ins with people whose businesses were of the more morally gray side of the spectrum… And yet, Gravity Falls had managed to catch him completely off guard. He never would’ve expected that the supernatural was actually real, and of course Stanford had found the place and decided to make it his main focus of study. Only his brother could be the kind of person to study whatever the heck a Leprecorn was and be a hundred percent serious while doing so.
After a lot of awkward encounters with the gnomes (many of whom ran away screaming at the sight of him; the hell did Ford do to make them so afraid?) and a lot of internal screaming in confusion towards it all, at some point, Stanley had, somehow, gotten used to all of the madness. Having Ford’s journal certainly helped a lot with that. A book that at least semi-catalogued the things going on made him feel less insane. Less alone when the nights were particularly unbearable to handle. It truly felt like he had made a bit of a place for himself after all of those years of just wandering around aimlessly.
Besides being used to prove one’s sanity in Gravity Falls, the Journal had a few additional uses. It helped Stanley figure out what to do in certain encounters with the creature of the week. It made Stanley feel a little bit closer to the twin brother he had been apart from for so long. But most importantly, it gave Stanley something to do when he was stuck on how to proceed (which happened a lot). He would often either use the technological whatsits mentioned in there and tried to apply it to the portal, or would use the various diagrams of creatures as inspiration for attractions.
By year one, he even had a little routine built up for himself. By day he ran the Murder Hut, at night he tried to fix Ford’s portal, and on the days he was stumped, he looked into the things Ford had written in his journal.
Now that he had spent a whole decade in this place, Stanley liked to think he generally knew his way around the area; the creepy gnomes were in the forest to the west, Greasy’s diner was to the south near the graveyard, Gleeful’s Auto Sales was towards the east, so on and so forth. There were probably plenty of smaller places and locales that he hadn't been to, but he knew where the essentials were, which was the important part. The locals knew who he was too— though they only knew the “him” that was Ford. He did wonder why nobody seemed to question why he suddenly became much gruffer and less nerdy, but he just chocked it up to Ford being such an introvert that he hadn’t bothered to really interact with the locals.
(He knew that, deep down, there was something else going on. He just didn’t know who, or what, was. But a gut instinct of his told him that this was one thing he shouldn’t stick his fat nose into.)
Adapting to living in Ford’s place was both easier and simultaneously just as harrowing.
The following days after his appearance in town were a nightmare. Every day was spent in a constant cycle of paranoia and anxiety, wondering how he would be able to keep up the facade— how he would be able to maintain at least a smidgen of the life Ford had built for himself. Someone would eventually catch on that he quite literally wasn’t the man he said he was. He wasn’t smart like Ford, hadn’t even graduated from high school. And the two were so different from each other that other than in appearance, most wouldn’t guess that they were related. But he wasn’t about to let everything Ford had worked for get ruined because of his mistakes.
So, he snooped.
After living in Ford’s house for the last 10 years, poking and prodding and examining the place like a kid with a stick and a dead frog, Stanley figured that he knew every room like the back of his hand; there were a LOT of rooms for a house that looked pretty small from the outside. He knew about the lab hidden in the basement, the room he assumed was Ford's private study (though he didn’t know what that giant monitor set-up was or why the walls had been covered— it honestly looked like something from a sci-fi horror film), and even about the door that opened to nothing but a set of pipes he decided to dub as the break room in case he ever decided to hire some employees. There were even a few rooms that were mostly empty despite looking like they had been used somewhat recently.
Honestly? It didn’t tell him much about how his brother lived, unless he lived like a paranoid maniac 24/7 for years, which… Didn’t seem like the Stanford he knew… Even if he didn’t know much about him at all at this point. But after faking his own death to make sure that nobody figured out the truth, Stanley eventually kind of got the hang of pretending to be his twin. It was mostly just him being himself though, because he wasn’t an actor damnit. At least nobody seemed to question it.
After living in this house for an entire decade, Stanley figured that he had seen everything Ford’s house had to offer. But, despite being here for that long, apparently, it seemed as if ol’ Sixer still had plenty of secrets for him to find in this place. He hadn’t noticed it at first (obviously), but while poking around Ford’s study, he may or may not have accidentally… Found something. A door. A secret closet or something that looks like something out of a horror film— much like a lot of the room he found the door in, actually— covered in an excessive amount of weird symbols and seals. Not to mention that it had been covered up with wallpaper. It was as if Ford was desperately trying to keep whatever was locked within trapped there.
And, okay. That may have been a sign that he should just leave the thing alone, but… Damn, if Stanley wasn’t curious. Ford had encountered a lot of creatures that could be considered horrifying to the Average Joe, so it must’ve been something truly awful if he was this paranoid about it, right?
So, despite his better judgement, Stanley decided to do something incredibly stupid. Going against every horror film trope in the book… He removed the seals, and opened up the closet.
As soon as he saw what was inside… He couldn’t help it.
”Ford, what the fuck did you do…?!”
Mabel loves her twin brother Dipper. He’s been by her side since day one (quite literally!), and they’ve always supported each other in any way they could. Whether it be through disastrous picture days, upsetting Valentine’s Days, or even just listening to the other complain about something they didn’t like, they had each other’s back no matter what.
Despite how much Mabel loves her brother though, there are times where she just wants to shake him with how stupid he can be.
Ever since they were young, there was a clear distinction between their personalities. Dipper is the book smart twin, and Mabel is the fun smart twin. They balance each other out; when Dipper gets too focused on something, Mabel always makes sure that he doesn’t get too lost in his own head. When Mabel is about to do something reckless or impulsive, Dipper is the one who makes her stop and think things through. The one downside about Dipper’s book smarts however, is that sometimes he gets wayyyy too caught up in his own head and starts obsessing over something. Mabel knows she herself can get super obsessive at times herself, but at least she’s self-aware enough to realize that she kinda doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to obsessing.
Anyways, it’s been at least a week or so since she and her brother arrived in Gravity Falls, and she loves it here! The grass is green, there are so many trees, and Grunkle Stan’s house comes with a goat! What’s not to love about that? Dipper wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about being sent away for the summer as she was— not until he found a mysterious journal in the woods one day and told her all about it. She believed him right off the bat of course. She was a bit skeptical, but Dipper seemed to believe in it, and he seemed so excited about it too, so of course she would believe him. And if she hadn’t been totally convinced when he first told her about the journal, she very quickly learned she shouldn’t doubt the book after almost getting kidnapped by gnomes to be made into their queen.
The whole gnome thing means that Mabel knows Gravity Falls is weird. She doesn’t know the extent of its weirdness obviously, cuz things can get really weird and she doesn’t know if it’s like that here, but she knows that this place isn’t normal.
But when Dipper frantically ran up and told Mabel one day: “I think there’s something— or someone secretly living in the Shack,” as she was setting up another page in her scrapbook, Mabel honestly couldn’t help but feel as if her brother was overthinking this whole thing a liiiiittle too much.
She didn’t like doubting Dipper, but there were much simpler explanations to the things he brought up other than “someone is living in the Shack and we nor Grunkle Stan have noticed so far.”
For example… The extra toothbrush in the bathroom could just, y’know, be an extra and not another person’s. Maybe Grunkle Stan keeps his replacement toothbrushes in the same cup as his current one. Maybe he switches which toothbrush he uses daily, or has a designated night brush and day brush. Or when Dipper points out there are new dishes in the sink even though he was sure that they had emptied it out before going to bed, it could just be someone having a midnight snack and not washing their dishes.
… She didn’t really have an explanation for why there weren’t any metal knives or forks in the house despite having metal spoons, but maybe Grunkle Stan didn’t like metal knives and forks or something. She doesn’t judge.
Anyways.
Other than the mystery of the Author of the journal, this was Dipper’s second biggest obsession of the summer. And normally, she would give Dipper the reigns for this type of thing; mysteries and investigating conspiracies were his thing, like how knitting and glitter was hers. But then the fishing trip happened, and suddenly, Mabel was equally as invested in this mystery as her twin was. Before she and Dipper blindfolded themselves and got into Grunkle Stan’s car, they triple checked that everything was in its place. Dipper because of how certain he was that something was there, and Mabel because she felt like it.
The TV? Off.
The dishes? Squeaky clean and tucked away!
Mabel learned later on that Dipper had even taken a picture once they were finished looking everything over too, just in case.
The fishing trip itself was great! Mabel didn’t really get the appeal of fishing at first— too much sitting around and waiting, in her opinion— but after some time she understood the appeal. It was fun spending time with Grunkle Stan and Soos, playing pranks on the other fishers and seeing how long it would take Grunkle Stan to attach bait to a hook as she belted out her favorite songs as loud as she could. She even got the opportunity to take a picture of Dipper’s first fish ever! He wasn’t much of an outdoorsy person (duh), so seeing her twin interact with nature was a truly special moment. Although they had spent half of the day hunting a monster that turned out to be a giant robot piloted by a crazy old man (which was still very cool, in Mabel’s opinion), she got to make a lot of nice memories to tell mom and dad when she got home.
Once their fishing trip had finished up, Mabel had honestly expected that getting chased by the giant fish robot would’ve been the oddest mystery she’d get to experience. And yet, once they got home that evening, dead tired thanks to the chase that had occurred earlier, it turned out that the weirdest thing had happened while they were gone. Something that, to most, wouldn’t be that important. Might even be brushed off as something completely normal. But to Dipper and Mabel, who had made extra extra sure of things before they left? It practically screamed “there is something secret afoot!”
When they got home that evening, a plate sat inconspicuously on the coffee table. There were remnants of what Mabel assumed was a sandwich still on the plate; the crusts looked like they had been torn off thanks to the lack of knives in the house. There was an empty mug with a silly straw in it near the plate, and the TV they had unplugged before leaving was on. The volume wasn’t as loud as it had been the last time anyone used it either. It had been lowered to the point of being almost entirely indistinct, as if it was only being used for background noise… Even though it had been set to the 24/7 horror film channel.
Grunkle Stan clicked his tongue and sighed in annoyance.
”Guess we forgot to turn the TV off before we left,” He grumbled, bending down to flip the TV off. He then plucked the plate and mug off of the table and made his way towards the kitchen, mumbling something illegible under his breath.
As soon as he had left the room, Dipper grabbed Mabel’s hand, dragging her upstairs to the attic. As soon as the door was shut, he grabbed Mabel’s shoulders and shook her rapidly, a large grin on his face. Mabel, never one to be outdone, grabbed Dipper’s shoulders and began shaking him, and soon the two were standing in the middle of the room shaking each other frantically. Someone had even started screaming at some point, and now they were standing there screaming and shaking each other like a bunch of lunatics. Dipper eventually released Mabel to start pacing around the room like he usually did when brainstorming, and Mabel, the ever dutiful sister if she said so herself, hunkered down onto her bed to listen to her twin’s upcoming ramblings.
”You saw that right?! The- The dishes and the TV?!” Dipper stammered in both awe and anxiety. “Those weren’t there when we left! We made sure of it!”
”And it couldn’t have been Grunkle Stan,” Mabel continued, nodding her head astutely. “He was with us for most of the day! And it couldn’t have been anyone else either since the Shack was closed and Soos was with us too!”
Dipper stopped his pacing and went to his bed, pulling out a cork board Mabel didn’t know he even had from underneath. Dipper then eagerly pulled out two polaroids from his vest’s inner pocket and pinned them to the board— one being the picture he took of the house before they left for their fishing trip, and the other being a photo of the extra yellow toothbrush in the bathroom. With a bright grin to rival her twin’s own, Mabel got up from her bed, pulled a piece of scrap paper from her bedside drawer she had placed there for her late night doodle sessions.
After quickly jotting something down on it, she proudly pinned the paper at the top of the board, right next to a pin Dipper had presumably added himself a few days ago. Mabel met Dipper’s gaze, and with a shared nod, the two pulled back to examine their newest summer projects with aptly named twin grins on their faces:
WHO WROTE THE JOURNAL?
And…
WHO, OR WHAT, IS HIDING IN THE MYSTERY SHACK?
Irritation flooded Stanley as he dumped the plate and the mug into the sink, eyes briefly flicking towards the living room to check on the twins. He allows a soft sigh of relief to escape his lips as he watches Dipper drag his sister upstairs towards the attic, something warm and, ugh, soft, welling up in his chest seeing how close the two are. He’s quick to tamper his expression back into a scowl though as he catches a glimpse of the two lone dishes in the sink. He leaves the kitchen, grumbling complaints to himself under his breath as he walks with purpose towards the gift shop’s vending machine. After ensuring that nobody is secretly watching, he punches in the code— A1, B, C3— and steps through. He gives the area another quick scan, then shuts the door behind him as he begins to head down the stairwell, stepping onto the elevator at the bottom of it all.
The elevator rumbles quietly as it lowers him towards his destination, eventually coming to a shuddering stop as the doors open with a loud ker-chunk. He steps out with a soft huff, crossing his arms right in front of the elevator doors as he shoots a dirty stare towards the subject at the center of the room.
Lazily lounging on Ford’s desk chair with their feet propped up onto the desk sits the person Stan had found sealed within this very room over 20 years ago: his reluctant partner-in-crime and aid in fixing the portal within the lab, Cyrene Birch. Stanley knows that isn’t the weirdo’s true name, but he wasn’t about to question it when he himself had a multitude of false names under his belt. Their relationship was one purely of convenience after all; knowing another person’s real name isn’t going to mean jack diddly once they were finished with each other.
Cyrene unnaturally turned their head towards Stanley, their uncanny smile only growing at the sight of him. (He pointedly ignored the instinctive shudder that shot down his spine as Cyrene fixed their gaze onto him. No matter how years it’s been since he first met them, he’s never been able to shake the sensation that there was something wrong. He knows they aren’t human despite generally being shaped like one. But the way he feels looking at Cyrene feels different than the way he feels when he makes eye contact with any other oddity he’s come across. Every time they made eye contact, some animalistic part of his brain screamed at him that Cyrene was dangerous— worse than any other creature Stanley had encountered within Gravity Falls.) Stanley stood his ground, staring back at Cyrene with narrowed eyes. The two stared at each other, the air thick with tension, before Cyrene eventually broke the silence.
”Have fun fishin’ with the family today, Mack?” They ask, leaning further back into the chair. Stanley rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe, shoulders less tense, though not fully relaxed either.
”You went upstairs,” Stanley states, wasting no time on the preamble. “Didn’t you?”
In response, Cyrene tosses their head back and chuckles quietly, turning their body to properly face Stanley. Their grin, which before was nearly bordering on manic, now seemed more amused. Stanley wasn’t sure if he should be relieved by that, or even more nervous.
”What? Am I not even allowed to go upstairs anymore now that your niblets are here? This is practically a hostage situation!” They respond, dismissively waving a gloved hand in the air. The other is pressed against their cheek as they precariously lean further into the armrest of Ford’s chair, an air of arrogance practically surrounding them at the motion. Stanley holds back the urge to push them off of it.
”You physically can’t leave the property. It’s essentially been a hostage situation for the last 20 years, Blondie,” Stan quips back, mildly relishing in the way Cyrene’s smile seems to tighten slightly at the reminder. “Anyways, I’m not here to tell you off about leavin’ the lab. I’m here to tell you off about forgetting to clean up after yourself when you’re done.”
Cyrene groans. The sound is childish and exasperated, like a child that’s just been caught doing something they're not supposed to and is getting lectured about doing their chores, which… Is kind of true in this scenario.
”What does it matter, Mack! It’s not like they’re going to see a plate out and think ‘There’s a person living in the secret basement behind the vending machine!’ Now are they?” They whine. Stanley fully rolls his eyes at this, giving them a deadpan stare.
“The kids are smarter than you think. ‘Specially Dipper. He’s a lot like Sixer, that one. Too damn curious for his own good,” Stanley responds, muttering the last part under his breath softly. Before Cyrene can get another word in, Stanley stands, wincing slightly at the twinge of pain that shoots through his lower back. Cyrene blinks their singular eye, sitting up slightly. Hal-formed words die in their mouth as their jaw snaps shut with a soft clack. Stanley can tell by they’ve perked up slightly that they’re mildly intrigued, but trying to not outwardly show it.
“Look. Just, watch yourself. If you’re gonna sneak around at night or whatever be subtle, and not subtle in the freaky way you usually are, capiche?” Body halfway turned towards the elevator door, Stanley glances at Cyrene over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes into an expression that screams “don’t test me.” They stare at each other, mirroring their earlier interaction. Once more, Cyrene is the one to break the stand-off, huffing quietly.
“Yeah yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever. Now are we gonna get some work done tonight, or do your old man bones need a break from sitting around in a boat all day,” they snark, smirking to themselves. Stanley doesn’t bother to dignify them with a response, merely turning around to get onto the elevator. Cyrene joins him a few moments later, and together, the elevator begins to descend in complete and utter silence.
There are six pins on the board. It’s split in half with a piece of red yarn to differentiate which side a certain mystery belongs to. On the left are the photographs taken in reference to the mystery of the Shack, labeled with sparkly gel pen courtesy of Mabel. On the opposite side sits a photograph of Journal 3 and the device found within the tree that revealed the Journal’s hiding place, written in plain black ink by Dipper.
While there haven’t been any discoveries yet, other than the proof that there is something else inside the Shack besides the known residents, Dipper writes what he does know so far into the empty pages of Journal 3. Meanwhile, the corkboard is covered up by a sheet, wrapped gently with a lullaby jokingly sung by Mabel, before promptly being tucked beneath Dipper’s bed.
As the pair get ready for bed that night, they share a silent look. Normally, their thoughts are quite different. And despite being unable to talk to each other via telepathy, the two still manage to come up to the same conclusion as each other:
“Grunkle Stan cannot know about this.”