Forget Him Not

by Nextai

Summary:

On their first day in Gravity Falls, Dipper and Mabel find a hidden journal with drawings of all kinds of creatures inside of it. Thinking it could belong to their great uncle Stanford, they try to find out why he could have hid it there. yet nothing seems to add up.

-

Fiddleford H. McGucket wasn't sure if he could do this anymore and decides to take action, in his own sick and twisted way, for a better future for all.

Notes:

Hey there Nextai here! Just a little heads up, English is not my first language and I'll be making a bunch of grammatical errors. Be prepared just in case and feel free to correct me on anything. Hope you enjoy this work!

Chapter 1: We'll Be Fine

Summary:

The mystery twins try to figure out the journal's story. Unfortunately it seems like they're not the only ones who know of it.

-

He'd help him, just like he did with many others. He'd save him at the expense of losing something dear to him but oh well, they can't all be winners.

--2012--

It wasn't always sunshine and rainbows in this new town they were sent to, but their summer caretakers always tried their best to make it seem that way.

In plainsight, this was supposed to be just a way to get them out of their parents' hair as they dealt with more serious stuff during the summer; but the second they stepped foot into this weird town with all sorts of creatures inhabiting it; that had changed. Now, it was all about figuring out what was going on in here. Because if Dipper could document all his findings in Gravity Falls and publish them, he could become an oddologist (which wasn't a real job, yet!) quicker and be the best ghost hunter there was. Although, his dreams were crushed to the ground when he found a creepy looking journal that documented almost everything he could think of and more on his first day there. Someone had done it before! He didn't know when it was written, but taking a look at the journal he held in his hands, he seemed to be at least two or three decades late.

Well, at least he thought about trying.

He took it back to their room in the attic and flipped through the pages as Mabel started decorating her summer scrapbook. Taking a quick look at all the drawings and doodles, the only potential author he could find for this journal was their caretaker, Great Uncle Stanford with his 'limitless imagination' and 'profound art skill'. But why would he hide this away, in a mechanical tree out of all the places he could have chosen? Honestly the real question was why there was a mechanical tree in the forest to begin with but that could be answered later. There were more pressing matters now, just like the alien language some pages had on them. And also a small addition of some stains that Dipper assumed to be blood. What was actually going on in here?

He couldn't ask Stan. Definitely not. If he was in fact the author of the journal and hid it in that tree, Dipper was almost entirely sure he wouldn't be that happy to see that it had been found. Which left him only one other adult to question, his great uncle's 'housemate' and a brilliant entrepreneur, Fiddleford McGucket.

He was a busy man, sure, but was always up for a chat if you caught him in the right time. He could use that. Or more like they could use that because as the mystery twins, they had to stick together. At least, that's what their grandpa always told them, saying twins drifting only lead to disaster.

"Grunkle Fidds! Are you busy right now?" shouted Mabel, lightly knocking on the doorframe in order to let their presence be known. She was granted permission to enter by the bearded man mumbling something that sounded affirmative.

Dipper followed behind Mabel, entering the study downstairs to find the bearded man crouched over some mechanical parts, right behind him is...

Oh god damn it! Why did Stan have to be here right now?

"I'm never too busy for ya two troublemakers. C'mon in." he said, smiling warmly. Stan followed suit and smiled back at the twins, leaning against the wall as he watched his 'old friend' stop everything he was doing to welcome his two niblings into his study.

"You two are lucky, he would have made a robot to kick me repeatedly until I got out if I asked him that." he said grinning and nudging Fidds, getting a laugh out of him and Mabel.

"Don't be silly, I woulda just made a robot that'd kindly escort ya out." he jokingly said before turning back to the children, his face now looking a bit more lively. "So, what'dya two want?"

"Uh...Just some company, I guess?" at least until Stan leaves so that Dipper could ask him what they journal was actually about.

Mabel lightly nudged him and then turned back to their caretakers "Wendy and Soos are busy so... Seems like you two will have to put up with us for today!" she chirped joyfully. Fidds smiled and pulled two stools from behind him for the twins to sit on.

"Put up with ya? Never! In fact we're more than happy to have ye two kiddies here!" said the bearded man, genuine joy etched into his face. Their grunkle nodded and shrugged "Couldnta' said it better myself."

Mabel chatted with the two for a while as Dipper waited for the perfect opportunity. He saw Stan trying to look outside through the window behind Fidds, squinting and moving all around before taking a step back and sighing "Oh dagnabbit. The afternoon group just came, gotta go. Sorry kiddos, duty calls!" he said before ruffling Fiddleford's hair and then Dipper and Mabel's. He then immediately rushed out of the room with a showman's smile on his face that basically screamed 'i'm gonna rob so many people of their hard earned money!'.

Dipper turned back to Fidds after makinf sure Stan was far enough and asked "So uh, Fidds. Do you know whether Great Uncle Stanford ever had a weird sketchbook, maybe, a few years ago?"

Fidds seemed to be caught off guard by that, he put his small welding machine back through it's stand and frowned, thinking about it.

"He's always had one, hadn't he? What's so special bout' this one?"

The twins looked at one another before looking back, some sort of twin telepathy going on between them. Then Mabel just looked back at McGucket and said "Dunno. It had some cool creature drawings inside, y'know Dipper likes that sort of stuff."

The look on his face changed as Mabel finished his sentence, they could see that he was still trying to keep a pleasant expression on.

"The maroon one?"

"Huh?"

"Red-ish, gold details?"

He knew about the journal.

Dipper quickly nodded and turned around to give Mabel a look, not knowing what to say.

"Oh, jus' hand it to me I'll give it to 'im when he comes back."

"Oh we left it there." Dipper blurted out without even leaving time for anything else to be said. He knew something was off.

"Left it, why?" asked Fidds, going forwards on his stool. They could hear some sort of panic in his voice. "Didya two read it much?"

Mabel looked at Dipper, and they both knew that something was off just then. "No, it seemed personal. Plus it was really dirty! Almost as dirty as Dipper!"

"Hey!"

He just stared at the twins in silence for a few seconds, then sighed and smiled a bit, "Hey hey, no sibling bickerin' on ma' watch!"

They smiled at Fidds, and he smiled back at them but they could still see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

"If ye two happen ta find it, please do hand it over. Yer 'grunkel' was real upset about losin' it y'know." he said, smiling softly before grabbing his screwdriver.

"Will do, grunkle Fidds!" Mabel cheered, smiling ear to ear "Also can we pretty pretty please go to the market today? We ran outta snacks."

"Oh Mabel ya know how I feel about those artificial snacks ya two love oh so much." he bargained, his voice laced with true good intentions. "They ain't healthy for growing kids!"

Then within the fraction of a second, Dipper witnessed Mabel's facial expression change from a sad one to the puppiest puppy eyes to ever puppy. The entrepreneur's only weakness.

Fiddleford smiled and put his screwdriver back down, sighing. "Fine. Go grab Stan's wallet. Don't get caught."

The twins smiled and ran to the living room to grab Stan's wallet, Dipper also made sure to run to the attic to hide the journal better just in case.

-

That night as they ate their snacks in the living room watching Ducktective with Stan, Fidds excused himself to go outside for a walk, and Dipper was quite sure that he had a flashlight in his hand as he left.

--1982--


It had been months. Yet this idiot still believed there was hope for Stanford. There wasn't, and even if there was, Fiddleford was more than willing to sacrifice it for the greater good. But just how could he explain that to someone who hadn't seen what he had?

Very short answer, he couldn't. And if all went according to plan, he wouldn't have to at all.

He got up and acted like it was just another morning. Their breakfast was ready on the table, waiting for them long before Stanley was up. He had prepared almost everything about his plan from the night before as Stanley was sleeping, out like a light. He couldn't risk doing anything more in the morning, because if he got caught, his play would have gone cattywampus.

"Mornin' Sparks."

The groggy voice came right behind him and he couldn't help but shriek out of instinct. When he turned around, the man before him looked content; as if he was genuinely happy to wake up every morning and see Fiddleford, or maybe he genuinely was. But Fiddleford didn't want to get his hopes up just yet.

"Sweet sasparilla, Stanley! Ya almost spooked me outta' ma body!"

All he got in response was a laugh and a fake punch to his shoulder. The brunette leaned against the counter and watched Fiddleford as he prepared the eggs. It was moments like this that Fiddleford just couldn't get enough of. Ones where everything felt like they were just an old married couple, spending a nice day together. Ones where he didn't feel 'wrongly wired' as he did in his marriage.

"So," he said pushing himself off of the counter and walking to the table, "What's on our agenda for the day, you madman?"

Fiddleford laughed and flipped the omelette, splitting it into two equal parts afterwards. "Well, I was thinkin' that maybe we could just have a rest day today. We've been workin' a lot lately, we deserve it! Plus all we have left is just some tweaks with the knobs and some calculations, we'll be fine!"

The dumb smile on Stanley's face disappeared as fast as it appeared. He pulled his chair back but didn't sit on it for a few seconds, staring at one of the other chairs. It was the one Ford used to sit on, Fiddleford told him when they first started working together, and it became a habit of Stanley's to leave the chair as untouched as possible. Because he knew that his brother hated sharing his things and he didn't want to be scolded by him when he came back.

Or if he ever came back, Stanley thought to himself, but got rid of the thought right away.

"Fiddleford," he said, voice serious "You know what that means right?"

Fiddleford just shrugged and turned the stove off, shoving two halves of the egg on the pan to their respective plates.

"That means we'll be leaving Ford out there for one more day! We can't afford that Fiddleford, we should save him as soon as-"

"Stanley don't worry, he'll live. I saw the other side, it wasn't that bad." he lied through a smile, putting their plates on the table. He could never tell Stanley what he had seen in there because it was so bad that he had to invent a gun just to zap it out of his system. But Stanley didn't have to know that. He wouldn't need such information by the next morning anyways.

"That's my brother we're talking about! I can't leave him there."

"And that's my best friend of ten years we're talkin' about. Don't worry, he'll survive."

Stanley wasn't content with this poor excuse of an answer he got but sat down to eat anyways. He felt indebted to the engineer, the least he could to to satiate that ugly feeling was to listen to him for just one day, because this engineer was the only one who could help him. He stared at the engineer once again with unapproving eyes but then shrugged it off seeing no reaction from him. He'd get the upper hand by next morning anyways.

"We can't kill ourselves of exhaustion in our home dimension just because Ford might be in danger in a whole 'nother one, Stanley. You should know that." he said, not even looking up from his plate. He smiled weakly before adding:

"We'll be fine."

Fiddleford's empty consolation hung in the air for a few more seconds before they both turned to their plates. They ate in silence for a few more minutes, the deafening lack of laughs and chattering in the table being broken by the sounds of their plates and forks. Only if his plan worked, this could be them every single day. Enjoying their meals together like a couple.

-

As Stanley stayed in his room, studying Ford's old notes to try and help lift some weight off of Fiddleford's shoulders, the engineer was out gathering anything and everything small that could remind them of the portal, putting them in cardboard boxes to be stashed away in the laboratory forever.

Every now and then while going through the things, he'd see something that Ford used to care about. Maybe a book that was too worn out from all the love and adoration it received from the six-fingered man. Or sometimes it would just be a quick sketch, under a paperweight, a notepad or some spare parts. With a pain in his heart, he pulled out another cardboard box from the closet for those. Ford wouldn't be coming back and it would have been better for Stanley to not be reminded of his brother's absence anyways.

-

Sitting on a set of taped up boxes; Fiddleford felt the coldness of the bulb in his hands, then the unpolished imperfections on the metal knob. It was almost time. This gun would help them out, just the way it helped many others in the society. Even if it was at the cost of losing his best friend forever, leaving him to his death in a foreign dimension, he might finally have chance at a good life.

After hiding the memory gun back under his shirt, he got up and walked through the dark corridors of the house. A few seconds of thinking all these over again, it was time to just eat the frog. Three clear knocks on Stanley's door was all it took for the man to open it door for him.

"Hey, Sparks. Whatcha need?"

"Oh, not much. Just wanted to check up on you. You have been in there all day, Stan!"

The brunette chuckled and leaned against the doorway, "I'm studyin' Fidds, can't ya see?" he pointed at the stash of books on the desk and opened his door a bit more for Fiddleford to see it more clearly. It looked just like a warzone. "Look as much as you need, I'm gonna need you to testify for me once Ford's back. He wouldn't believe that I'd actually study! Not in a jillion years!"

"I hope you know that jillion is not an actual number."

"Of course it is! It is a number as real and you and me." countered Stan, leaning against the doorframe before shooting Fiddleford a fake arrogant look "You're not the only smart one in this house, Sparky. I read it somewhere y'know."

Fiddleford was caught off guard by Stan pointing out a mistake of his, but continued anyway knowing that this was all bluff.

"You think this is just me bluffing, don't you?"

Oh heck off there's no way.

"But no, Fiddleford. I have actually read it somewhere." he said, bringing out a notepad behind his back, there's some sort of scribble on it that you can read only if you squint enough to give your eyes a workout.

'JILLION'

Stan smiled before falling into a laughing fit "See? I read it! I wrote it down and then read it!"

Fiddleford laughed with him, taking the moment in. Could they really have this forever if his plan worked? Would they get to grow old, smiling and laughing together every day just like they were now?

If everything went well, they would.

"Oh Stanley," he said, still smiling after laughing the stress out of his system "That was a good one!"

"Per usual." Stan said, bowing just like a showman who just finished performing his best tricks. "So, tell me then, what was it that you needed me for?"

The stress zapped itself back to it's body as quickly as it dissappeared, stunning him for a second before he could answer.

"Oh, uh... Would you mind following me to the lab for a moment, Stanley?"

Chapter 2: Two of A Kind

Summary:

Dipper listens in on their caretakers' chat for answers and ends up finding more questions to be answered.
-
America's gun safety laws weren't as strict in the 80's as they are now. So much so that you could even use a Memory-Erasing Gun without the proper papers. F. H. McGucket will be giving us examples as to why the gun safety laws should be updated in this class.

Notes:

Greetings! Hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

--2012--

Dipper sat against the walls of the shack with a brand new journal in his hands, the summer breeze trying to flip the pages every now and then as he tried to keep them down with rocks he found around himself. He had been writing on Journal 3 whenever he was in the attic but it wasn't safe bringing it around with him, especially when their caretakers were around and more so when at least one of his caretakers knew exactly what the journal was and seemed to not like the idea of him having it. So his best bet for making his additions to the journals was to have one of his own that he could safely write in before copying it to the actual journal.

A door opened and then closed inside the shack. He was sitting right under Fidds' study's window, just out of sight but close enough to get any clues on this new mystery they had found themselves in. There were some more irrelevant sounds coming from inside before he heard one of the men.

"Sweetheart... Whatcha know good? Tough crew? Are you here to talk?" came Fidds' voice from the inside. It sounded softer than his usual voice even through the panic that it seemed to be coated in.He heard his great uncle groan and sit on the workbench, muttering a short answer.

"Nah, sugar...I'm here to rob you, hands up pants down, now."

A soft laugh rang through the air, "Dork."

He heard a sigh afterwards, followed by the creaking of an office chair.

"One of those days again?"

"Oh no, I'm just being sad for no reason at all." a soft, pained chuckle followed "Course' it's one of those days. What else would it be, baby?"

"They've been gettin' more and more frequent ever since the twins arrived, are you sure this was a good idea?"

Dipper put his hand over his own mouth to muffle any sound he might accidentally make. It was already bad enough for him to be listening in to their caretakers' conversation. But now? As he was the topic of said conversation? Even worse.

"Fidds those kids are the change I needed really. But y'know how it is...I just can't help but--" his line was cut short by the other man.

"I know ye miss him, Stan... So do I."

"I could've saved him, Fidds."

"Ye couldnta. Nobody could. He chose his fate himself."

"If only I were--"

He was shut off for a moment and then broke into a soft set of sobs, still softly chuckling with each one.

"He passed away hating me..."

"He didn't. He could never hate ya, Stanley."

Stanley.

Who was this Stanley supposed to be? And why would he hate Great Uncle Stan? Or wait...Did Fidds just call Stan, Stanley? Wasn't his name Stanford?

The sobs got a little louder for a few seconds before quieting down again.

"I miss him... I see him every time I--"

"I know, love. Believe me I do... But ya have to keep goin, for him. That's what he woulda wanted..."

"He would have wanted me somewhere far away from him. Not here. He never forgave me for what I did."

"As a kid. What you did as a kid when he was also a kid." corrected Fidds "He forgave you Stanley. Long before the incident"

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's the truth! And maybe one day you'll believe it, too."

What was even going on? Too many unknowns in the equation for a potential result. Who was Stan even grieving? What did Stan do to said person? Was 'Stan' even Stan?

"They remind me so much of us."

"Do they?"

"I can't stand it...I love them very much but it just hurts, seeing them have what we used to have."

Okay apparently Stan was fluent in speaking without letting anything be known, and honestly? Dipper wouldn't have expected any less of a showman.

But all jokes and comments aside, Dipper was more confused than he had ever been. Who were they supposed to be? Did these two seemingly very antisocial geezers have some secret friend group that consisted of a dozen people? Was the 'they' a part of said friend group.

"Oh Stan...They're nothing like ye two." added Fidds. "I recken it'd be better for ya to stop thinkin' about this for today, yeah? Still got some groups coming, don't cha?"

"I do."

"C'mon let us give ya a kiss 'fore ya go back."

He heard a soft chuckle from inside, followed by a kissy sound.

"You're just tryna disract me, ya bastard!"

"Ye kiss yer boyfriend with that mouth?"

Another kissy sound was heard and Dipper was already thinking of making a run for it and never looking at their caretakers in the face again.

"Yes, apparently."

Yeah, time to just run off. That's his cue to leave. And maybe, just maybe, give Mabel the twenty he owed her over the bet they got into on their first day here.

-

Mabel put the crisp twenty dollar bill in her scrapbook and taped it nicely, writing a small note right next to it. "Learned a lesson today, haven't we, Bro-Bro?"

Dipper just groaned and threw himself back on his bed.

"I can't believe you actually figured out they were dating before me. What kind of sixth sense even is that?"

Mabel just grinned and put a finger over her mouth in a shushing motion, "It's a secret."

Dipper rolled his eyes before turning around in his bed to face the wall instead of his shame.

"Dipper they literally have just one bedroom and bed."

"Oh come on! Was it that easy?"

They just laughed at eachother as Dipper curled in on himself in fake 'agony'.

"Let's just hope this 20 dollars you lost are enough to teach you to be more observant!"

-

The same night, Dipper took a trip down and saw it for himself. The door to 'Stan's bedroom' was actually ajar and if you were to just barely move you could easily see the two men sleeping in the arms of one another, safe and sound.

For a moment or two he wondered whether it was actually a mystery or they just didn't tell them yet, but it didn't matter now. All he cared was that now both the adults were sleeping and he could finally talk to Mabel about what he had heard that day without being overheard by one of them.

He ran back up and closed the door behind him, quietly approaching his twin's bed before whisperings:

"Mabel, are you awake?"

-

The next morning Mabel was groggily chewing on some cereal as she stared blankly at the cupboards. Her whole night had been filled with Dipper's conspiracy theories and confusion, much to her dismay. But at least now she knew that their caretakers were 'dating-dating' and had a tight group of friends, good for them!

But after all those things he heard, Dipper was even more lucid about this whole situation. To be fair his sister wasn't even sure whether he let go of his blue notebook ever since last night, probably even while he slept! (If he slept at all)

He gnawed at the end of his pen, thinking of what else to write in his teensy tinesy writing. That was a new strategy he had integrated into his plan, considering the fact that those he wanted to hide his writings from were old men, he could easily use their poor vision to his favour.

His pen was stolen from his hands out of nowhere, followed by Mabel saying "Good morning!" to whoever stole his pen from him.

"Good mornin' to ya too sweetpea." he turned to face Dipper, flashing a smile before shaking the pen at him in a judging manner "That ain't very nutritional now, no?"

Fidds.

"The pen?" asked Dipper, immediately closing his notebook just in case this geezer in particular had a great vision.

"The cereal, m' dear."

He rolled his eyes, shooting a look at his sister to back him up on this fight before turning back to the bearded man who was now reaching to the fridge to prepare something 'nutritional' for the twins. Ever since he got the feeling that they were hiding something from them, he didn't feel like trusting them in the slightest.

"Didja two sleep well?"

Two nods from the almost teens was all it took for the bearded man to turn back around, humming a tune.

"Goodta hear. I was jus' worried y'know. Heard talkin' from yer room last night, thought one of ye had a nightmare or somethin." he added, this time not turning around to face the twins. But the twins were looking at eachother with wide eyes, trying to figure out whether he actually heard what they were talking about. But both their bets were on him knowing damn well what they talked about the whole night.

Their actual Grunkle walked into the kitchen yawning and still in his home clothes. "Mornin, household."

"Morning, Grunkle Stan!"

Dipper looked at his face, trying to find some meaning under it, some expression that indicated he knew what was going on. But there were none. He was just plain ol' Stan.

He walked around to give Fidds a pat on the back, letting his hand linger on the small of his back a little bit too long for it to be considered 'housemately'.

"Soooo, how long have you two been dating?"

Everything went silent for a moment, the two old men looked at eachother and then at Mabel. Stan turned around and gave Mabel one of his confident smiles before turning back to his 'boyfriend'.

"30 years or so now, isn't it?"

"28 years and 6 months as of next week. Y'know I don't like estimates, love." Fidds corrected, matching Stan's smile. Stan groaned and nudged the man before joining the children in the table muttering about 'engineer habits' and 'fixations'. Fidds just grinned at him and turned back to Mabel "How'd you figure it out, pumpkin?"

Mabel shrugged and grinned, turning to Dipper who explained her act as "That's just in her nature."

After dealing with the omelettes, Fiddleford sat himself down with the rest of the family and started eating, not joining in on the conversation much except for one request from Dipper.

"Could you help me out with the dishes later, munchkin?"

-

Dipper gathered everyone's plates up once they were done with them, putting them on the counter so that Fidds could soak them in warm water. The man thanked him for each thing he brought to the counter, acting as if he wasn't going to interrogate him in a moment.

"Ya know why yer here, don't ya?"

Dipper just nodded, raising his head to look Fidds right in the eyes.

"Dipper..." the southerner mumbled, drying off his hands with a towel nearby. "I'm not mad atcha, don't get me wrong love."

He crouched to match Dipper's height and brought his dry hand to his shoulder "But if ya have questions in yer mind, it's always better to ask a grown up about it before brainstormin' with yer sister."

Dipper nodded again, wanting to be over with this as soon as possible so he could go right back to doing the things Fidds is going to tell him to strictly stay away from.

"Stanley, as ya theorized last night with yer sister, was someone close to us. I'm not sure whether yer grandpa told ya before but he didn't always have just one younger brother." he said with a sad tone to his voice "He had two, a set o' twins."

He looked away from Dipper, looking out the window "Stanley unfortunately passed quite young and Stan didn't take it well. That's why I don't want ya to talk about it. Ye get me yeah?"

Wait. If 'Stanley' was dead, then why'd Fidds call Stan, Stanley? Especially when it was apparently the name of his dead brother that he didn't take the death of well. Something was off.

Was Great Uncle Fidds actually going as far as faking Stan's 'twin's' death just to get under Dipper's skin? This all just sounded plain wrong.

The guy got him good. He knew Dipper wouldn't discuss a twin death with his own twin sister so he made the story up this way. He wasn't playing fair. Not even one bit.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Fidds just raised an eyebrow and then smiled, a golden tooth shining among the others. "I know yer just gonna go back and do the same things Dipper, and I'm not gonna be mad atcha. At all."

He then got up and picked up the sponge, his smile fading a little from his face.

"Just know that whatever I did, I did for the greater good."

--1982--

The floorboards creaked under the two men's weight, almost rhythmically, as they made their way to the laboratory. The brunette looked around a bit, noticing a few changes around the house. It almost looked...empty? In a way.

"Thinking of getting a degree in interior design, Sparks?"

The blond laughed and jokingly nudged the younger man, keeping one hand on his waist at all times to keep his 'tool' in place.

"Meh. This place was due for a deep cleanin' sooner or later, I reckon."

"Right, right."

The door stood there, open, inviting. It was a habit of Fiddleford's to keep it closed at all times no matter the circumstances because he feared that it could light up all by itself at any random given moment due to it's alien nature. But today seemed different, maybe he was just coming back to his senses.

That was the thing about Fiddleford, he seemed to have some screws loose. But behind anything he did, Stan could see good intentions; mainly an urge to protect. It was probably because he was a father, which genuinely shocked Stan the first time it was mentioned but thinking about it for more than a few seconds actually made it make sense. He fit the type quite well.

He started going down one step at a time, anytime Fiddleford asked for help, it was usually for some kind of drudgery. That was fine by Stan today, he had been sitting the whole day anyways. It would have been a great way to make use of his extra energy.

The man behind him fidgeted with something in his hands, probably one of his cubic's cubes. He didn't see how he was doing but hearing the rapid clicks, he assumed he must have been almost finished with it. Although he wasn't sure where he could have been carrying that on him.

"So, are you making some interior changes downstairs too or--"

The second he turned around, he felt something cold right at his left temple. His times on the streets taught him better than to just jump away from a gun when it's pointed at him, especially when he was going down a long flight of stairs. All of a sudden, the feeling of terror that he hasn't felt in months came back to him at once, his heart feeling like a thundercloud in his chest.

It wasn't a cubic's cube in his hands after all.

"Sparks-- come on we can--"

"Walk."

His voice lacked the element of threat. Yet this somehow made it even worse. Stan was being held at gunpoint by a guy who didn't even know what he wanted. He kept going down, but this time facing the cracked walls of the stairs before coming to the end of it. Fiddleford's gun's pointy end was still poking at his temple, if he didn't know any better he would have thought this was a water gun but no. He was never that lucky.

He took a quick look at the laboratory and figured out why it seemed less crowded upstairs. Everything that belonged specifically to Ford was down here, stashed in boxes and open cabinets. His books, pictures, trinkets, clothes... All of them stashed here as if he wouldn't ask for them the second he came back.

"Why are Ford's stuff here?"

He didn't get any other reaction than the man's grip on the trigger getting a little tighter. His expression was almost unreadable due to the darkness of the basement and Stan didn't have the slightest idea as to what he was planning.

"Answer me!"

The man flinched but stood his ground.

"He's not comin' back Stanley."

Stanley jumped at him, pushing him to the stairs with his hands around Fiddleford's neck "Fuck you mean 'he is not coming back'? You will bring him back. We will!"

He didn't dare to make his grip any tighter on Fiddleford's neck, just enough to shake him back to his senses. How could he even think about leaving Ford there? Especially after all this effort they put into it. How could he?

"We won't. He's dead."

His grip involuntarily got tighter around the man's neck, he could feel the fast pulse of the blond on his fingers and under his palm.

"I am sorry, Stanley." whispered a pained voice.

A blue light shone by the man's side, finally letting him see the weird gun pointed at him for the first time.

"Forgive me--" he cut himself off with a sudden breath, pressing his lips together in order to calm his nerves.

He looked into Fiddleford's eyes only to see tears in them. What could he even say to get himself out of this situation? He could quite easily take the scrawny man down with no fight, but he knew he wouldn't shoot. He knew his type, saw it many times. He wouldn't shoot unless Stan was to make a bold move.

Then something changed in his expression, it turned to one of acceptance.

"Fiddleford--"

"Forgive me, Stanford."

click

A spark drowned the whole room in blue light. Blinding both the brunette and the blonde temporarily.

And as Stan crashed to the ground of the basement he hoped to recover his brother from, all he could think about was how much that gun looked like a water gun him and Stanford owned as children.

Notes:

Hey hey, it's me again! Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Per usual feel free to offer your criticism and suggestions in the comments. You are loved, have a nice day <3

P.S: The next chapter may take a while since I'm finally getting my driver's license this week! Wish me luck fellas!

Chapter 3: Hell of A Liar

Summary:

Dr. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, PhD; is one hell of a liar yet he had never been called out for it before. It's almost as if everyone around him just forgets that part of him sometimes.

Notes:

This is so ass. I'm hoping angst will help hide my bad writing lol. Enjoy this new chapter!

--2012--

That night Dipper went back to their room in the attic and pretended that Fiddleford only 'scolded him for staying up late' which was one of the worst cover ups he had ever came up with in his 12 years of life but he'd rather be called a liar by his sister than tell her the truth about Stan and his supposed dead twin.

After a quick game of 'War' they went to bed, before they could get caught by their caretakers. It wasn't like they'd do anything bad but Dipper would much rather deal with the thoughts in his head in silence than with the bearded geezer singing them a lullaby as he played the banjo.

The moon moved from one side to another as Dipper tossed and turned back to back for god knows how long. Because in his mind, none of the answers he received for his questions made sense. All his questions were relevant to one another in some way but the answers he got? Not even close. If anything the 'answers' he got were forcing open more cases to be solved.

He tried to distract himself by thinking about the journal, hoping there was a secret author that wasn't Stan, but anytime he did so his mind would just go back to Stan and his dead twin again. His grandpa's words about how twins drifting lead to disaster ringing in his ears. Turns out he had been speaking from experience all along.

Was it the disaster that caused them to drift apart or was it the other way around? What even happened? Why hadn't he heard of a dead relative before?

He turned around in bed, this time facing his sister who slept peacefully, hugging her plushies.

He would protect her no matter what. He wouldn't let whatever happened to Stan and his twin happen to them too.

He closed his eyes and counted, and counted, and counted and kept counting until he couldn't anymore. He wasn't sure when he slept, or if he slept at all but the sun was up the next time he opened his eyes.

-

The next morning after breakfast, Dipper spent his whole day trying to decipher that one alien alphabet in the journal as Mabel and Stan were out running some errands; probably just buying every single snack there was in the supermarket but Dipper couldn't prove that. He opened both the red journal and his blue journal before him to get started on the first text with the alien language he came across. The one on the page with the crossed out eye.

'The Blind Eye'

He started by giving the first three letter combination the word 'the', it didn't take him long to notice that it just wouldn't work. Then he used 'and' instead, which sounded just a bit more possible as he sprinkled the letters somewhat randomly to their respective places.

Before he tried using another word for the three letter combination, he read the text under the page more carefully to give it some sort of meaning.

'Are they trying to stop him? Or are they trying to stop me from stopping him? That doesn't make any sense. I cannot keep going like this without some sort of rest.

I can barely think straight.'

Okay, seems like his fifteenth attempt at giving this paragraph some sort of meaning failed as well. Good luck to future him for his sixteenth and hopefully last attempt, by then he hoped to be able decipher whatever that big paragraph on top of this meaningless text was.

Then, he used 'are' in place of the first three letter combination and the rest was just gravy as he put the key letters in their places.

The second he finished reading the new paragraph in it's entirety for the first time though, he felt his blood run cold through his veins.

'If my suspicions are correct this is the work of Fiddleford. Does he really have to go to such great lenghts to forget?'

Then it all made sense. The assistant in the journal, or 'F' as he was usually talked about by the author, was Fidds. It had been him all along.

The one he had been living with all those years ago, the one who left his family behind in Palo Alto and most importantly, the one who invented the Memory Gun. It was him.

Creak.

He closed the journals back up the second he heard it. It was slow, almost as if somebody was creeping up on him. And the once he turned around he knew that suspicions weren't in vain.

"I thought ya two left that journal where ya found it."

Dipper grabbed both of the journals and jumped onto his bed to escape through the door but Fidds reached it before he could and closed it. Then he turned back to Dipper, leaning on the hand he put against the door. The expression on his face was almost unreadable save for a slight hint of fear.

"Nothin' ya read in that journal is real, Dipper. It's just yer grunkle and his bright imagination."

"It's not. I know it's real!" he protested, gripping the journals even tighter than before.

Fidds humourlessly laughed, finally letting go of the door as he took a step closer to Dipper, who was now cornered at the wall side of his bed.

"If it was real; which, it obviously isn't, why would we still be 'ere Dipper? Why would we knowin'ly keep ourselves in the middle of a forest that's infested with all sorts of creatures. And go as far as invitin' two kids 'ere as if it's safe!" his voice got just a little bit louder at the ends of his sentences, as if that'd make it more believable. "Why would we do that?"

"Because you have something to hide."

Fiddleford smiled out of frustration, this time not even bothering to fake a laugh. "And what do we have to hide?"

Dipper looked back at the journal in his arms and decided to quickly look through it for something, anything that might have implied that they had been hiding something all along. A reason as to why they might have stayed here for decades.

"You erased their minds!" he blurted out, still not having any idea as to why they could have stayed here. The geezer's expression was turned to one of fear for the fraction of a second before it went back to the 'comforting smile'. His bluff had worked.

"Both you and I know that's not possible Dipper. Yer a smart kid."

Dipper didn't say anything, Fidds was trying to get under his skin again by sounding kind and all. Fidds knew what he was doing, but so did Dipper. He wasn't going to fall for it this time like he fell for the 'twin' lie.

"Dipper, as I said, anythin' and everythin' I've done was for this family. It was for your great uncle. I didn't--" he stopped abruptly seeing Dipper looking through the journal "Stop that."

"Why, because it's real?" he bluffed, still anxiously looking for a sign.

"No-- give me that!" he shouted, dashing forward to grab the journal from Dipper's grasp. But before he could even get close, Dipper panicked and threw the journals at him as a last resort, striking him right at his forehead.

He took a few steps back and held his face, hissing in pain as both journals fell to the ground. One opened to a page that Dipper had read quite thoroughly during his first days here. He wasn't sure which page it was, yet he could feel the recognition set in as he momentarily saw it and turned his gaze back to Fidds.

"I'm just trynna protect you! Why can't you just--" he took his hands off of his face to complain before his eyes got caught on the open journal lying on the ground just like Dippers' did. And it was silent for a few seconds, almost too silent let alone for the quiet chattering of an old man and his great niece by the main door. Then he proceeded to let out one of the most blood curdling screams Dipper has ever heard before crashing to the ground, trembling like a newborn kitten.

He heard the main door close with a loud bang, followed by heavy and quick steps approaching them on the stairs, "Fidds!"

Stan rushed into the room, immediately falling to his knees before his boyfriend. Grabbing Fidds from his shoulders to inspect him before holding the engineer to his chest with one hand, then prooceding to take his shaking hand into an almost steady one to calm him down. The showman looked at Dipper with fear in his questioning eyes. Although his eyes did get caught on the open journal on the way, Dipper didn't see any kind of recognition in them. Fiddleford must have erased the journal from his memory as well, unless-

Unless the journal was not written by Stan to begin with.

Mabel rushed into the room and just stood in between the geezers and Dipper before quickly gathering the journals and putting them under the covers of Dipper's bed as their caretakers were not looking.

Fidds was still shaking like a leaf, his posture boneless and only moving with his uneven breaths. Stan was quietly muttering things to him as he held his shaking body close.

"Is he-- Is he okay?" asked Mabel, looking at the man who was lying on the floor right next to her bed.

"This hasn't happened in ages I'm not-- I'm not sure pumpkin. What scared him so much?" he asked, looking at Dipper as he asked the question.

"We were just talking one moment and then he--" he stopped talking after hearing Fidds mutter something under his breath.

"For-get..."

Stan leaned towards him "What was that sweetheart?"

"I need to forget." he mumbled, his voice barely audible even for Stan.

"You need to forget?"

Fidds nodded before gripping Stan's hand so tightly that Dipper could see the white of his bones through his knuckles.

"I'll forget and then I'll be fine."

'...Does he really have to go to such great lenghts to forget?'

"Okay baby, for now let's get you to bed. You'll feel better after taking a nap. C'mon." Stan said as he lifted the man off the ground bridal style, his voice didn't sound as worried as it was just last second, probably because he noticed that Fidds was feeling well enough to be saying weird stuff again.

Dipper wasn't sure whether Stan was also in on whatever Fidds has done so he didn't say anything as Stan took Fidds out of the room.

"Could you two put up the closed sign for the shack?" he asked taking a step back to see the twins again "Oh also, call Wendy and Soos."

They nodded and were given a sad smile with a nod by Stan before he quickly mumbled 'thanks' and left.

-

Dipper showed Mabel all the things he saw in the journals and explained what he thought they meant.

"Did you mean to scare him with the journal, then?" Mabel asked, leaning against the table.

"I-- not really. I just panicked and threw it at him."

Then it hit him at once and he facepalmed himself "I forgot to check what page he reacted to!"

Mabel reached for the journal and pulled it close as she flipped a few pages, examining each and every one before flipping to the next. She only stopped once she reached the page with 'Bill Cipher' written on it.

"This one. I checked before closing the journal."

"You're a lifesaver, Mabel!" Dipper marveled happily before turning back to the mystery at hand. "But why did he--" a creaking sound rang around the house yet again and he closed a hand over his mouth immediately.

Mabel looked at him with questioning eyes but Dipper didn't say anything else. He just reached out and quiety grabbed the two journals from the desk, putting them in the backpack he had nearby.

"Where is Fidds?" he asked, almost entirely sure that he was up somewhere here again to hear what they had to say.

Mabel shrugged and got up, pointing at the door with her thumb "Shall we?"

"After you."

-

They went through the entirety of the Shack's liveable areas. Yet all they found was a Fidds shaped empty portion next to a sleeping Stan in their room and random metal parts scattered all around the house. If he wasn't in the house area then where was he? He couldn't have gotten that far away considering the condition he was in.

They quietly made their way to the first floor and then to the living room to maybe catch up with some Ducktective as Stan was sleeping, but were startled to hear some noises coming from the gift shop instead. A muttering of sorts.

Dipper approached the door that lead to the gift shop and pushed it lightly, praying to every holy thing on God's green earth that it wasn't as creaky as he remembered it being.

Then he was met with the man they had been looking for all along. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, inventor, entrepreneur and one hell of a liar.

He moved around a bit so that Mabel could also peek her head in through the small space.

Fidds was leaning against the vending machine with one hand and holding his head with the other, muttering something along the lines of 'remember' to himself over and over again as he lightly hit his head with the heel of his palm.

Then he started pushing the buttons. It felt meaningless at first because he was pushing 5 buttons instead of the usual 3. He wasn't going to get any snacks out of that machine anytime soon.

Then he pushed another combination in and the vending machine popped out of its place with piston sounds. Dipper felt as if he was going to fall down with excitement. He was right. Fidds was hiding something.

Then the engineer reached into the dimly lit place inside and pulled out some sort of bronze coloured contraption. Dipper noticed he knew what the thing was only when it came into the light seeping through the giftshop's window. It was the Memory Gun.

The words in the journal rang in his head again.

'...Does he really have to go to such great lenghts to forget?'

For a few seconds all they heard was quiet beeping sounds back to back. Then Fiddleford turned towards the door of the shack, facing the window and placed the gun against his temple, his posture growing more hunchbacked by the second.

He felt Mabel tense up at the sight but held onto her shoulder reassuringly, Fidds would be fine.

Then a blue flash drowned the whole room in blue light for a second or maybe even less.

There were still big blobs in his vision caused by the light by the time the room went back to darkness. Fidds straightened his back and walked back to the secret door again, placing the gun back on a pile of boxes before changing his mind, taking it back and shoving it into his pajama pocket. Mabel held Dipper by the hand and walked back, only starting to run once he heard Fidds close the vending machine door back into it's place with a loud bang.

She opened the front door and ran out, letting go of Dipper's hand once the door closed behind them but still running into the woods.

Once they were far enough from the Shack, they both leaned against a tree and tried to catch their breath.

"We can't go back to the attic." she said, staring at their room's window through the trees. "He's going to erase our memories, too!"

Dipper didn't say anything for a few seconds. He just wanted to drop down to the grass and cry, and there was nothing keeping him from doing just that.

So he did. Mabel lay next to him and held him by his arm.

Needless to say, they didn't go back to their room that night.

--1982--

Stanley Pines didn't remember falling asleep, he wasn't the type of person who could just fall asleep anywhere, even after his years living on the streets. But nevertheless he found himself stirring awake on the floor of an unknown windowless place and semi-freezing save for the top half of his body. He was being shaken, almost too softly to be noticed but it was there if you paid enough attention.

"Stanley... Oh Stanley--"

He barely managed to stop himself from flinching at the sound of his real name coming out of a stranger's mouth. Who was that even supposed to be? Was he one of Rico's goons, his blood ran even faster through his freezing body with the thought. Because if he knew anything about people in his old 'businness' it was that someone who was willing to put up with him and care about him would be way worse than someone coming to steal his organs. He, unfortunately, had to learn it the hard way.

The person holding him shifted and he felt something close over him only to notice it was the shaking figure of a scrawny man seconds later. He had blond hair and tanned skin with a slim frame, looking nothing like any man he ever did 'businness' with, let alone looking like one of Rico's goons. The man's hair was disheveled and he was wearing a wrinkled shirt, he looked so out of space in this big dark room.

Only when he moved his head slightly to examine the room did he notice that there was a hand holding his head up from the back, no doubt belonging to the scrawny man who cradled him like a son, and another hand over his wrist as if he was checking for his pulse. His forehead rested on Stan's chest, slightly moving up and down with his slow breaths.

He didn't say anything, just laid there and watched the man cry over him. Or maybe something else? Who knows, in the end the man was leaned over him and crying so yes. He is crying over Stan quite literally.

"Please wake up...Please-"

Stan was definitely up, there was no doubt, yet he knew better than to wake up at such a request by a stranger. Seconds later said stranger intertwined his fingers with Stan's and pulled him closer. He was warm. So very warm and he almost felt like home when he pulled Stan closer, even though Stan has never met this blond stranger with a Southern accent before.

It was a weird feeling. Whenever he opened his eyes to take a look at the guy, it'd unintentionally make him feel happy. But there was no reason for him to be happy upon seeing the guy, right? He didn't like blondes or hippies, and honestly didn't like Southerners all that much too because they were too 'enthusiastic' and 'emotional' for his own liking. Yet this guy? He made him feel warm.

He wasn't sure why he did it but he moved his hand up and patted the guy's back, stopping his sobs for a second or two before being pulled into the tightest hug he has ever received. "Thank the gods yer alright...Stanley--"

He started sobbing even more as if that was possible.

"Hey, hey-- calm down champ. I'm good."

The man pulled back and looked at his face, his eyes drifting from one part of his face to another as he examined him. "We...We should get out of here as soon as possible."

Stan gave him a questioning look before averting his gaze to examine his surroundings more. He was in a...Room? Of sorts? Yes it was definitely a room, some walls, a ceiling and all. Yet nothing seemed familiar...or understandable for that matter. On top of all that it made his brain itchy even as he just looked at the confusing metal boxes with lights surrounding them. Could his brain even be itchy? He was sure he had a concussion but was it that severe?

It also smelled of iron and rot. Stan wasn't sure if that was just the machinery around him or blood. He was hoping for the former though.

"I-- I tried to drag ya up. But I jus' couldn't get you up the stairs at all-- so I waited for you to be up" the man explained in a hurry. Stan looked behind him and noticed that he was in fact right by a staircase.

"Uh, it's fine I guess?" he blurted, he didn't expect the guy to keep up the facade of caring about him for this long. "Where the fuck are we? This place makes me feel sick."

The man flinched, he seemed to be caught off-guard by the question. He stood up and offered Stan a hand to help him up. "Are ya havin' memory problems?"

Stan let go of the man's hand as soon as he was up, staring around the room yet again before deciding the brain itch was too much and deciding to stare at the man instead. Which again, made his brain itch but at least he was easier on the eyes than walls and walls of metal boxes. And if Stan was being too honest for his own good, the man before him was kinda nice to look at, too.

The man stared back at him with some tears left in his eyes, his expression now one of uneasy acceptance. "Let's go up, I'll fill ya in once we're in a safer place. A'ight? I don't want you down here, it ain't safe."

Stan nodded without even questioning what the man said for a second. What did he even mean by not wanting him down here? Did he trespass into this property?That wasn't like him. And even if he did how did the guy know him, let alone by his legal name that he hasn't told anyone in a decade or maybe even more. Who even was this guy? Why did he pretend to care about him?

The man went up a step to see if Stan would follow him, and kept going once he noticed he would. As they slowly went up, Stan looked back one last time to figure out what that ugly feeling in his chest was. But he failed again.

-

The long stairway led to a wooden cabin, the hot and sticky air of the dog day afternoon sticking to his freezing skin. Which was weird because Stan could swear on his life that there was a blizzard when he came here.

The man didn't say much as he pulled Stan to the side and closed the door to the basement, pulling a random table right in front of it as if something could come from down below.

"How...Do you feel?" he asked, his sunken in cheeks still damp with the tears he had shed a few minutes ago.

And Stan just stared back at him with empty eyes, he normally would have pretended to be a much more enjoyable person to be around, yet it was almost impossible with the unscratchable itch in his brain. So he answered with whatever came to mind first "My head hurts like crazy."

The guy stared right at his forehead and frowned, maybe just one or two second late.

"What in the sam hill-- where'd you hit your head?" he 'asked'. It didn't exactly sound like a question.


Stan shrugged "Man. I don't wanna sound rude but I don't even remember who you are, you think I'd remember what happened to my head?"

He expected the man to shout at him or get mad at him for not remembering who he was. Yet he didn't do any of that. The only change he saw in the man's face after he spoke was his eyes becoming glossy with tears again, he didn't say a thing. Just a soft, understanding smile and a nod.

"C'mon, let's wash yer face before I fill ya in."

-

"Did I fucking headbutt a star? What even is this scar--" he blurted out in shock, reaching to touch the cross shaped scar right in the middle of his forehead before being stopped by the man.

"Don't touch it." he said, his tone now almost like a father scolding his kid. Well, this isn't what his Pa sounded like but in all the shows he watched staying at motels the fathers sounded like this. Seems like it wasn't just in TV, after all.

And then they stopped talking as the man treated the scar on his forehead with whatever he could find, then told him to wait for him in the kitchen, and Stan's feet did actually take him there without thinking. Has he been here before?

He didn't think much about it and just sat down, avoiding a random chair for no reason in particular. The stranger joined him in a bit.

"We're in Gravity Falls." he said before sitting down next to Stan "You've been here fer about 7 months. D'ya remember why yer here?"

Stan shook his head no without even actually thinking about it. But then the thought forced itself into his mind anyways.

'PLEASE COME! '

He had to be there. He didn't care that he was using his last 20 bucks for gas money, or about the fact that there were three gangs that were just waiting for an opportunity to kill him and sell his organs for whatever he owed them, or even about the fact that it was a 20 hour ride. His brother needed him and he had to be there no matter what.

He remembered how cold it was, the snow, his windshield being blocked by it and how much he struggled to keep his eyes open as he tracked the roadside signs until he found the one that said 'Welcome to Gravity Falls!'

And then, after the car ride, his memory just went blank like he was trying to recall things that happened months ago. A hole he couldn't explore even with the right equipment. It was just...gone. Let alone for a few hints of remembrance.

He remembered the smell in the cabin right now, the smell of wood. He also remembered the damp feel of the basement's air against his skin. And eventually, he remembered the smell of something burning which struck a very strong feeling in his chest. Almost like a heart attack. He remembered it, the smell of something human burning.

"Ford." he mumbled in panic "Where's Ford?"

The man didn't answer, he just placed an arm around Stan's shoulders. They looked at one another, both clearly expecting a different reaction from the other. Stan wasn't sure what this man could want from him but he knew what he wanted from the stranger. Anything but whatever that sad look on his face implied.

"He was a good man. May he rest in--" started the man but Stan immediately got up and pushed the man.

"Don't speak of him that way! Like he's--" he couldn't bring himself to say the word. Four silly letters that just wouldn't come out of his mouth, as if him not vocalising said thought would change the situation at hand "Don't say that."

He felt the tips of his fingers turn to ice, his usually steady hands shaking in the defensive position he unintentionally put them in.

"How...Much do you remember of it?" the man asked, his voice now not one of a sad friend but a scientist who tried to act professional even through his cracking voice, as if he was testing something.

"The fuck do you mean how much I remember of it? What happened to Ford? Was I there? Did I--" he didn't even finish the thought. He was a bad man, maybe even the worst, especially to his brother, but he wasn't someone who'd-- he wouldn't do such a thing. Would he?


"You pushed him into the portal Stanley, don't you remember?" he said matter of factly before switching to a more emotional tone "The portal had never been tested on humans before, you couldn't have known the consequences..."

"I wouldn't! I--" he barked, as if he was fighting with Death itself.

"But you have! Don't ya remember what happened to 'im?"

Stan feel to his knees, keeping himself upright with his hand on the chair nearby.

"It's-- you said it's a portal!" he blurted out "He's just on the other side, he's gotta be fine. I wouldn't--"

"His body couldn't take the sudden pressure change as he entered the portal..." he mumbled before coming to kneel before Stan to reach his level "You didn't know he'd--"

"No, no no no nO NO. STOP." he shouted, pushing the man as if that'd do anything "I might be a man with no values, but I wouldn't kill my brother. You're lying!"

The man didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at Stanley like a baby who was about to cry. His eyes tearing up once again as he looked at him one last time before pulling him into the tightest hug he had ever received, one that was even tighter than before.

"Yer right, Stanley. You wouldn' kill Ford." he said, voice cracking with the sadness in his voice. He buried his face into Stan's shoulder, trembling hands finding their way to Stan's back "I'm-- I'm so sorry."

And only then did it actually hit Stan what had actually happened.

He had been accused of killing people before. Hell, he had actually killed people before. And whenever it was brought up, he had been defensive about it, just like he was now. But now, hearing somebody comfort him made him understand what the situation was.

This talk wasn't about somebody dying by Stan's hands; it was about his twin brother, his other half dying by his hands.

Stan stared straight ahead before a shiver took over him and he buried his head in the stranger's shoulder. His eyes shut as he waited for the stranger to just jump up and tell him that he had been lying all along, that it was all just so his old gang could catch him in a vulnerable state. He waited, and waited...Yet that moment never came.


A sound escaped his throat as he tried to turn his breathing back to normal. And then another. And then multiple. In the end he was sobbing like the stranger that held him close, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Ford--" he muttered, just like he did as a kid. Back then, every time their dad scolded him and made him stay in their room, he'd cry for Ford. Then he'd come and they'd hug until Stan stopped feeling frustrated.

It became a habit overtime, only during his ten years away from his twin did he notice that it just wouldn't work anymore. Just like it didn't work when he cried his brother's name locked in the trunk of a car or when he lied in a pool of his own blood in a jail, beat up beyond recognition, and just like it was not working now. He could cry all he wanted and Ford still wouldn't be there to hug his tears and pain away. And it was all his fault that it was that way.

He gripped the man's wrinkled shirt even tighter, pulling him close. He didn't even know his name, or why he was there to begin with. Yet he shared his grief so at that moment, he was all he had. So he sobbed a little harder and held him closer.

"It wasn't your fault." the man had mumbled between his cries. "It never was and it never will be."

"I'm so sorry, Stan."

Stan didn't say anything back, but the man kept taking in deep breaths as if he was about to say something.

"We..." he started "I promise, we'll be fine."

Notes:

Hey! Sorry for going radio silent for a month or two, but a bunch of things happened at once and I just couldn't find the time to write. I finally got my drivers license, got into uni for architecture and did a bunch of boring responsible adult things. In short, life happened. And it will keep happening as you're reading this. That's just how it is.

Kudos, constructive criticism and silly comments are supported and greatly appreciated as usual!! Until next time and take care!!

Notes:

Hey there, me again! Hopefully you liked this chapter. Feel free to offer me your constructive criticism and/or suggestions! I'm also open to hearing about your headcanons for the characters! Have a nice day!!