Work Text:
Ford had just been trying to connect more with his great-niece.
Dipper was easy to connect to, what with the way their brains seemed to function and co-exist on the same wavelengths and theories, but Mabel was a bit harder to reach.
Not to say she was hard to be around. No, Mabel was a star of chaotic, vibrating, glittery energy Ford always admired (and had tried and failed to discreetly test many times). But Ford was a very work-oriented man, which led to him focusing on Dipper as he occasionally assisted in said work, which could assuredly lead to less one-on-one time with Mabel and a resentful wedge between him and the girl that could later spread to a rift and conflict between her and her brother, which then might turn into a long lasting separation over the two just like him and-
Well. That was all theoretical though, and there’d be no need to worry if he simply gave her the attention she deserved and thrived on now, which led him to where he was now.
Ford had sat on the edge of Mabel’s bed about thirty minutes ago, intent on talking to the girl about her interests and possibly planning an outing within the next two to three weeks, so he had substantial time to plan. Since then, it had quickly devolved into Mabel showing off the crafts and things she’d procured over the course of their summer to fill him in on their adventures.
“-spines from that one time Dipper caught a Gremloblin! It busted a big hole in the gift shop, and Dipper let me keep these after we picked them outta his arms!” She thrust a plastic bag of poisonous, brown-green quills into Ford’s lap.
Ford made an appropriately fond, interested hum in response, though Mabel was already back under her bed and pulling out more keepsakes and didn’t hear it. The girl pulled out a big, decorated shoe box along with many other things that didn’t seem to fit in said box.
“This is all the extra candy and stuff I saved from the Summerween monster! Preeetty sure we were s’pposed to throw it out, but I wanted to keep it, to remember the time we almost got eaten by sugar and also to have emergency-backup-last-resort candy.” She popped open the shoe box, dropping it on Ford’s lap and giving his hand a nice pat-pat before she started sifting through the items she still had to show him.
Ford let out an appreciative rumble at that, unable to help the small smile on his face.
Since getting back from the multiverse, Ford realized he was… different, than what he was when he went in. English was hard, first of all. Next to no one spoke English in the dimensions he traveled to, and if it weren’t for the universal translator he’d been given while out there, he probably wouldn’t have been able to understand his family at all when they first got him out. Even now, almost three months after Weirdmaggedon, he still needed a few minutes to figure out his words if he wanted to try speaking without the translator. There were other, obvious things of course, he was noticeably thinner (something Stan had been fighting to remedy) and his mind no longer functioned exactly like it used to, which thank goodness his family understood and catered to when needed.
But more often than that, Ford had noticed how much more aware he now was of his family’s affection. He hadn’t had a good hug in decades before coming back, and a semi-stable family in even longer. He made a point to try and savor it every time he was given that gift.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Ford finally looked down and started going through the box of candy on his lap. Some of the brands were completely new and unfamiliar to him, but a few—jelly beans, a few chocolate bar brands, and those godforsaken toffee peanuts—he was able to recognize. Including…
“Smil… dip?” Ford squinted at a bright pink package with little cartoon dogs on it, trying to read the label.
“Smile-dip, Grunkle Ford.” Mabel absently corrected, still looking through her pile with a soft hum. “That stuff’s big ban-banned though, has been for a few years now.”
Ford hummed curiously, looking over the package again. He remembered, vaguely, some of the frat boys in his college would add the powder to energy drinks and alcohols during parties or if they needed the energy. He himself had never thought to try it, if only because he was too busy and preferred his coffee anyway.
Ford opened the package, taking an inquisitive sniff. It smelled like a rainbow trying to punch him in the face, which in his experience, had never been a positive sign. He wrinkled his nose, taking a peek at Mabel next to him. Well, his niece liked it, so…
He tipped it back, pouring the powder in his mouth and swallowing down what he could before it had the chance to dissolve and flavor his tongue.
“But that stuff majorly flip-flopped my brain around the last time I had some, so it’s probably for the best.” Mabel finished, hands on her hips as she turned to her Grunkle Ford, just in time to see him swallow. He blinked at her. She blinked back.
“This’ll probably be fine.”
—
It took not even thirty minutes.
Ford blinked at the star-colored ceiling, each eye feeling like an effort to open back up again. Everything felt like an effort, not a truly stifling, depressing one, but a heavy, muting one, like someone had clogged his ears with unicorn hair.
Ford let his head flop to the side, lazily tracking down his arm and to the wobbly line of color around his wrist. Mabel made that for him, because it was a bracelet and no one made bracelets better than Mabel and Mabel only made bracelets for the people she loved, and Ford was one of them, so he had a bracelet.
Mabel had left the room about the time that Ford had made himself comfortable on the rug. Or he fell on it. The details were fuzzy, muddled and unimportant as he wiggled his fingers and dug them into the staticky, soft-rough bristles of the rug.
The door creaked open, voices murmuring amongst themselves as they came in. Good, warm, safe voices, not the bad ones that made Ford’s hair stand on end and his heart beat like a rabbit running in his chest.
His brother’s moving mouth and moving body soon connected with one of the voices as he walked fully into the room, because that was Stan’s voice, he remembered that now.
Ford’s soft purring grew louder at the sight of his brother, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.
Oh, he was purring.
Stan seemed to realize the fact exactly when Ford did, his face melting with a warm, quiet chuckle that made Ford’s rumbling build. “You really are out of it, huh Sixer?”
Ford just blinked at him with his best imitation of the golf cart motor.
Stan sighed, pinching at his nose bridge before turning to the two blobs of color next to him, just at the edge of Ford’s peripheral vision. The wishing, washing waves of their voices flowed and puddled in his ears before leaking out onto the carpet.
Then, something started tugging at his hand.
His purr tapered off into a whine, muscles loose and stringy and not at all helpful to the thing tugging him up.
“Come on, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper huffed, which, when did Dipper get here? “We need to get you downstairs, it’s not safe for you to be up here alone. Even if you are just lying here…”
Another hand joined Dipper’s in tugging at Ford, and eventually the world lurched up and blurred in his eyes.
“There we go, now you’re sittin’ up!” Stan cheered much too close to his brother’s ear, drawing another, softer whine from Ford as he tried to turn his head away from the noise. He didn’t get very far, but Stan seemed to notice the problem and quieted down anyway.
“Right, you got your sensitive hearing whoozamawhatsit.” Stan made a vague, dismissive gesture with one hand, the other still braced under Ford’s bicep. “Let’s get you downstairs, that’ll probably be better for you.”
Fifteen minutes and six nearly missed stair steps later, Ford was deposited in the living room on a squishy, moss-like seat. He squirmed around for a bit, trying to explore the new material, before a blanket was wrapping semi-tightly around his body, pinning his arms down. Ford just purred more, snuggling into the soft, slightly waxy fabric.
Voices ebbed and flowed through the room for a bit before one of them drifted away, then another, leaving only one. He opened his eyes, not quite sure when they closed, and looked down to see his beloved niece, Mabel.
The girl looked unsure, almost nervous or guilty, which just wouldn’t do in Ford’s opinion.
Ford made an encouraging chirping noise, face soft-melting into a smile when the girl made of sparkles started to giggle. Seeming settled, Mabel climbed up on the squishy moss with him and picked up one of his hands to mess poke and prod at.
Ford liked the feeling. Well, maybe not when she touched his scars and bad-hot zapped his bones, but he liked her hand in his. He purred a little louder, trying to get more of the hand-holding.
Mabel giggled again, leaning into his side. “Y’know, I can’t tell if you’re more like a cat or a bird right now. Maybe you’re a… cabird. Is that a thing?”
Ford blinked in response, not taking in a word she’s saying, but Mabel doesn’t mind at all.
“Well, as the more stable-y Mabel-y of us two, I have decided they are in fact a very real thing.” The girl smiled, bright and proud, with her arms moving to her words to describe the hypothetical, probably-not-actually-real creature. “It’s got like the body of a bird, maybe a chubby one like a sparrow, but it’s got fur instead of feathers, and a long kitty cat tail, and tiny kitty ears.”
Ford rumbled once more, face melting again. His niece was so smart, so bright and sweet and wow, he can actually see the colors radiating off of her, how had he not noticed that before?
Mabel kept rambling about her new creature, glowing reds and yellows and pinks circling and swirling around her, radiating so warmly. Ford slumped into that warmth, sliding down, down, down until the world was all wonky-sideways and the very top of his head was pressed to her thigh, the girl’s hand very delightedly messing with his frizzy hair.
“Wow, is all old man hair this light? Probably lost all the thickness and weight to it because of silly aging, huh?” She asked without actually looking for an answer, humming and purposely ruffling her grunkle’s hair just to right it and play with the strands again.
Ford couldn’t give one even if he tried, his brain having fogged up into a cloud and floated out through his ear. His eyes wouldn’t focus, half closed and dreamy, but he wasn’t all too bothered to force them to function.
Mabel kept chatting and ruffling for years, long enough to melt the awkward distance Ford tended to keep, too riddled with guilt to properly appreciate his family like he so regrets not doing. Now though, he couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d want to be anywhere else.
“Grunkle Stan said dinner was ready.” Dipper walked into the living room, snorting as his Grunkle Ford’s head shot up, eyes wide and eager like a rather hungry puppy.
Oh, Ford was hungry, actually. And food was right in the kitchen, not hiding or biting him or pinned underneath something, waiting to be skinned and roasted. Right there, just waiting for him. Now if only he could get his legs to move…
Dipper seemed to see his weak, wobbly focus, because the boy looked amused as he continued. “He said he’d come and bring you food, Grunkle Ford. I just came in here to grab Mabel.”
“Food!” Mabel cheered, much like Ford would be if he could remember how words work. As it was, he simply gave a pleased whine with his eyes crinkled as the children left the room, soft clink-clanking and happy chatter quickly falling from the kitchen. He grunted and shifted as well as he could under the wax blanket, blinking up at the starry ceiling.
He liked stars, or he was at least mostly sure he liked them. They always filled him with a swooping feeling, reminding him of times when gravity didn’t exist, when galaxies swirled around him and a false warmth enveloped his mind.
The swooping feeling dived and soured, and maybe he didn’t like stars all that much.
“You alive, bud?” Stan drawled, his face wrinkly but soft and amused in that unbelievable way. After all he’d put his brother through, Stan still smiled at him like he was family, a right he never wanted to take for granted again.
Ford, distracted from his thoughts about stars and blissful farce, chrred and went all soft-happy when his brother’s face entered his view. It was hard to think about upsetting things when his wonderful, loud, brash, protective, somehow-still-alive brother was right there, and with food, as Ford belatedly realized.
“I got some Stancakes for ya, since accordin’ to Mabel that sweet tooth of yours should be pretty damn present right now.” He continued on, mostly for himself, seeing as Ford was practically comatose. Well, brain-wise.
Ford whined again, squirming under the soft wax around his body before reaching out a drooping, floaty hand. He ignored the offered pancakes and instead hooked a few fingers into his brother’s wife-beater, tugging with a surprising amount of strength until the man fell into the squishy moss with him.
Stan gave a soft grunt, having to adjust to make sure the pancakes didn’t fall, but he couldn’t even think of scolding Ford when the cuddle-mush of a man tucked himself into Stan’s side.
“You’re gonna be so fuckin’ embarrassed if you remember this later.” Stan huffed, glancing towards the kitchen to make sure the children hadn’t heard (that damn swear jar has already taken too much of his cash). Ford couldn’t care less, nuzzling into his brother’s shoulder and clinging to his soft middle. He was practically vibrating, blinking up at Stan with those owlish, hazy eyes, bubbling with energy and yet somehow sapped of it entirely and ready for a nap. Stan just ruffled his twin’s hair and slid the plate of breakfast into his lap.
Ford stared at the plate for a long, long few seconds, long enough for the other to worry he’d need to be force-fed, before he finally started eating. Sure, it was with his hands, but silverware was a scam anyway, grabbers were perfectly good or food.
Ford leaned back into him, legs tucked underneath his own person on the beanbags with the blanket tangled on top of them, and Stan rather tentatively let his arm rest around his brother’s shoulders. Ford rumbled a bit louder, feeling nothing but safe, and the more lucid man just about melted.
Stan kept his jaw stubbornly shut, not wanting to start blabbering about somedthing stupid and pathetic like the fact that this is their first time cuddling since childhood, or the fact that his brother is so solid but so thin still, or the fact that Ford hasn’t flinched away from him or the kids once in hours, a new record.
His brother slowed his eating on the last of the three pancakes he’d been given, brow furrowing in that famous contemplative expression of his. Although now there were no equations behind those eyes, just half-strung thoughts and floating, flickering sensations. Ford blinked a few times, looked at Stanley, and made a chirp that honestly, probably shouldn’t be humanly possible.
Stan blinked back. “Bud, I gotta level with ya, no idea what that’s s’pposed to mean.
Ford wrinkled his nose and chirped again, the sound followed now by a warble and some incoherent mumbling.
Finally, the man managed to pull enough of his soup-cloud brain together to form something resembling a word. “Ta… talkin’.”
“Talking?” Stan repeated, to which his brother nodded and snuggled back in, pancake clutched close. “You wanna talk?”
Ford whined a disapproving noise, nibbling on his pancake. No, then.
“Alright, who do you want talkin’, bud?” Stan asked, absently rubbing at the other’s shoulder with a large, calloused hand. Ford sunk into it, reluctantly detaching from his pancake long enough to tap at his brother’s shoulder before pulling back to his food.
Stan blinked in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Me? You want me to keep talkin’?” He huffed, a slightly smug smile pulling at his lips. “And here I thought you didn’t like my ramblin’s.”
Stan didn’t really expect a response, but he was still pleasantly unsurprised when his brother started jerkily shaking his head as soon as the words processed in his lagging brain. Despite all evidence suggesting otherwise, Ford truly cared for his family, and he was working to show it more and more with each day.
“Alright, I’ll keep talkin’, ya bugger.” Stan grinned, ruffling his brothers hair one more time before settling in to wane off the morning with nonsensical stories and ideas and passing remarks about life.
It didn’t take long before Ford was purring away with his head in Stan’s lap, purring away and gazing up at his brother so attentively, hanging onto every word. Dipper and Mabel eventually joined them, and Ford was surrounded by family, by warmth and face-melty smiles and fuzzy-floaty love. Dipper’s and Mabel’s voices joined his brother’s, and soon Ford’s eyes were drooping under the starry ceiling, sleep quickly whisking him away.