Author's Notes: Hey!

So, I found this notebook somewhere in my room – which I've been looking for a long time – and I had written a fanfic inside it, which is the story you are going to read below. I actually wrote this somewhat for fun when the episode ATOTS aired, and I crossed it over with Rick and Morty, although I left it at some point. So, if its plot belongs to almost a year ago, I'm sorry, but I thought it's worth writing. (Maybe I'm wrong)

I actually just re-wrote this in order to make it make sense. I had some HUGE grammatical errors in it :|

So, I hope you enjoy, and let me note that: No Stanchez – or any other ships – here!

.

Chapter One: The Thing That Should Not Be

November 13th, 1982:

Stanley Pines woke up, still feeling exhausted. He had had a serious lack of sleep recently. Paranoia was keeping him awake as much as sleeping for four hours straight had not happened in a month, and that day was no exception.

The middle-aged man glanced at his cheap, ready-to-be-dumped watch, seeing the time 9:32 A.M. It was disappointing to him, because the last time he had looked at his watch was 6:18, and he knew he must have been awake for the next hour. Great.

He heaved a sigh and stood up in his tiny so-called "home". He basically lived in a small room littered by all of the junk he had been selling to people, with a pale wallpaper – which was near falling off the wall – and a half-closed window.

Scamming people was all he had done in the last ten years, as much as he couldn't imagine his life otherwise anymore – although he knew he would embrace a huge change in his life that could let him do something other than going from one state to the other after being banned because of the scams he had pulled, but his mind wouldn't go anywhere near imagining that way of life. He knew he had to get used to this way of life.

As he started thinking about his life, his mind raced to more than ten years ago, when he searched the cave back at New Jersey, alongside with his six-fingered, nerdy brother. The old times, when they used to get along

He remembered of the Stan O War, how they almost rebuilt it as if it was going to be actually used, how he dreamed of it back then, and finally, how his dreams were ripped apart…

Back at the room, Stanley shook his head to put the thoughts at the back of his mind. He didn't want himself crying. Not this time. He had some important things to do today.

He suddenly heard a knock on the door. He knew fully well who it was, and started to get stressed out.

"Just gimme a few more days Rico!" he shouted as he reached for something at the back of his bed. The baseball bat. "I'll pay your goods back, I SWEAR!"

He saw a letter… no… a postcard fall on the floor of the room. He felt a breeze of relief in himself and looked through the door just to be sure the postcard wasn't from Rico himself. After seeing an old postman at the other side of the door, he was completely sure there was no threat.

He bent over to pick up the postcard. At one side, he saw a picture of a forest-like nature with a fall on the right side. But at the back, there were a few words, which could change his life forever.

"PLEASE COME! - FORD"


He had almost arrived…

He had packed up as quickly as possible, just after he saw the postcard, and had gotten into his car and buckled up to head into what was waiting for him somewhere way too far away in the north.

He knew it was going to be awkward seeing his twin brother after near ten years of being apart. What could Stanford have done all along? What happened to his college? How were Ma and Pa? Why had he moved to Oregon? What had he been through? Would he even welcome him? He had a lot of thoughts going on in his head while driving and crossing state lines. But he had to push the thoughts away at some point because it was snowing heavily.

His car's heater had been refusing to for a few hours and Stanley was freezing in his car. He had to speak to himself to keep himself warm. And now it was snowing. He couldn't see much in front of him, barely able to read the signs. The last sign he had seen was one titled "Gopher Road" which apparently was the road his brother lived in, so he was less than an hour away from his destination.

And that was when he saw a building through the snow. He pushed his right foot harder on the accelerator, getting to the house shortly.

The house looked more of an abandoned shack than a building, looking completely dead. He knew his brother wouldn't pick such wreckage to live in, but he couldn't just pass by Stanford's house and not go in because it didn't seem like it was his.

Just thinking about that possibility made him feel bad about himself.

He unbuckled and got out of his car, leaving the engine running. He didn't want to spend – waste – an hour on turning the engine on, if it wasn't Stanford's house. He had to check the number of the house and see if it was 618.

After spending a few minutes on finding the number, he found the number 412 and started cursing, disappointed. He soon found his car and got in, forgetting to buckle his seatbelt. But as he attempted to accelerate, he found out that the engine, for whatever reason, wasn't working.

He accelerated again, only to find out that he was facing a serious problem: he had run out of fuel.

"Crap!" muttered Stanley as he got out of his car, thinking of what to do. His head was filling with negative thoughts, the hope being drained away, when his eyes caught something far away.

Another building.


Inside the other building, there was a beardy, worried scientist standing in front of a mirror, looking himself in the eye. Stanford had been doing so ever since he had sent a postcard to Stanley, asking for help. He knew fully well that Bill could easily possess him when Stanley came and ruin all he had planned to tell Stanley. He needed Stanley to do him a big favor, which he wasn't sure how he would respond to, but he needed to tell him.

He looked at himself. He was entirely a mess. His hair had become longer than ever, and hadn't been brushed in a whole month. His tie was loose, his shirt's top buttons were unbuttoned, which he fixed as soon as he noticed, and he could only imagine how stinky he was. His beard was relatively long, not shaved for weeks – not that he even shaved, his lighter was out of gas. All in all he looked as if he had been hit by a bus.

But that wasn't what he cared about. He was looking at his eyes to see if they turned yellow, and fight it. He could prevent it this way, always being conscious of it. He was worried about Stanley. He knew that Bill could easily possess him on his way here, and he knew whatever happened if he let Bill into this, it wouldn't be pleasant. The Shapeshifter could simply tranform to him as well, if it had found a way out of the bunker.

He picked up a flashlight from a table near him, keeping his eyes on his own reflection. After stuffing it at his pocket, he looked around foe some sort of weapon he could use if it was the Shapeshifter, so he could be rid of him for good.

He found the crossbow, and raced to pick it up, and then go back to the mirror. His paranoia had been getting to him these last few days.

Knock knock!


"There is NOTHING about this I understand!" Stanley said, staring at the portal. Stanford had made sure he was himself, so he was so much relieved, making his voice sound less stressed. "It is a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension." Stanford began explaining, as Stanley kept his gaze at the portal. He decided to continue, "I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be hardest for a terrible destruction.

"That is why I shut it down and hid my journals which explain how to operate it."

He pulled out his first journal from his pocket and walked up to his messy brother, who now was looking at him, not the portal. The old scientist placed it at his twin's hands.

"There's only one journal left, and you are the only one I trust to take it." Stanford hesitated for a second. He didn't know how Stanley would respond to his request, but it was something he needed to tell him, so he decided to go for it. The worst that could happen was a small fight, right?

Apparently not.


Stanley punched his apologizing brother hard and sent him walking backwards in pain. In his backwards going, he hit a lever and made it be pulled. Neither Stanley nor Stanford noticed. They had less important things to think about. Now Stanley was walking to his brother, holding his painful shoulder – which had just burnt – his anger rising.

"Some brother you turned out to be, you care more about your dumb mysteries than your family?" Stanford was now on his feet. Both had no idea that the portal was turned on, ready to suck anything that crossed the line on the ground to itself, all it needed was for Stanley to make the final move. "Well, then you can have –"

He stopped when he saw Stanford airborne. His brother was now floating to the portal, struggling aimlessly in panic and fear. "Whoa, Whoa, What's going on? HEY STANFORD!" Stanley said, his hate turning into confusion. He didn't expect this.

"Stanley, Stanley help me!" the old scientist shouted, getting closer to the gateway. A gateway to HELL.

"Oh no, WHAT DO I DO?"

"Stanley, STANLEY DO SOMETHING!

"STANLEY!"

An explosion.

Silence.

All that could be heard was a deadly, deafening silence, a few feet away from an unconscious, regretful man, whose brother had gone and left only a pair of glasses from himself.


Infinite and a thousand miles away was an old, blue-haired man relaxing on the roof of his house, a beer bottle in his hand and seven other ones beside him – he was not interested in having to go back inside the house and taking a new bottle every five minutes, so he had taken only a small part of his drinks with him on the roof.

This time of the day was the only few hours which in he could actually be on his own, because although he loved her daughter, she could sometimes be a pain in the neck. He sometimes needed to get drunk, but reminded himself that he was the only one taking care of Beth since he had divorced his wife and he was the caretaker.

He drank a bit more of his beer and started overthinking. Overthinking about all that had happened to him in the last two years. He began to take another sip from his bottle, but realized it's empty. After bring hung upside down, the bottle was thrown in the air, aimed at the trash can at the Sanchez' yard.

Crack!

Hopefully the neighbors weren't many, and were used to bottles breaking after the midnight, because Rick mostly failed at his throws and the unlucky bottles would break – not that Rick would give a damn.

There was complete silence in the suburb area of the city, the only noise being Rick's burps which echoed through the houses and gardens.

Suddenly, Rick heard a sound. A sound similar to the sound of a portal opening, but a bit noisier.

It surely wasn't caused by an ordinary portal gun…


For a forever-taking moment, Stanford's vision was white. Not seeing anything was annoying to him. Then, he finally noticed a color other than white, and in a second, his vision was almost back to normal.

Except, everything was blurry.

He thought that this would be fixed within another second, but he waited and nothing happened. All he could see was a haze of different colors with a black background which, if he was still at earth, he would tell was the sky, but now… he couldn't be sure of anything.

He decided he would leave the problem with his vision for later, so he analyzed the situation he was in. But he suddenly heard someone – something – speak.

"Not now Ruben, it's thr*Buuuuuuaouuurp*three O' clock."

Stanford almost panicked, but then, realized that the person sounded nothing like a demon – especially Bill. The voice was not echoing, he sensed no evilness in it, and he also heard a burp, which demons weren't capable of creating the sound of.

"Hey, you're not Ruben…" the voice said again, sounding puzzled.

Stanford started to say that he is not Robin – or whoever he mistook him for – and is actually Stanford Pines from Earth, but was stopped by a hand – foot? He couldn't be sure – on his stomach, holding him down. "Who the FUCK are you? TELL ME! Or…" the figure almost yelled, as if it was keeping his voice quiet not to wake someone, which seemed weird to Stanford.

Stanford felt something being pushed to his temple. Something like a… oh boy.

"Or I'll shoot!"


Author's Notes: I know, I know, More Gravity Falls and less Rick and Morty in this chapter, but I can promise more Rick and Morty in the next chapters! Also, I know this chapter was too descriptive of the characters' thoughts, because there aren't as much dialogs, but the next chapters are not going to be as long-winded.

I would be really glad if you left any reviews, I want to hear your thoughts on this story! Also, if you found any fails, errors, misspelling, etc. tell me so I can fix it!

-H80NP