Stanford Pines was non-stop.
He wrote, day and night, like he was running out of time. He fought, day and night, like he needed it to survive. He gave speeches and spoke his mind and what he believed all the time, like it was going out of style. He never stopped. His need, his urge, to keep going, to make it through, to never give up, was a fire burning his soul. It enveloped it, it embraced it, the fire was his soul, and his soul the fire. The flames of perseverance licked his heart and gave him initiation, gave him hope, gave him courage. Stanford Pines was truly non-stop.
The only question, I suppose, was why?
Why must Ford sacrifice his entire life and being to the cause?
Why must he write every day, every night, like a certain crazed, sleep-deprived author?
Why did Ford do this to himself?
There was one reason. There was only one cause. The thing that kept all Pines awake at night, the thing that kept the threat of insomnia constantly at their sides, the cause that pummeled them every waking moment, every dreaming evening, all. the. time.
Family.
Ford Pines loved his family.
But it wasn't his father, Filbrick, who was always on his conscious. Filbrick, who was stern and made of brick and stubborn, but softened sometimes at the smallest, most meaningless things. Nor was it his mother, Gina, that scam-artist sidekick of his father. The only woman to have ever have made 26 people pay a higher price for a cheap item in one day from her word.
No, it was none of these.
It was his brother. His dear twin Stanley.
Oh, how he missed those days of pure bliss and endless entertainment. He missed the sunset to sundown days when he and his brother would frolic in the sand on Glass Shard Beach, and find hidden treasure, and go on adventures. Those were his best memories, when his brother was at his side. But one mistake, one failure, had ruined it all, again, again, it was always him, the six-fingered freak, who screwed up, who messed up his and others lives and...and...and-
No.
He took a breath.
No.
He needn't think like this. He needed to focus. The convention was only a week away and he needed to get the papers done to deliver his big speech.
Ford set down the speech papers he had been working on and huffed. Man, determining the future of America was hard. He needed some help.
But who to ask...?
He leaned back in his chair, swiveled in his seat, and turned around and around, in circles, until he got dizzy. His fluffy brown hair flew up in a halo around his head, and his glasses flew off and slammed against a nearby wall. He nearly puked, but it was worth it. He had gotten an idea.
He stopped his chair, facing a large portrait on the wall.
It was a painting of 5 boys, all varying in height, but all equally handsome and kind looking. The front two boys sat with their arms around each other. The one to the right was a small, weedy, skinny and gangly boy who had round glasses perched on his worried face and wore a white lab coat. He had his arm around an equally small but more round boy, who looked pretty buff and had brown, fluffy hair piled up on his square face. He was leaning back casually and dressed comfortably, in a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, and was sitting cross-legged next to the other kid. He looked like the youngest of the 5 kids, yet the most mature. Behind these kids were three others, one off to the side a little, and the other two in a tight embrace. The kid off to the side had bright, yellow-blonde hair and wore a black top-hat, bow tie, and a sharp suit. He stood with great posture, but seemed a bit awkward, like it hurt to be in the same picture with the other four kids. His tight smile and narrowed eyes were all directed at the kid to his left, who was holding the last kid up in a hug and was laughing with glee. He was brown-haired like the first two kids, but his hair was fluffier and darker in hue. He wore a pair of crooked, slightly cracked glasses and a sweater vest over a plaid shirt. The kid he was holding up was identical to him, but had straighter hair and a thicker body type. His muscles bulged through his grubby, worn down with age, maroon jacket, and his good-natured smile held something back, a hidden emotion or memory he was thinking of that threw his persona off ever so slightly. He too wore glasses, but they were more square and did not have as thick of a frame as the kid holding him did. This kid was also the largest of all 5 of them. He was also, although unbeknownst to the other 4, was the most fragile and easily weakened.
His brother was a sight for sore eyes. He really hadn't called in a while. And Ford needed to apologize. He needed to right this wrong he had made.
Ford knew who he needed to ask for help.
"Why do you write like it's
Going out of style?
Write day and night like it's
Going out of style?"
Bill sang as he ripped up the latest newspaper in a fit of rage. The headline had declared the worst news he had ever seen, and he had let anger get the best of him, as always, so he decided the most rational and mature thing to do was to rip it up and burn it in his backyard.
It's not as if this hasn't happened before, he reasoned, and besides, I might be able to make a few smores in the process!
"Ev'ry day you fight like it's
Going out of style..."
He growled as the headline shone bright in the light of his living-room fire reflecting off of the walls. The bold lettered words Ford Pines Declared Secretary of the Treasury! mocked Bill and infuriated him, and he screamed the last words to the song in a burst of frustration and arrogance,
"DO WHAT YOU DO-"
A sudden knock from his front door interrupted him. He screeched in defiance and hoped the intruder would be scared away, but the knocking continued until Bill slammed it open with an iron fist.
"What do you WANT?!" He grumbled to the solicitor, but took a step back when he realized who it was.
Hamil- Ford. Ford Pines was on his doorstep. WHAT THE HECK WHYYYYY?! He wanted to cry and scream and rip his hair out all at once. This was the man he least wanted to see at the moment. What would he do if he found out he had been ripping up the newspaper like an immature 5-year-old?
He didn't want think about that. Instead, he looked down at the small figure of Ford, who was grinning up nervously at him and twiddling his polydactyly fingers in front of his chest.
"Ford?" Bill asked, unsure of what the nerd wanted at this hour of the night.
"Bill Cipher, sir."
"It's the middle of the night!"
"Can we confer, sir?"
"Is this a legal matter?"
"Yes, and it's important to me."
"What do you need?" Bill sighed.
"Bill, you're a better lawyer than me."
"Okay... wait, what, repeat tha-?!"
"I know I talk too much, I'm abrasive, but you're incredible in court, you're succinct and persuasive. My client needs a strong defense, and you're the solution."
"Who's your client?"
"The new U.S. Constitution?" He said it like a question, hesitantly, rather than a statement.
"No." Bill replied determinedly. He did not want to help this- this- this jerk, this son of a-
"Hear me out!" Ford protested indignantly.
"No way."
"Just think: a series of essays, anonymously published, defending the document to the public."
"No one will read it." They really wouldn't.
"I disagree." Such a stubborn little owl.
"And if it fails?" Bill challenged him.
"Bill, that's why we need it!"
"The constitution's a mess."
"So it needs amendments..." Ford seemed unsure of himself, as if it was his last shot and Bill had caught him off-guard.
"It's full of contradictions."
"So is independence! We have to start somewhere."
"No. No way. That's final."
"You're making a mistake!" He called out as Bill slowly shut the door in his gruesome face.
"Good night, Pines." Bill said coldly, and went to close the door, but Ford's fingers stuck through the crack and stopped him.
"Hey," He said quietly, stopping me in my tracks, "What are you waiting for? What do you stall for?"
"What?"
"We won the war, what was it all for? Do you support this constitution?"
"Of course..."
"Then defend it."
"And what if you're backing the wrong horse?"
"Bill, we studied and we fought and we killed for the notion of a nation we now get to build. For once in your life, take a stand with pride! I don't understand how you stand to the side-"
He brought Bill's rage back up full force, and he erupted in a blaze of heat and emotion,
"I'll keep all my plans close to my chest!
I'll wait here and see which way the wind will blow!
I'm taking my time watching the afterbirth of a nation, watching the tension grow!"
Ford stood there, stunned at first, then slowly smiled. It was sickening.
"Thank you, Bill." He said with a bow.
And Bill finally just slammed the door in his face, and slid down to the floor with his back against the frame.
What have I just done?
Dear Ford,
I am slow to anger, but I told a lie. I thought you had sent me away, but I reckoned with the effects of your life on mine. I look back on where I failed, and in every place I checked, the only common thread has been our father's disrespect. Now, he calls us "amoral", and a "disgrace to the family". But if he's got something to say, he should name a time and place, face-to-face. He can't find me in Mexico, I'm safe. But I worry for you, where will you stay? Please reply, it's been days.
I miss you lots. Not much else to say. Please explain why and what happened that day.
I wish I could be your brother again, stay safe,
S. Pines
Stanley,
I am not the reason father doesn't trust you. No one knows what you believed... It was so long ago, ages ago, I thought we agreed to never take our friendship for granted. I have always worn it on my sleeve. Even if I did what you think I did, you would need to cite a more specific instance. Here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreement with our father, attached below.
F. Pines
Ford,
Sweet Belgian waffles!
S. Pines
Stanley,
Hey, I have not been shy, I am just a nerdy guy, trying to do the best for our relationship. I don't want to fight or talk about this subject. I won't apologize for what our father thought was right.
F. Pines
Ford,
Careful how you proceed, good man. Smart and quirky brother indeed, good man. Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet about that day or prepare to feel my wrath, good man.
S. Pines
Stanley,
Your grievance is legitimate. But I stand by what I said, I won't have any bit of it. You stand only for our family, it's what you do, I won't tell you what I know because it's true. If I tell you, it would put our friendship in peril. I only ever wanted your help, now please just ignore this all and come. I need your help.
F. Pines
Ford,
Then stand, Ford. Gravity Falls, dawn. Answers, drawn.
S. Pines
Stanley,
I have no idea why, this is so confusing, but okay. I want to see you again and recruit your help. You're on.
F. Pines
"Mister Vice President, Mister McGucket, I need your help." I began nervously, "I have the check stubs, from separate accounts, almost a thousand dollars, paid in different amounts. To a Mister Bill Cipher way back in 1791."
"Is that what you have, are you done?" Shermie interrupted me, but I continued on, unswayed.
"You guys are uniquely situated by virtue of your positions. And the evidence suggests you have the money to help me with my mission."
"An immigrant embezzling our government funds!" Fiddleford laughed.
"I can almost see the headline, your career is done!" Shermie barked.
"I hope you saved some money for your daughter and sons! Ya best g'wan run back where ya come from!" They yelled at me together.
"Ha! You don't even know what I'm asking you to confess."
"Confess?"
"You have nothing, I don't have to ask for your help at all. Unless..."
"Unless?"
"If I can prove that I will never brake the law, do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw?"
"No one else was in the room where it happened..."
"Is that a yes?"
"Um, yes."
"Dear sirs, I wish to recruit your help in a mission I deem almost impossible, but with your skills we may succeed together. Simply put, I would like to write a series of essays together that will show the nation that we aren't so bad. It would most likely be up to 25 essays, anonymously published, defending the document to the public."
"Oh. We see now."
"Yes, I have reasons for shame, but I have not committed treason and sullied my good name. As you can see I have done nothing to provoke legal action. Are my answers to your satisfaction?"
"My Gosh."
"Comon, let's go."
"So?"
"The people won't know what we know..."
"Fidds, Shermie, do I have your help?"
"Yes."
AN:
Ok, pretty bad, I know, basically it's just Ford as Hamilton trying to recruit his old friends (Stan=Mulligan, Ford=Hamilton, Fiddleford=Laurens, Bill=Burr, and Shermie=LaFayette) to help him write the Federalist Papers. Idk, I was bored and I love Hamilton and Gravity Falls so, yea...have this random trashy fluff. Lemme know if you want anything else, I can write more chapters if anyone requests it. Otherwise it'll just die (like all my other fluffy trash XD ;-;)
Ford: *scribbling on a piece of paper furiously*
Bill: Why do you write like you're running out of time?! Why do you fight like you need it to survive?! Why do you write every second you're alive, EVERY SECOND YOU'RE ALIVE, EVERY SECOND YOU'RE-
Ford: *looks up absentmindedly* Hmmm?
Bill: Why do I even... *walks off mumbling*
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-Fantasy
(Just in case)
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravity Falls or Hamilton. Gravity Falls is owned by Disney and created by Alex Hirsch. Hamilton the Musical was created by Lin-Manuel Miranda.