Healing, a gravity falls fanfic

This is a Gravity Falls fanfiction that follows my personal Guilty Ford AU.
Characters: Ford and Mabel Pines
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: Contains cursing, mentions of graphic injuries.

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"You call yourself a hero?!"

"What kind of hero almost tears apart the world for his own inhibitions?"

"You didn't listen!"

"You cared more about your success than your family!"

"He tried to warn you!"

"Freak!"

"Dangerous know-it-all!"

"You tried to take my brother from me!"

"You didn't listen!"

"You kept secrets from us!"

"You scrambled his mind!"

"-destroyed the town!

"Mutant!"

"-people got hurt!"

"-have to rebuild EVERYTHING!"

"-still have nightmares!"

"-all because you didn't LISTEN!"

The accusing voices surrounded Ford, blending together into a mess of incomprehensible noise. He couldn't tell where the voices were coming from. They all sounded familiar, from what he could hear. Some sounded like Stan. Some like Dipper. He could detect the screeching voice of Fiddelford. It was almost like their speakers were surrounding him, standing above him like an angry mob. But there was nothing but inky darkness for miles. Not a single shape could be made out. Yet somehow, he got the odd sensation that he was sinking…and fast. It didn't seem to make any sense but when he tried to collect his thoughts, the voices broke through his mental barrier and barraged him with treasons.

"-accused HIM of being selfish?!"

"-is a better hero than you could hope to-"

"-did nothing but burden everyone else with your-"

"-should've never come out of the portal!"

"-doing just fine before you-"

"-ruined dreams-"

"-abandoned those close to-"

Ford covered his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but it was no use. The sinking sensation was getting to him. His heart was pounding, his chest felt constricted…there was not enough air in the…wherever he was. His years of meditation techniques failed him now. He was panicking. The sensation of spinning coupled with the sinking, making him completely disoriented. The whirlwind of voices did not stop. They only seemed to grow louder. His breaths turned into panicked wheezes…Oh God…OH GOD! He collapsed to his knees, palms pressing deep into his ears, fingers clawing at his scalp. The sinking felt more like falling at this point, endless falling. But the fact that he could feel some type of ground under him only added to the insanity. He had no breath to shout. His heart was racing, pounding like a drum in his ears.

Suddenly, there was a voice that, by some possibility, spoke above the swarm of others. And this one, he recognized immediately to be his grandniece's.

"All you've done your whole life is ruin people's lives! You tear families apart! You ruin futures! You make people go insane! You put people in danger! You wrecked the town! You wrecked our home! You're no hero!...You're a MONSTER!"

Stanford awoke with a gasp, springing to a sit-up position. His eyes were wide as he saw the world change in a flash from nothingness…to a dark place with blurry…blotchy shapes? Gripping at his chest, he felt his heart still pounding. As he allowed his eyes to adjust, he recognized the various blurs enough to conclude that he was in his room. His room…Not a void. By some miracle, he was able to breathe again, and the ghostly voices still echoed in his mind but gradually faded away. The sinking sensation did as well, as he gripped the couch cushions tightly, grounding himself. He was in his room…He was home…Just a nightmare. That's all it was. When he had caught his breath and had his thoughts collected, he realized his sweater was damp even though the room was comfortably cool in the night. Reaching back to the end table, Ford picked up his glasses and slid them on his nose, seeing the blurs and blotches become clear and recognizable shapes. His dusty old desk sitting in the corner of the room. His blanket tossed haphazardly on the floor. The couch he'd been sleeping on…with himself on it.

Ford took a deep breath as he buried his face into one of his hands. These nightmares weren't letting up. This had been the fourth one this week. Each one left him choking for air, drenched in his own sweat and shaken. He knew why they were happening, and he knew he deserved it.

After Weirdmageddon had been contained, the townsfolk rejoiced and praised the Pines family-by which he means Stan, Dipper and Mabel-as heroes. They had done it. They had cleaned up the mess he caused and still remained so humble about it. Ford himself, had gotten no praise, which wasn't unexpected. He instead, got dirty looks and obscenities shouted at him. Though he'd found it disheartening, he did not blame them. He found it to be fitting punishment for his misdeeds. Though what hurt the most wasn't the words of the townspeople, but the silent treatment he was getting from his family.

Ford let out a deep breath he just realized he had been holding. That sinking feeling returned, but this time in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he'd been dealing with since Weirdmageddon ended, after he shot the bullet that erased his brother's mind. That feeling was what kept him in his room, away from others. It kept him from eating. It kept him from working. It mostly just kept him on the couch. His grip on the cushion loosened as a familiar stinging sensation came to his wrist. Both wrists actually. And then his neck. Ford hissed as the pain grew, bringing up one of his hands and pulling back his sweater sleeve. He inspected the old gauze wrapped about two inches up his wrist. It had been there for four days now and most likely needed to be changed.

Looking back, the clock on his nightstand read 3:36 AM. Good. That meant everyone was asleep and wouldn't be up for a while, not that he needed much time. Carefully planting his boots on the floorboards below, he cringed as the same stinging sensation was felt in his ankles, though thankfully, not as harsh. His boots had absorbed most of the electricity when It happened. Most of it. Standing up from the sofa, he crept over to the door, keeping his footsteps light and the floor-creaking to a minimum. Though when he opened the door, it gave a slight whine that Stanford internally cursed himself for. While the more logical part of his brain knew that nobody in the house would've heard it, it was quickly silenced by the part of his brain that was trying to be stealthy.

He poked his head out the door, looking in both directions of the hall just to make sure there was nobody there. He didn't want to take any chances. He'd kick himself if he ever found out he had woken someone up and concerned them with thinking there was an intruder in the house, only to find him, the guy who only causes the Pines family problems…

Stop it! Now was not the time to be shaming himself. That would come later. He focused as he slipped out the door and stuck to the wall. He kept careful not to step on any of the known squeaky floorboards, but after all the damaged that followed Weirdmageddon, the entire house was now a minefield in that regard.

The room seemed bigger than usual and the doorway leading to the nearest bathroom seemed farther away. With each groan the floorboards gave, Ford froze and winced…listening for the silence to be broken by the startled voice of his brother or the kids…but it never was…and Ford continued his way. For thirty years he'd been developing the necessary stealth that he needed to survive, and on many occasions those skills had paid off. Why was this so different? Why did this seem more difficult? He wasn't hiding from monsters or bounty-hunters who were tracking his every step. He was hiding from a 62 year-old man and two 12 year-old kids who were all asleep in their own rooms.

Before Ford could ration an answer, he came to the doorway of the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him and flicking on the light, he winced as the light blinded him for a second. He took out the First Aid kit from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and closed the mirror shut. Taking out a roll of fresh gauze, he pulled back the sleeves of his sweater. The discoloration of the gauze on his wrists compared to the fresh roll told him he should've changed it sooner. Ford sighed uncomfortably as he slowly unraveled it from his right wrist. The naked sight was horrible. His flesh…blood-red and blistered…raised, calloused flesh webbed with red rivers of scabs…the surrounding tissue charred and leathery. Any hair that had been there was gone now, singed off after a direct 500-volt blast. After moments of staring, reliving that awful moment, Ford snapped out of his daze and undid the gauze around his other wrist, the sight just a gruesome.

Discarding the used gauze to the trash basket, he ran the faucet with cold water. He stared at it for a moment, looking at the stream of water like it was some kind of wild animal. But the continuous stinging told Ford he needed to suck it up. Slowly…he put out his right hand and carefully washed his wrist under the stream. His shoulders immediately drooped and his muscles relaxed. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as he felt the cold relieve him of the pain, and instead soothed the burn. It felt good…So good. He then did the same to his other wrist, lingering to enjoy the long-desired relief. If only this feeling could stay… Afterward, he shut the faucet off and grabbed a nearby washcloth. He oh-so-gently patted the burns dry, cringing when he felt the tissue burn in objection to dry contact.

Now came the hard part…

Ford looked at the spray-can of disinfectant uneasily. If he thought the water was scary, he was most horrified by this. The can rattled as he shook it up, but he quickly stopped when he realized how loud it might have been. He remembered this part, back when he and Stan would get beat up on the playground, and they'd come home bruised and bleeding.

They'd rush up to their bedroom before either of their parents saw, knowing their dad would scold them for letting themselves get beaten up and their mother would start yelling at him for being insensitive. They would get so caught up in their argument that they'd forget their kids were hurt. So the boys would take it upon themselves to bandage each other up.

Stan always whimpered when Ford showed him the disinfectant. He'd pull away and complain that it was going to hurt. Ford always had to explain to him that if he didn't use it, he'd get infected, and sometimes mentioned the possibility of death when he was being reallystubborn. "And you can never date Carla McCorkle if you die from an infectious disease" he'd add. "Shut up! I don't even like her!" Stanley exclaimed, his face flushing with embarrassment. The sight only made Ford smirk at him, quirking an eyebrow. Gruffly, the younger twin would then surrender his injury. Stan's pain-induced grunts would soon follow before reducing to hisses. He'd then be bandaged up in two minutes. In all honesty, Ford was worse. It was easier for him to talk-the-talk than to walk-the-walk. When Stan applied the medicine to him, he'd let out a cry that eventually reduced into whimpers. And often Stan was hurt worse in trying to defend his brother. But Stan would take extra care into applying his bandages and sometimes told a joke to lighten the mood. That was back when Ford was more appreciative of him.

Now he had to bandage himself up, not that that was unusual. He'd been doing it for thirty years from far-more-fatal injuries. No joke to distract him, no light-hearted pats on the back, no toothy grin to reassure him. Despite this, he could barely take care of himself even now. He'd been wearing the same clothes for days, still wearing the same cracked glasses, and hiding his third-degree burns from all eyes. Even though he knew one should definitely go to a hospital for burns this severe, Ford concluded that no one would care to help him after all he'd caused. That was understandable…There were people in the hospital because of him. He doubted he'd get the same homey treatment as the rest of them. It was okay…he didn't deserve it anyway. He had twelve PhD's and thirty years of self-treatment backing him…not that it made the next step less scary.

Mabel rubbed her eyes tiredly as they adjusted to the sudden blast of light. Her stomach growled impatiently. With a yawn she wandered over to the kitchen refrigerator and inspected the foods inside. Though it wasn't exactly an appropriate midnight snack (which in her defense, it wasn't exactly midnight), she smiled when she pulled out her half-eaten burrito from earlier…decorated with pink frosting and candy glitter. "I dreamt about you tonight." She mumbled to the "delicious?" treat. Devouring half of it in one bite, she hummed happily as she closed the fridge and fetched a glass of water. "And Dipper said I'd get sick from eating this. Pfft! Shows what he knows." She set her plate and glass on the kitchen table while she happily munched away.

It was good to be back in her usual routine; being the optimistic light of the family with her silly quirks. Her unusual taste for food that both sickened and humored her brother and uncle. She had to admit, despite how heavenly her Mabel Land was, she was glad to be back in reality. She had her brother back; her real brother, along with her real friends. Something about that was more comforting than a life of fantasy, with a fake brother and fake friends. She couldn't say she wasn't afraid of the unknown that life had to bring her, but that was a feeling that everyone seemed to live with, and they were doing just fine. Plus, it's not like she'd be facing it alone. Taking the bad with the good is what makes the good things great. Though she was grateful to have everything back to normal, and her Grunkle Stan was recovering his memory, she couldn't ignore the pit in her stomach when she considered the other grunkle in the house…

She swallowed the last of her burrito and stared at her glass, tranced in thought. Why did she feel this way? Why did she still hold some resentment toward him? Well…she knew why…but she also knew it wasn't fair. Grunkle Ford had done all he could to prevent Weirdmageddon and even when that failed, he did all he could to turn back the clock. He tried. His heart was in the right place. He was good. He failed but he tried harder than anyone else. So why couldn't she look past this?

He was just so…unappreciative of everything Stan had done for him. Stan was the most selfless person she knew. He'd spent at least ten years without his brother to help him. He'd been to prison, he'd been homeless…He didn't even get to finish high school. Ford just…up andleft him. She understood why Ford was mad, and from his point of view, she could see why he had lost some of his trust in Stan, but ten years? She couldn't even be mad at Dipper for more than a couple weeks, and vice versa. And if that wasn't enough, Stan had spent thirty years teaching himself to use the portal so he could get Ford back. He had turned his home into a business to pay Ford's mortgage. He assumed Ford's identity so he could keep the house and the portal. He even faked his own death so he wouldn't be hunted by the law anymore. His own family thought he was dead. Everything he did, he did for his brother. And Ford just…punched him in the face! If she had risked the world just to know whether her brother was dead or alive, and she would, she knows in her heart that she'd have been thanked with a bone-crushing hug. Why couldn't Ford have been like that? It was like he didn't know Stan at all. He seemed to just see him as…a leech.

Twins were supposed to have one of the strongest bonds between people. They are lucky enough to be born into the world with a best friend they get to grow up with. Considering Ford's childhood, he should only be more grateful. Stan was his only friend through it all while he was constantly shunned and bullied for his birth defect. Stan was the only one who ever stood up for him, no matter how much trouble it got him into. Stan was the only one to give him a dream. Stan was the only one to give him encouragement. Stan was the only one to make him feel normal. It sounded more and more similar to her and Dipper when she thought about it.

Ford didn't thank him after Stan had saved him…twice, she might add. He didn't even say anything to Stan when he had been rescued from his gold imprisonment. He had hugged the twins and even his old friend, Fiddleford, but otherwise, it was like Stan wasn't even there. He had the nerve to correct Stan on his grammar, just for the sake of arrogance, and it ultimately led to Stan sacrificing himself as a last resort. He pulled the trigger and took Stan's mind away. Though everyone was sure it was Stan's idea, Mabel had to wonder whether Ford had even tried to argue against him. He gave up hope of Stan recovering his memory before they even tried. And since then, he's been withdrawn from the family. While the rest of them worked to recover Stan's memory, he purposely avoided them and instead spent most of the days in his room. Did Stan's sacrifice still not mean anything to him? She and Dipper watched when Ford hugged him and cried into his shoulder, but now that he was getting his memory back, he was cleared of all sins? He was excused to return to his old, hermit lifestyle?

Mabel shook the thoughts out of her head. It just seemed wrong; selfish. Grunkle Ford can do what he wants, they didn't care anymore. It was probably for the best that Stan didn't remember their hurtful past, anyway. She was going to focus instead on her last remaining days of summer. She downed her glass of water and stood up from her chair. Walking over to the sink to deposit her dishes, she let out a tired yawn. She turned off the kitchen light on her way out, floorboards squeaking under her.

She was going to start thinking once again about their birthday party…but froze on the staircase when she heard something. Craning her neck to listen, she heard a distant hissing sound, immediately followed by a restrained painful cry. Her heart jumped into her throat. Was someone hurt? Was it a gnome getting attacked by something outside? The hissing stopped and the grunts reduced to exhausted huffing breaths. Leaving the staircase, she followed the sound into the nearby hallway, where she saw the faint glow of light under the door to the bathroom. That was Grunkle Ford's bathroom. What could he possibly be doing at this time of night? And why did it sound so agonizing?...Not that she cared. It was probably just some dumb science experiment gone haywire…in the bathroom…

…

Okay, to her discredit, that didn't sound likely.

Curious, she tip-toed up to the door and pressed her ear against the wood. She could hear him breathing more calmly now, but still exhausted. Was he okay? Not that she cared… Still, something made her put her hand on the knob. She slowly…ever-so-slowly…turned it until she heard it click. Praying that the door wouldn't creak, she pushed it open just enough for her to peek through. To her surprise, the old man was standing in front of the mirror, his right side facing her, wrapping fresh gauze around his right wrist. Why? He seemed to be relieved for some reason, like he had just been through an ordeal. But then her eyes spotted the can of disinfectant next to the sink. Ohhh…That explains it. But still…he was a grown man. Surely that stuff couldn't hurt him that badly.

When Ford finished wrapping the gauze, her question was answered when she saw his left wrist. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers…

…what…?...How…? When did….?

Words failed her, even in her mind. It was just so…It looked so…

…Red…

Red flesh and…and exposed underlayers of flesh and…

Mabel felt her stomach churn at the sight, but could not look away. These kinds of injuries were never actually seen. They were the kinds of injuries you hear about on the news but are spared the nauseating sight. Her mind blanked however when she saw the old man grab the can of disinfectant. Oh no…

She watched his expression in the mirror. He looked determined…or rather scared but trying his best to mask it with determination (he wasn't as good at it as Grunkle Stan). He took a deep breath, held out his arm and shut his eyes. That familiar hiss of the can was heard, once again followed by Ford's strained cries of agony. She winced at the sound. His body twisted and turned in various directions, desperate to yank his arm away but he dared not. Get it overwith. Get it overwith. He didn't stop until he had sprayed a full ring around the burn. He set the can back down harshly and braced the edge of the counter in a death-grip, keeping his head low as he grunted miserably. His left arm remained elevated under his face. His fingers curled inwardly, gripping the air like claws. His arm shook with tension-bearing muscles. After a few seconds, she could tell the sting had subsided when she saw his shoulders relax. He is grunts had reduced back to exhausted huffing. His arms shook, still in shock by the sudden onbrought pain.

Mabel still didn't know what to think. She was still shocked by the fact that her uncle was so hurt and hadn't told anyone. Why didn't he tell anyone? No matter how bad things were between them, his family still would've helped had they known how severe it was. Though she supposed…it wasn't really fair to blame him for keeping it secret…They hadn't exactly been treating him warmly since the apocalypse had ended... Where did the injuries even come from? He didn't have them before he and Dipper went on their expedition. These were too new. Like they were from a few days ago. Then again…Dipper mentioned that Ford had been captured by Bill. Did…Bill do this? It sounded like a dumb question in retrospect but…Why would he do this? What exactly did he do that would cause such damage?

Before she knew it, Ford had finished bandaging his other wrist, looking at the new, clean gauze with some relief. At last, it seemed like the ordeal was over, but he stood staring at his reflection for a moment. He wasn't putting away the medical supplies. He gulped uncomfortably as he felt around the collar of his turtleneck, subtly wincing as he did. He…he didn't have more injuries, did he? But as soon as her grunkle began to pull off his sweater, her horrors had been beyond confirmed. His…whole torso…

His whole torso was…COVERED in a turmoil of scars. Her eyes wandered, following trails of calloused flesh up and down his body. There was a disarray of colored bruises and slice-marks cross-hatching over his skin. Some looked like…like teeth marks…from some monstrous animal. Some looked like chemical burns that the top layer of skin just couldn't heal over. Some looked like…some kind of alien bullet-wounds that sent the surrounding skin into a spiral around the hole…like how a hurricane appears on a weather radar. Some were just indescribable messes of flesh, layers healed over each other…or blotches of discolored, scabbed skin. The one positive thing Mabel could conclude from this horrific sight was that these injuries were not new. They had been gotten over a course of years. However, her eyes carried up to her grunkle's neck, where a tinge of red peeked out from under a layer of old gauze.

Her grunkle stared at it as well. Reaching his hand up, he delicately grazed his fingers over the gauze, hesitant to pull it off and inspect the damage. The discoloration threatened the possibility of future infection. He couldn't just leave it on. "You could die from an infectious disease." His prepubescent voice echoed. It worked on Stan… Eventually, he began to slowly unravel it, sometimes pausing to reconsider…but then continuing. The gauze wanted to stick as it had dried with the wound. Pulling it off was painful enough to make him cringe. Ugh, the sound it made...It was like pulling old, cheap masking tape from a wooden table-top. Nevertheless, he continued until his neck was bare. Mabel didn't even realize her mouth had been gaped open until she noticed how dry it was. Grunkle Ford…Maybe that was why he didn't want to tell anyone, especially not her and Dipper. He didn't want to burden them with the graphic visuals of his injuries. Mabel could understand that. And she could appreciate it, but it was still inexcusable now that she was seeing it.

She felt the air get sucked out of her lungs when she saw her grunkle reach a shaking hand toward the disinfectant. If he had been trying to mask his fear before…he wasn't now. His eyes darted from the can in his hand, to the burn, to the can. She saw him shudder at the mere thought as he…TRIED to mentally prepare himself. But that seemed next to impossible. He remained frozen like this for a few moments, and considered that maybe he didn't need the disinfectant. Maybe he could skip it this time. He then heard his child-self echo an argument meant for Stan again. Yeah but…but this...still shouldn't NEED it… He had already sprayed it the first time, wasn't that enough? But the blotchy, red, blistered texture of his skin objected.

...Oh God…

Ford took a deep, shaky breath. With a lightbulb going off in his head, he grabbed the nearby washcloth and rolled it up. Putting it into his mouth, he took another deep breath. He raised the can and craned his neck, squeezing his eyes shut. There was a pause as his trigger-finger was afraid to press the nozzle. Mabel audibly gasped when she heard the hiss of the can, followed by the muffled screams of the old man. His other hand, unsure what to do, braced the edge of the counter so hard she could see his knuckles turn white. His head threw forward, almost hitting the sink. He had gotten about half-way around when he had to stop. The can silenced as Ford huffed in agony. Just a second…Please God just give him a second. God FUCKING DAMMIT THAT SHIT HURT! FUCK!

Ford suddenly continued, before his mind could get the wicked idea not to. His muffled cries grew as the medicine made it feel like a thousand needles had been pricked into his skin. His knees buckled below him. His rock-hard fist pounded the counter hard enough to send a quake out into the all. There was a considered possibility that the washcloth would now have permanent teeth-indents somehow. Once again, he didn't stop until the spray had made a complete ring, from start to finish, around his neck. Mabel jumped back when his fistpounded the countertop again and his cries fell into harsh grunts.

After a few moments, he stood up, his grunts fell into whimpers and his muscles relaxed again. Taking the washcloth from his mouth, he tossed it aside without a care and kept his head down, choking a sob as he tried to steady his breathing. He covered his eyes with one hand, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, as he took deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Mabel pressed back up to the door, careful to keep herself hidden. She could feel her own tears beginning to well in her eyes. Oh Grunkle Ford…What did that monster Bill do to him?! And what should she do now? Was there even anything she could do? Her grunkle was hurt! But what should she…?

Her thoughts were paused when she saw her grunkle raise his head, the pain finally subsiding. His forehead was cached with sweat. His eyelids drooped in exhaustion, but also relief. Taking one final deep breath, he began to wrap fresh gauze around the wound, occasionally wincing as he did so. It finally seemed to be over. He discarded the old gauze and put the First Aid kit back behind the mirror. But when he shut the mirror again, he did not immediately put his sweater back on. Instead he stared at his reflection, studying himself. Or rather, his scars.

Disgusting. Ugly. The result of years and years of abuse throughout different dimensions, being hunted both for food and for bounty. Some from the chains of imprisonment. Some from just plain cruelty. Some from results of his own ignorance. Every time Stanford looked himself over in the mirror, he felt like his head had been placed on someone else's body. It was weird. It was…uncomfortable. It looked so grotesque like…like a…

Ford's eyes slowly carried down to his hands. He lifted them up, expanding all twelve fingers. He counted them repeatedly. Twelve. He had counted them hundreds of times throughout his life. There were always twelve. Upon inspection, they looked like just normal hands. Except there were twelve fingers. The age-old voices of Crampelter echoed in his mind.

"Freak!"

"Six-fingered freak!"

"Don't let him touch you! He's a mutated freak!"

Images suddenly flashed before his eyes. Him shaking hands with Bill, the blue flame engulfing his six-fingered hand. Him writing in his journal, the incantations to summon Bill being written by his six-fingers hand. His six-fingered hand punching his brother in the face. Hissix-fingered hand pulling the trigger on the memory gun.

A physical deformity…a horribly grotesque body…

Stanford looked his reflection in the eye as the realization hit him.

"I…am a monster…" He mumbled.

…

A few silent moments passed as Ford let the truth settle in, never breaking eye contact with himself.

"I'm a monster…" He spoke again, now with more melancholy.

It was true. Everything he was accused of…all the damage he'd caused...his appearance…what part of that didn't fit the description of a monster? And suddenly that sinking feeling returned to his stomach. He looked off into space and balled his hands into fists, feeling sick. The world began to spin around him as the sinking feeling became more of a plummeting sensation. His legs felt weak, like they were about to give out beneath him. Against his will, he stumbled back and sat on the floor, back against the tub as he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes remained wide, still staring off into space, his vision becoming slightly spotty. The realization…it was just too much. His heart thumped loudly, almost painfully. Once again, there wasn't enough air in the…wherever he was. Huff…Huff… Oh God…What his family must think of him…They must've realized it well before he did. Stupid! How could he not see it?! How could-

"Grunkle Ford?" A voice squeaked.

Ford snapped out of his trance, the room suddenly flooding with air and coming into full vision again. Did he just hear…? No. He was in the midst of going insane, his mind had played a trick on him again. But he glanced up when his peripheral vision caught the door open slightly. The head of his grandniece poked inside, eyeing him with concern. It wasn't his mind…? It wasn't his mind…It was the real Mabel staring at him. Releasing a sigh, he had never been so relieved to see her. At least…until he realized-

"MABEL!" He squawked as he quickly grabbed his sweater and hung it in front of him like a curtain. "Uh don't-don't look at me!"

Shit! Why did Mabel have to see this? Of all people! If she thought he was a monster before…

But instead of hearing the exclamations of a disgusted child, he heard the sweet, concerned voice of his saint grandniece. "Grunkle Ford?...A-are you okay?" What? Was she…genuinely concerned for him? No, she couldn't be. She had been ignoring him, giving him the cold shoulder just the same as everyone else. Nobody carried concern for him. And nobody should. He didn't deserve it. He had caused too much trouble already. He had been outcasted. She had called him a monster. Well…in his nightmare…

Ford was startled when felt the warm touch of his niece's hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Grunkle Ford. I don't mind your scars." Her voice was light and soothing, like she was talking to a frightened puppy. Ford, unsure what to think, slowly lowered his sweater into his lap, still keeping his hands hidden in their shame. He tried to steal covert glances at her face before sharply looking away to the floor. She did not hide her concerned expression, yet did not barrage him with questions. It appeared she wasn't going to speak until he did. And she wasn't going to make him speak until he felt comfortable…Which was odd.

What did he have to say? Actually, he had many things to say but…How was he supposed to say them? He hadn't talked to anyone in days. And no one had talked to him in days. Should he even say them? It was a confusing situation though. His grandniece was there, standing by him…acting supportive but…but WHY?! She was the person with the most reasons to hate him, after Stan! It felt awkward; uncomfortable. Though the lingering silence only made it worse. Maybe he should start with something simple…

"I'm sorry I woke you…" He grumbled, still looking to the floor guiltily.

But Mabel shook her head. "You didn't wake me. I came down to get a snack."

A pause.

"Oh."

Mabel could see that he was avoiding her stare, but…not in an arrogant or annoyed way. Like he was ashamed to look at her… Is that why he's been avoiding them these past few days?...

"Grunkle Ford?...What was that talk?...About calling yourself a monster?" She asked as she sat beside him. At this, her grunkle tensed and turned his face further away. He hugged his sweater closer and pulled in his knees. Mabel slid her hand from his shoulder to his arm, feeling the rough texture of the scarred flesh that formed a ring of tooth marks. The old man didn't pull away, so that was a good sign. Her eyes studied the wounds further, still amazed by them somehow. It gave her something to do while her grunkle collected his thoughts. She figured the feeling of her fingers observing them would assure her grunkle that she was not grossed out by them, but found them interesting. It seemed to work, when she noticed his muscles relax a bit.

"I…" He squeaked before pausing again.

"I…I'm sorry, Mabel…for everything…"

Mabel stopped and listened.

"I've been wanting to say this ever since…you know…but I thought you didn't want to hear it…I…I'm sorry for hurting you and almost breaking the family apart. I completely understand why you all hate me…" At this, a small lump formed in his throat, but he disguised it under his voice. "I know…everything I did was unforgivable. Not just what I did to you, or to Stan, but to everyone…I'm sorry I wasn't a better uncle to you kids…That I didn't take your feelings into consideration when I offered Dipper to stay…That I ruined your love for unicorns…And let them call you a bad person…That I took Stan from you and…didn't help in getting him back…Everything…I took away everything you had when I came back through the portal…I think you were right…you should've pressed the button…" At the last part, his voice cracked with emotion. After releasing a shaky breath, he was done. Hugging the sweater close and drawing his knees in further, he was done.

Mabel took a moment to analyze his words. She hadn't expected…so much remorse…so much admission of guilt…and how it had been tearing him apart inside. That was it…That was why he'd been avoiding them…He felt guilty. He'd convinced himself that he was a pariah and his very presence would be a…a nuisance to them. Oh no… "I had it all wrong." She thought. Grunkle Ford wasn't being arrogant; he was being considerate, on an extreme scale. And he'd been feeling that the best way to make it up to them was to spare them of his presence. In the meantime, he'd been drowning himself in his past, convinced that any pain he felt was rightfully deserved. Oh no…

"Grunkle Ford, I don't hate you." She started, letting him absorb the words. He wasn't buying them. "I promise, I don't. I'm sorry for making you think I did! You're my grunkle, I could never hate you. I love you!" She wrapped her arms around his bicep, causing him to jump. "I'm sorry for not forgiving you sooner, Grunkle Ford. I had no idea you felt so guilty about yourself. I thought you were avoiding us because you didn't want to see us. That was my fault and I'm sorry for it…but please don't think I hate you. I never wanted to go back and press the button, I swear!" Stanford looked both surprised and confused. He hadn't been expecting this outcome. He'd expected something along the lines of Mabel simply leaving him to sulk in his grief. But this…

"Mabel…you don't have to pretend with me...you have every right to hate me…As does everyone else. I-I don't deserve to be forgiven. After everything I did…I hate myself too. I was stupid, selfish and carried myself like this…this brave man calling himself a hero…even though I was utterly useless. It was ultimately you all who cleaned up my mess and paid the ultimate price for it. And what did I do? I was captured AGAIN, needing to be rescued from Bill's torture, only to-"

"Torture?" Mabel interjected.

Ford halted and bit his lip. He wasn't supposed to mention that part. Shit! Stealing a glance at her, he saw that her face wore that concerned expression again. One that told him she wasn't going to let him hide it or change the subject. Damn it… With a heavy sigh, he lowered his head and hesitantly pulled his hands out from under his sweater, showing her the bandages wrapped around his wrists.

"What happened? W-what did he do to you?" The question he hoped she wouldn't ask.

"He…chained me up and…electrocuted me. The shackles around my neck and wrists conducted the electricity and…caused me to have severe burns…He did it until you all showed up with that…Shacktron thing or whatever…" He mumbled in shame. "He was doing it because I wouldn't give him the equation that would've let him spread his reign across the world."

Mabel considered his words carefully, trying to envision the horror of it all. Then again, she saw the bare result of it just a short time ago. She couldn't imagine how it must've felt. The worst she'd felt was the poke of a static charge but...electricity so severe it causedTHOSE burns…It sent shivers down her spine. Changing the subject, she turned her attention to his scars. "Well, what about all these? Where did you get all of these wounds?" She asked as she ran her hand over a river of calloused flesh that spread up his arm. Ford had to admit, he'd never been comfortable with anyone knowing about his scars, let alone touching them. But allowing Mabel to do so actually gave him some comfort, even if he didn't understand why she was still there. "The rest of them are injuries I got while in the portal. Thirty years of being hunted like a prize… I'm…not proud of them… That's why I always keep them covered up… So nobody has to…see them… " His voice quieted slightly at the last words, shuffling the red sweater in his hands. "I…did what I had to to survive…I just couldn't die knowing I hadn't done all I could to stop Bill…"

The young brunette blinked a few times, thinking everything over carefully, before finally looking up at him. "Grunkle Ford, don't you see? These scars aren't something to be ashamed of. They show your determination and your courage. They're proof of your strength. You should be proud of them." She said. Ford, however, said nothing. She couldn't really be saying this? He turned his head slightly so that she was in his peripheral vision, but still refused to face her directly. "You fought for thirty years to bring down a horrible dream demon. You…were probably even willing to die trying. And even when he broke into reality and all of your other attempts failed and all seemed lost and he tortured you, you still didn't crack. You helped save the world just as much as we did. You're not a monster. You're a hero." She added the last part with a smile.

The room fell silent for a few seconds. Something still didn't feel right. Stanford shouldn't be accepting praise for this, nor should he be accepting the title of a hero. "But…I was the one who caused-" "We all helped cause it, Grunkle Ford. And we all helped to fix it. But in all honesty, I think the real blame lies with Bill. He caused more of it than any of us did…And…I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it."

Ford looked up at her, staring at her for a moment, considering her words. Maybe…Maybe she was being serious... Of course, he will always feel guilty about his mistakes but…something about her words…and her smile told him that was okay. She stated that she had a part in causing the apocalypse. Did that mean she felt guilty too? Did Dipper and Stan? Yet, they're all okay. They're all continuing on with their lives. Even though they didn't have as much to feel guilty for but… "You…really don't blame me? And…you don't hate me?" He asked, shying away slightly at the last part. Mabel's smile grew into a brace-faced grin at the question before she launched at him with another hug. "Of course not, Grunkle Ford. You're a good person. I love you. And…I know everyone seems mad but…I guarantee Dipper and Grunkle Stan love you too…They just need some time to remember that."

The lump that had been lodged in Ford's throat grew twice as big. He bit his lip in an effort to contain himself. His grandniece was calling him a hero and telling him she loved him. She was being genuine. For once, his guilty conscience was silent. Maybe that meant he should trust her. She loved him. She was leaving his past in the past and forgiving him. God, he felt like laughing! He wasn't alone. For the first time since Weirdmageddon, he actually wore a smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around his grandniece, pulling her into his lap and holding her tight. He hadn't even noticed that the sinking had stopped. He felt like some weight had been relieved from his aching shoulders. Just to be sure she was really there, he stroked Mabel's hair, feeling it, untangling the knots that slipped through his fingers. It helped keep him grounded. She loved him. He…he wasn't a monster. His body was his own. His scars, trophies in the young girl's eyes.

Maybe this meant there was a chance at redemption after all. If Mabel could forgive him…maybe the others could too. Stanford could get his family back. He could feel like a Pines again. He could be a twin again; an uncle again; a friend. At the bare idea of this, Ford let out an involuntary chuckle, feeling the tears trickle down his cheeks. "Thank you, Mabel…" He choked. "You have no idea how much this means to me."