What if Stan's amnesia was to the extent of the Society of the Blind eye amnesia (which I think makes more sense realistically, but a happy ending is something that warms my heart!)
Get ready, folks. I'm hella pumped.
Discalimedhgf; none o this shit is mine.
10:00 a.m. post-Dipper and Mabel's 13th Birthday Party, post-Weirdmageddon..
Day of the twins departure..
He awoke later than usual, later than the usual Stan Pines would have, the night before he had to be led back from the porch in fear of him getting lost in his amnesic confusion. Yes, he was still the same man, he had the same heart and soul (the kids could see that), but he just could not recall.
In a way it was a blessing as much as a curse, Ford would sleep soundly for the first night in many years knowing Bill was out of existence (at the cost of losing the existence of his brother's self recognition). That did not mean the others would not suffer extreme trauma, Gravity Falls was accommodated to its supernatural leak and the townspeople were perfectly a-okay with the zombies, gnomes, and weird multi-headed bears. The kids were lucky enough that these memories would be repressed until they felt like bad dreams from years ago, the human brain had a way of filtering out trauma; and at least they knew they would never have to fear the wretched demon ever resurfacing (although it may sometimes feel uncomfortable staring at the illuminati sign on the dollar- "bill"). Ford knew his brother would have wanted to remember, but somehow it was easier to get along when the tables turned- instead of Stan looking out for and caring for him, the latter instead...
The twins prepared to go with their teary eyes, after saying their goodbyes and many exchanges of hugs and gifts. The last bus from Gravity Falls stood parked, the driver in no apparent hurry. Stan stood by his brother, looking dopey in his knit sweater despite the 85 degree weather, and even without knowing his backstory with the girl; the photos of them together allowed him to know that his former being must have held much sentiment for her. So when the two hugged him, sniffling their red noses, and rubbing their bleary eyes, he couldn't help but feel some level of connection in a spiritual way. It was as though he knew these two were of the greatest importance to him, but could not recall the neuro-pathways of how. Every move he made, the faces he did not recognize around him looked solemn, and sad. Even when he asked why everyone was upset, trying to make light of whatever this terrible ordeal was... Mabel handed her Grunkle a album, the same one that she had made over summer to remember the Falls.
"Here, Grunkle Stan, please look over this every night and try to remember." She whispered into his ear, before squeezing him tightly and burying her face against his dampened sweater. "I even left the page with failed summer romances I had, haha" she choked out, "and Dipper's collection of chewed up pens and I used glitter glue to write everything that makes you special to me. So.. Even if you don't ever remember what things used to be like, then maybe you can make some new memories that we can be apart of."
Stan nodded slowly, taking in this small child's plea (despite the confusion it brought), and kissed her forehead, and then her equally sniveling twin's forehead. The two turned to go onto the bus, and the girl tried to say goodbye to the chubby pig that had followed her around since he had seen her, and even attended her 13th birthday party. "Goodbye Waddles." She squeaked out, tears clogging up her face and voice into a wavering mumble.
"Don't forget your pig. Why isn't she taking her pig?" Stan asked, loudly, almost obnoxiously. "Hey, bus man! I have four twenties that say the pig goes, and one of them has a 100 on it." He threw a wad of cash at the bus driver, knocking his glasses askew. A man who worked for nickles and dimes wasn't going to deny easy cash for the delivery of a pig from a hick town, the kids were the only passengers anyhow.
And with that last exchange, the twins left, everyone running to see them in the window; Stan fell behind and merely waved, a dumb awkward smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
...
10:00 pm. later that night
Ford paced, full knowing he had been acknowledged of another breach in weirdness and reality, it was another sleepless night. He worried that maybe another demon had slipped into the dimension, after Bill's destruction might've caused a weakness in the borders of this world and the next. It was more than possible that after so much breaking that the membrane between dimensions was worn thin, enough for a tear in what is supposed to be and what evil lies in other universes to appear in the Arctic Ocean. He couldn't leave Stan this way, not after his sacrifice. Not after he left Fiddleford after all those years, and by God he'd just gotten them both back; and Fiddleford's sanity was in the most prominent phases of recovery! His pacing was stopped short from the sound of a frightening thud from the next room over, to which he quickly ran in to see Stan fallen from his bed and breathing in quick shallow huffs.
He recognized this panic all too well, he had woken up many times suffering hyperventilation, shakes, sweats, and extreme paranoia. Never had he expected his brother- or the shell of his brother, having forgotten everything-.. No time to think, Ford's conscience snapped. Immediately, Ford fell to his knees and tore the tangled blankets from Stan's flailing limbs.
"Stan! It's okay. It's okay! It's me, your brother, Ford. You're suffering from an anxiety attack, most likely caused from the trauma received before you lost your memory." He tried to explain, in the calmest most diligent way he could; the way that would calm him down. Stan's eyes were wild, as they darted around the dark corners of the room.
"Where am I!? Who are you!?" He hollered, pulling his fist back and socking Ford hard in the jaw. "Why are there triangles with eyes in the windows!? There's a triangle in the window!" He continued babbling nonsense, with an irate but frightened tone. Ford rubbed his sore cheek, knocked flat on his ass from the blow. He already felt it pulsing from the impact, a bruise was sure to be left...
"Stan. Stan. Calm down." Ford struggled, pushing back his ego and the urge to mangle his brother as he would've before. Taking a deep breath he noticed that Stan's breathing was starting to pick up again as he continued barking out jumbled sentences, his eyes watering and his skin dripping with sweat. Ford knelt a little closer, "We're going to breathe together, alright, Stan?" He asked softly as he reached for his brother's trembling hands and held them in his own. "We're going to breathe together, at the count of my voice, okay? It'll be alright, just look at me, and only me. There are no eyes here but just ours, just look at me and breathe.."
"Okay. Okay." Stan muttered hastily, his brows furrowed in bewildered agony as he squeezed the hands that held his.
"Breathe in." Ford took in a deep breath, which his brother tried to imitate (but as Ford expected for the first few rounds of this exercise, continued to wheeze on his own panic) "1...2...3...4...5. And out- 2...3...4...5." Ford exhaled, and his brother did too.
They continued this slow counted breathing, increasing the seconds that passed as Stan's condition stabilized. It felt like decades, even though it must've only been 15 minutes at the most. Ford didn't even notice that Stan's hands were clammy, that the room was too hot, or that he had started to cry from seeing the tears pour from his brother's panicked eyes. The ordeal came to an end as Stan's breathing evened, his face downcast and his expression one of utter exhaustion. He attempted to speak, but seemed at a loss for words, his head shaking, his hands still in Ford's.
"Don't speak, you don't have to try to explain it. You're going to feel very stressed out for the next few hours, you've went through a great deal of trauma. Your body needs to adapt to this and it will take some time, but I'm only down the hall and I'm going to help you." Ford soothed him, not speaking to him as though he were incompetent, he knew this was still his brother- he was just unable to remember what had happened, and it could be many, many, years for him to regain insight on his past. "Mabel would have suggested we go get some warm milk and cookies, would you like to do that?"
"Mabel.." Stan mused, knowing the name was associated with the girl from earlier. "Yeah. Yeah. We'll.. uh. Do that." He pushed himself from the floor, as did Ford. They both went with shuffling heavy feet to the kitchen, where Ford heated up what milk they had in a saucer, and pulled store-bought cookies from the cupboard. They sat in relative silence, both nibbling and sipping every now and then.
"This is going to be a difficult thing to get used to, isn't it..?" Ford heard his brother ask, and the sincerity of it broke his heart. He forced himself to meet Stan's imploring expression.
"Yes. It will be. But you won't do it alone." He reassured, while fear swamped his mind.
