After the incident with Weirdmageddon, Stan still doesn't remember anything from around age 18 to 28, the decade where he was kicked out of the house and left to fend for himself. The era where he made his own businesses and became banned from 32 of the 50 states, and when he came to realize just how much family meant to him. When his entire life pivoted and took on a new course, set off to save his family. A very important time for him.
Stan doesn't seem to broken up or worried about this. He doesn't miss those memories, and I probably wouldn't either if I had been him. His mistakes almost seem to have been lifted from his shoulders, like a renewed and cleansed man. He walks around so effortlessly. He laughs freely. So I'm not too bothered by it. Those were mistakes in our past. I can remember enough of it for the two of us, and I don't want him to be burdened or troubled by those haunting memories. It's probably the best thing for the two of us that came out of Weirdmageddon. I still feel a little sad, however, that my brother missed such a large chunk of his life, even if it was a difficult time.
I know how losing memories feels like. I know how creating memories without conscious thought or feeling feels like. I know how a wrecked and torn history feels like as well.
But that's all in the past. We've created a new future for ourselves, a future upon a beautiful ship granted the name The Stan O' War II. It's a cloudless night. The wind rustles the flags on our mast and sweeps my hair over my cracked and crooked glasses. Stars twinkle overhead, nearly but not quite blinding. It's gorgeous. I almost wish, for a split second, that the twins were here. Then I remind myself: they couldn't be. Dipper's at Harvard, making his way through school with my recommendation and scholarship, and Mabel's working at a week-long arts-and-crafts fair in Portland, Oregon. Gosh, what I'd give to get them here to see this. Like the children I never had. I hope their parents are okay.
Stan's next to me, gazing out at the sea, listening to my stories of college, researching Gravity Falls, writing my journals, and building the portal. I skim over the devastating and hard parts; he can learn about those later. I'm talking about the time when Fiddleford had come up with the idea of a flux-capacitor inter-scoping dimension stabilizer, that had nearly destroyed our entire portal, when Stan suddenly has an epiphany.
"I remember!" He shouts, jumping up from his place by the starboard and rushing over to me. "Those ten years, they're coming back to me!"
I get excited. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up, it's probably just something minor, like the color of his STNLYMBL car or the shape of his lottery tickets, but I ask him anyways. I'm curious as to how my memories of building the portal triggered Stan's, but it's worth a shot.
"What?" I ask him in a breathless whisper, grasping his lifejacket.
The possibility that this is a major breakthrough is very small. The odds impossible. But I can't wait. If he is starting to remember, if it is coming back, then more could be on the way. Stan's life could be whole again. He would be burdened, remorseful, sad, possibly even a little mad, but whole all the same. But then he says the unimaginable.
"I built the portal with you!"
I do a double-take. "Excuse me?" There's no way. He was out in California, selling Stan-Vacs and who knows what else. He,...he was gone. My heart pounds, and I have to take deep breaths to calm my rattled nerves. He's scaring me now.
"Yes, it was me, you, and Fiddleford, it's all coming back together now,..." He pauses. "I didn't like Fiddleford, right? I'd always try to mess with him and get his goat."
"No, no, you'd weren't there Stan, you must be imagining it. How could you-"
"What? No, I swear I remember it, I remember helping you build the portal with my own two-" He stops abruptly and looks down at his hands, displayed in front of his body. He turns them over and over, thinking hard about the fingers. "Actually,... I think they were your hands?"
My blood runs cold. My heart must have stopped, surely. It's a dream. I swallow hard and don't respond. Just nod my head, that's it, that's all, just nod my head.
"That's very odd, Ford," Stan continues on, confused and a little concerned, "How did I get your memories? Is that some creepy twin ESP thing?"
No, it's not ESP. It's not a twin thing. It's not even anything fathomable or perceivable or real. How do I know this? I wasn't the only one controlling and using my body during that time.
No, because he was there too. Always watching, waiting, menacing, and manipulating. Holding out until the designated Time. Memories of the life we had left behind flood my mind, my senses, engulf me. Weirdmageddon looms before me, rearing its ugly head, ready to strike once more.
Stan was getting Bill's memories back, too.
Ok, so it's my first story posted on here. I hope it's okay, please just leave a short comment or like and follow if you like it so far. It's not very long, but it's a prologue. The chapters will most likely switch between perspectives, if you get what I mean. This chapter is the Stan twins, then the next chapter will be about someone else, then it will switch back to the Stan twin's dilemma. Let me know if there's anything I should revise or improve upon. Thanks!
Stan: Wait who's Bill.
Ford: Um... Do you really not know?
Stan: *long silence* Is he that dream demon who destroyed my shack last summer?
Ford: *sighs* Yes... but-
Stan: I don't remember him much. Was he green or blue? I think he was a square... yes? No?
Ford: It's a long and complicated story, I don't want to get into it.
Stan: A complicated story is the best kind of story, Poindexter.
Ford: No really, I need to get back to my calculations. *grumbles about twin issues*
Stan: *grabs a baseball bat* Just lemme know when to swing.
Ford: No! Put that down!
Stan: What about Bill? I don need no evil creep demon up in my brains!
Me: *laughing as they struggle and wrestle with each other*
