Hello, everyone, and welcome to "Lost Tales of the Falls", my new official Drabblefic for Gravity Falls! They'll start with a Summary and let everyone know whether it's canon or what Au it is, as well as which Stan is which(depending on Au), and occasionally a brief A/N on WHY I wrote a particular one.
This is going to contain stuff from this from my other GF story, "Of Pines and Forests", canon stuff from the show, and any Au stuff you guys or I might think of. It all depends, really, on what you guys want, so please send in requests!
But please review the requests in. It'll make it a TON times easier to keep it in order. Please and thank you. :-)
The picture belongs to me, so no stealing! Thanks!
Now, this one is something I just got to thinking about. A sort of "what if" idea for "A Tale of Two Stans". I think you'll understand once you start reading it.
Drabble 1: Portals, Apologies, and Twins
Sum:
A different turn out of when Stanley gets his "tattoo".
Ford never ends up in the portal because of it, though he wishes he could've protected his bro . . .
Universe:
Mostly-Canon
A`N:
I just wanted to write a scene where two brother fight "to the death" but one gets hurt, the other guilty, and both try to rebuild their lives together. As a family. Will do two of these; one from Lee and one from Ford's point of view. And oh, gosh-dangit, I want some feels-laden moments with these two.
"You ruined my life!?" I shout at my brother, grappling with him for the journal.
"You ruined your own life!?" Stanford shouts back. He suddenly kicked out a leg, catching me in the chest and pushing my back into the metal desk behind. Then suddenly it's unbearable heat and pain and everything flashing darkly before my eyes and the air being forced out of my lungs as I scream and scream. The weight on my chest disappears, and I collapse against the ground with a whimper.
Everything hurts . . . .I can barely move . . . .I can't even recall what I was doing that brought about this much pain, rippling like a fire through me, radiating from the back of my right shoulder.
Someone shakes me, and I moan softly, trying to roll away. The shaking stops, but now somethings' gripping me hard, keeping me from moving. I whimper when I'm suddenly yanked upright, whatever's doing this holding me by the front of my jacket. I turn my head away, eyes squeezed shut from the pain. Someone's shouting, but I can't tell who, nor what they're saying.
Something hits my cheek.
Not hard, but enough to get my attention and keep me from slipping unconscious right away. I open my eyes slowly. Everything is coming in and out of focus, and I can't make out the face hovering inches from my own. Their mouth is moving fast, words tumbling out like a waterfall. I weakly try to push away, but scream again; any movement of my right arm ends in hot, burning pain.
I try to curl in on myself with a sob, tears starting to stream down my face.
" . . anle . . . .ey? Sta . . . .Stanley?!" the words slowly trickle in.
I manage to open my eyes again with small moan of pain. I end up seeing . . . myself, my own panicked face staring at me. "Wha . . ." I grunt attempting to stand and pull away, but I can't; it hurts too bad.
"Oh god! Stanley! I'm so sorry!?" tears are in the other me's eyes, and he's holding me up.
" . . .sorta jo'e iz thi' . . ?" I slur, again trying to stand. With the other me's help, I'm able to, but I'm still unsteady and swaying.
"Oh god, Lee . . . .I'm so, so sorry . . . come'on, let's get you patched up." He gently starts to guide me away, and I manage to hobble along with him, biting my lip, but these little half-whimpers keep coming out.
There's a pause as we go, something flicking, almost like a light switch, and a humming noise that slowly dies down. I can't make heads or tails of it, though. I can't keep my eyes open. It's only the hand and arm curling around my left shoulder that's keeping me upright and conscious at the moment. Another hand grips my left arm, and I follow dazedly.
So hard . . .to think. I can't even get my eyes open anymore . . . .every movement is starting to ache. We stop again, and there's some noise . . . .I sag as everything goes black.
~T~I~Z~E~R~G~B~`~U~Z~O~O~H~
Everything was just fine. Me and my bro were running along the beach, happy-go-lucky as ever. Something nagged at the back of my head, as if something about this was wrong, or incorrect. I ignored it in favor of sprinting ahead of my brother.
"Hey, wait up!" Ford called.
"Yeah, you should keep up!" I call back.
"I-I can keep up!" he answers, panting. Honestly, who wears a jacket in the middle of summer at the beach? Freaking ridiculous.
We stop at the entrance to a cave, peeking between the boards. "Woah . . .neato!" he exclaims. We back up a little, sizing it up. "A mysterious boarded up cave!"
He pulls out a flashlight, rambling on about pre-hih-toric junk and gold.
When he's done, I joke, "Uh, ladies first." I throw a hand towards the entrance. He punches me on the shoulder. I laugh and punch him back. Ford grabs one of the boards and yanks on it, but ends up losing his grip and falling back on his butt on the sand.
I move up next to the entrance. "Good thing you've got your smarts, poindexter. I got the other thing. What is it called?" I barely pause before answering myself. "Oh right. Punching!" I slam my left fist into the old wood, busting a large hole into it that we can easily walk through.
I pull my fist back and open it. "Cool, splinters!" I look at them a moment before turning back to the cave.
"Woah! It's so creepy in here!" Ford exclaims, shining the flashlight beam here and there.
I step inside confidently. "Hey, don't worry bro." I assure him. "Wherever we go, we go together. Don't forget to leave our names so they know who owns the place." I point a thumb towards one of the walls. Ford pulls a Sharpie out of his pants pocket with a grin.
I scrawled my name out first, then handed it back to my bro. He used his fancy handwriting junk and then signed our last name in big, blocky, easy-to-read letters.
We walked away, chanting, "Pines! Pines! Pines! Pines!" as we went, seeking adventure fearlessly and boldly, ready to rake in the treasure, and one day we'd get all the girls!
I slowly open my eyes with a groan. I try to get up, but pain shoots along my right shoulder, spreading through my arm.
"Stanley!" someone shouts. I manage to turn my head from where I'm lying, face down, and spot someone familiar.
"F-ford . . ?" I mumble, again trying to get up. 'Where am I?'
Ford smiles, tears falling down his cheeks. Dropping to his knees next to the couch I'm laying on, he starts babbling out apologies.
I force myself up with a grunt of pain, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jeeze, poindexter, slow down. Let's start with something simple; where the heck are we?"
He stares at me, wide-eyed. "You don't remember?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Remember what?" I ask, trying to glance over my right shoulder. "And what happened to my arm?" I add. My coat and shirt have been removed, leaving just a bandage wrapped around it.
Stanford glances at the injury with a wince. "It was an accident . . . I'm so sorry, bro . . ." he looks at me with sad eyes.
I take a good, long look at him. His eyes are red with tears and ringed by dark bags, tear tracks marked deeply on his cheeks, hair a mess, clothes disheveled. "Jeeze, poindexter, what happened to you?" I ask. "You look like you've just been through a nightmare."
He glances away. "In a way I have." was all he says.
~G~R~A~V~I~T~Y~`~F~A~L~L~S~
"You ruined my life!?" he shouts, struggling to wrench my journal back.
"You ruined your own life!?" I return. I kick his chest, shoving him back. His back slams against the desk behind, and suddenly there's a sizzling sound, like bacon in a hot pan, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs. I flinch away, shocked, and he falls back down with a whimper.
"Stanley! Oh my gosh I'm so sorry, are you alright?!" I scramble to my feet, staring down at the trembling form. The red-hot metal left a large burn on the back of his right shoulder . . . "What have I done?" I breath, tossing my journal on the desk and shaking my brother.
He only moans in pain, trying to roll away. I grip his coat, making sure he won't roll into the desk and aggravate his burn further. I pull him upright, wincing when he whimpers, trying to get him to look at me as I shout his name. His head moves to the side, and I feel a dull spark of hope.
I let go with one hand and pat his cheek. He slowly opens his eyes, the brown glazed over with pain and confusion. "Stanley?" I ask, "Oh god, I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Come on, speak already!" I can't stop the torrent of apologies. I'm interrupted when he shifts in my grasp, both hands suddenly pressing on my chest; trying to push me away.
But he almost immediately screams in pain, pulling his limbs in with a sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Stanley!" I shout. "Stanley? Stanley?!" trying and failing to not panic.
He moans again, a sound that makes me ache inside, but he does open his eyes a crack. "Wha . . ." he grunts, confused, trying to find his feet.
"Oh god! Stanley! I'm so sorry!?" tears are in my eyes, but I feel relieved. The only reason I don't hug him right here and now is the burn on his back . . . I need to get that fixed, pronto.
" . . .sorta jo'e iz thi' . . ?" I hear him slur, trying to stand again. I help him, gently pulling his left arm over my shoulder, and keeping a tight grip on his coat, besides. He's swaying, but at least able to stand with my help . . . I need to get him upstairs, and I keep rambling as I do.
"Oh god, Lee . . . .I'm so, so sorry . . . come'on, let's get you patched up." I guide him towards the control panel, quickly flipping the switches back to their previos positions, watching a moment as the portal dies back down. I don't even want to think about what could've happened if it'd activated while we were still out there. . .
A small, pained whimpering sound comes from Lee, sagging against me. I can see him biting his lip hard as we go on. We step into the elevator, and it feels like it's going slower than usual.
"Come on, come on. Hurry up!" I mutter. Lee suddenly drops his full weight into me, and would've fallen to the ground had my grip been any less tight. "Stanley!?" I shout, but it's no use; he's unconscious.
I gather him up in my arms, wincing as his body jerks when pressure is applied to the wound. As soon as the door opens, I race out, up the stairs, and towards my bedroom. Gently laying him face-down on the couch, I run for the first-aid kit I have, pausing only to push the vending machine shut, hiding the entrance to the underground lab.
Quickly pulling out some supplies, I pause. I know it needs to be cleaned up, but I can't quite bring myself to touch it and possibly make it worse. Glancing down at Lee's face, a grimace of pain present even in sleep, decides for me.
I carefully ease off his coat and shirt, then gently swab on some rubbing alcohol on and around the burn. I can't help but wince at every cry he makes, but push on with it. I have to prop him upright so I can work the bandages over his shoulder and around his chest.
Afterwards, I gently ease him back onto the couch, face down so as not to aggravate his burn further. I pack up the first aid supplies slowly, and put them away, returning with some blankets to ward off the chill inside this small, lonely cabin.
I tuck him in, making sure he'll be warm, and sit on the floor by his head. He seems to be in so much pain and distress, even in sleep. "I'm so sorry, bro . . ." I whisper, placing a six-fingered hand on his.
I don't know when or how long I was asleep, but I awake from the floor to someone talking. I sit up and rub my eyes. The events of yesterday come back in a flood.
Seeing Lee for the first time in years, showing him the portal, the ensuing fight, the burn . . . .I jerk my head around, quickly spotting Stanley on the couch. I breath a quiet sigh of relief, and take a quick look at a clock. It was around evening when I first showed him the portal, and now it's early morning the next day.
I stand and pop my back with a quiet yawn, then glance back at my brother when I hear him muttering. "Stanley?" I ask hopefully, thinking he's awake.
He was mumbling in his sleep, sweat on his brow, the blankets twisted tightly around him, as if he'd been rolling around trying to get comfortable. I crouched beside him, hoping to entangle him, but his words stop me.
" . . .good thing you've got your smarts, poindexter . . . ." I freeze, silent. ". . . .I've got the other thing . . .what's called . . .oh'righ'! Punching . . . . cool, splin'ers . . . ." he rolls over, face contorting with pain from being on the burn, before he rolls back onto his stomach with a grunt. He's still asleep . . .I can only guess he's dreaming.
I untangle him from the blankets, intent on settling them back on more loosely, when my hand brushes his arm. It's warm. Not just warm from the blankets, it's hot. I lay a hand on his forehead and almost immediately feel the heat. He has a fever. I toss a lighter blanket over him and rush to get a washcloth wet. I gently press it to his forehead, then sigh.
" . . .coolest thing I've ever seen . . . .and I once saw a dead rat floatin' in a bucket . . !" he suddenly mumbles out.
I blink, then smile a little. I remember where he said that before. Back when we were kids in New Jersey, at Glass Shard Beach. When we found the Stan'o'War. . . .back when we were still best friends. . . .
I rake a hand through my hair. For two days, Stanley remained unconscious, running a high fever and mumbling out things that either don't make any sense or make me think of things we did together in our childhood.
Some things make me laugh a little. Others make me cry.
On the third day, he finally wakes up, and not to long after I changed the bandage on his back. I heard a groan. I freeze, then turn towards him. "Stanley!" I shout, running and and bending over him.
"F-ford . . ?" he mutters, trying to lever himself upright.
Relieved tears cascade down my cheeks, apologies falling from my mouth. I'm just glad he's still alive. I realize I've fallen to my knees when he places a hand on my shoulder, and look up, finding him upright.
"Jeeze, poindexter, slow down. Let's start with something simple; where the heck are we?" he asks.
I stare at him. "You don't remember?" I ask. It's the only thing I can think to say. I thought he would hate me for what I did to him, but he doesn't even . . . .
He raises an eyebrow. "Remember what?" he asks, trying to glance over his shoulder, probably to look at the burn. "And what happened to my arm?" he adds.
I glance at it with a wince. "It was an accident . . . I'm so sorry, bro . . ." I look at him sadly, expecting him to remember and get mad.
He looks back at me, looking me up and down. I know I must look like a mess; clothes disheveled, hair wild, and probably a bit too skinny, since I barely ate the last few days out of worry.
"Jeeze, poindexter, what happened to you?" he asks. "You look like you've just been through a nightmare." I can hear the worry in his voice and glance away, ashamed.
"In a way I have." is all I say.
I just want the two to get along. Really badly. And I have a sneaking suspicion that they might not make up until Stanley gets hurt and Ford realizes just how much he would miss his brother if he were gone.