Petals on the wind

by Crazycatscarmen

Abbyswancullen request. She even made the title! Django- I think you'll like this one. TW: PURE ANGST LIKE WHAT and major character death. Stanley Pines has...ugh, dare I say it- Cancer. ANYWAY. I made a small alternate ending because I couldn't leave it like I did. Ugh, I cried writing this. Also, Filbrick is actually loving? Like- W H O A IT'S SNOWING I JUST SAW OKAY BYE.

Hey, so Abbyswancullen made me cry with this prompt at five am this morning- Tw: For serious illness (It's cancer.) and basically pure angst. Also, Idk how long this will get but I wanna get it done in shot so... also I kinda took some liberties with this? Sorry that it's not exactly like in the prompt you gave me. I know you kinda wanted something more...than this? But I'm just- idk I can't explain myself this is just what happened when I put my fingers to the keyboard.

*edit: I put Grammarly back on and it reads sixty two grammar errors...how do you guys put up with me? XD. Anyways, I added to the story a bit so rereading might be worth it- might not be. Depends how much you love crying.

---

April 21st, 1967.

At his desk, Ford read over his essay for the fifth time, tired eyes reading and double checking every word meticulously. Stan sat just a few feet away, reading a comic book for the sixth time as he waited for his brother to stop being a huge nerd. Ford had finished his fifth proof-read and looked up, finally satisfied, when he paused in surprise, setting down the paper. He stared at Stan, who was completely oblivious as he read, for a minute or so before speaking up.

"Hey, Stanley, are you alright?" Ford inquired, pushing away from the desk for the moment. Stan looked up and blinked at him from over on the bed. His legs straightening out so he could see Ford properly.

"What?" Stan asked, looking confused. "What do you mean 'am I alright?'"

Ford's rose a concerned brow."Your nose is bleeding."

Stan's hand flew to his nose and he looked down at his hand to see it stained with red. His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Oh." He stood up, tossing the comic on the bed and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. He gave Ford a small smile, "Thanks. I guess my nose is dry or something." He left the room, hand over his nose as he walked to the bathroom. Ford's eyes followed him out uneasily. Had Stan really not noticed? Ford sat back with a heavy sigh. Stanley really needed to pay more attention to himself. Shaking his head, Ford turned the chair back toward the desk and picked up a textbook, flipping through it to his last read page. He began reading and didn't notice when Stanley didn't return until bed.

...

March 8 through March 15th, 1967.

Ford didn't notice at first, yet even a blind man could notice the difference in his brother now.

Stanley was thin. Too thin.

Days whipped past and Stanley was acting just like himself, happy and strong- yet he didn't work as hard in boxing. Some nights the bag that hung in their room would go entirely ignored. He slept instead, falling asleep early and waking late. And as the bags under Stan's eyes grew larger despite the extra rest, Ford's frown deepened.

It didn't take all that long for their Mother to notice. She scheduled an appointment with the doctor's office, which Stan was adamant in not attending. Arguing against it even as she was talking to the doctor over the phone. Ford eventually laid a solemn hand on his shoulder and Stan turned towards him. He stared into Ford's concerned gaze and his mouth flew shut.

Stanley only looked worse as the appointment finally came around and they went in, the doctor aghast at the shape Stanley was in. Stan waved it off, that he was just...just not eating enough- not sleeping enough- anything.

The doctor, Doctor Freedman, gazed sadly into Stan's frantic gaze and shook his head. He told them that no amount of eating or sleeping would help Stan now. He took their mother into another room and Stan winced as he heard his mother burst into sobs. The doctor came back in and suggested that both of them get some rest. Stan's mouth fell, and the drive home was punctuated by the sniffs and sobs of their mother.

...

June 14th, 1967.

Stan was in denial. Ford was in another plane of reality. Even so, never in a thousand words could anyone describe the excruciating pain they both endured as Stan laid in that bed, fidgeting, yet too tired to get up and move. Ford swallowed as they sat in their room, listening to the echoing sobs of their parents in the other room.

Ford had thought, out of everyone, their Father would care the least. Yet every day since the doctor's appointment, Filbrick had been inconsolable, spending more time with Stanley than he had ever wanted to before. Yet- just like Ford told himself it was nothing, and Stan refused to believe he was even sick, Filbrick was finding ways to stop it. To make it better, for good.

More money was spent on Stanley those few months, than any of them even knew they had. Treatment was expensive- but Filbrick let the money go willingly, almost eagerly, as if he spent enough on his son, they would bring out a miracle cure and he would be fine, just like Stan had always been, and was always supposed to be.

Stanley was going to be fine. Filbrick said it, Stan believed it, and Ford needed it.

Gigi Pines, their mother, watched as they all stewed in a pot of disbelief and cried. Alone in her acceptance, she cried, for her son and for her family.

...

June 15th, 1967.

They were finally eighteen.

Ford held onto his brother's hand as he forced a smile and talked about how they were finally adults! How, after Stan got better, and his hair grew back, that they would sail away on the Stan o' war, just like they had always wanted. Stan smiled up at his brother.

Stan saw his brother unraveling and he saw his mother's sad smiles and he knew that he would never get his hair back. He realized that today was supposed to be the day he would celebrate his freedom with his twin and they would sail away. Instead, he realized- he was stuck.

Everything hurt and suddenly he couldn't deny it and when Ford fell asleep at his side he cried with his mother, for his brother and his family because he knew that he was never coming back from this.

...

August 17th, 1967.

Stan was deteriorating. His bones felt brittle, almost hollow. His face was sunken in and Filbrick stared at the small frown on Stan's face as he slept. He automatically moved his hand to run his finger's through Stan's hair and instead felt his son's smooth head. He swallowed and a single tear fell as he promised his sleeping, sick son that if he got well, Filbrick would be better. A better father, a better man.

Ford tried to drag Stan out of bed several times before, tears running down his face as he begged Stanley to get up- that they needed to finish the boat- that they needed to sail away, that they could sail away from it all.

Those were the hardest nights. When Ford couldn't accept but at the same time couldn't pretend. Ford was lightly pulling on his hand, but Stan just shook his head.

"Ford, please. I can't- Ford, it hurts." Stan tried to smile, but he could feel his heart breaking. I'm sorry, Ford. I'm sorry. "It's okay Ford, we don't need the boat to get away. Let's just stay here, eh? Don't you always say your nerd books were a way to escape?"

Ford nodded and his eyes sparkled with hope. "Want to read with me?" he picked up a favorite fiction novel of his and he put it close enough towards Stan that he could read the title. Ford grinned. "I think you'll like this one."

Stan smiled. "Heh, I think I will too."

...

August 21st, 1967.

Word had gotten around the school. By the time Ford returned to his studies, being forced to do so or drop out, Ford was surrounded by consolation. Despite everyone being kind to him for the first time, he yelled at them all, because Stanley was fine. He was going to be fine. He screamed at them because they were wrong. They eventually left him alone, staring at him as he stepped through the halls with sad eyes.

Something was different. Not just because Stanley wasn't there, and not all the frowning faces that glanced at him constantly. It was lunch and Ford usually sat alone with Stan, so he tensed when his number one enemy, Crampelter came toward him. He walked all the way to Ford's table and sat down, peaceably eating his lunch without looking at Ford. Ford stared at him incredulously, one hand closing the book he'd been reading, protecting it just in case Crampelter were to start ripping out the pages. He had done it once before, back in the sixth grade. Ford's eyes narrowed as Crampelter continued to sit and eat calmly.

"What are you doing?" Ford asked slowly.

"Eating." Crampelter rolled his eyes, "Obviously."

Ford frowned. "I can see that. Why are you over here?" Ford had hidden his hands beneath the table on instinct after closing his book and Crampelter glanced at them before sighing.

"No reason. Except I wanted to tell ya we're having a feast for my birthday on Sunday and I was wondering if you wanted to come?" Crampelter looked up, "That is if you have the time. I know you probably have other places to be..."

Ford thought about it. This was...uncharacteristic. Yet everybody was acting strange toward him, so why would Crampelter be any different? Other than the fact that Crampelter hated Ford and made it clear, nearly everyday since grade school. He thought for a moment longer, shifting away slightly. Usually, he spent his free time with Stanley- and even his not so free time. He blinked. "I'll have to think about it."

Crampelter shrugged. "Fine." He went back to his food and Ford hesitantly removed his hands from beneath the table and began eating his own lunch. After staring at Crampelter for another confused moment he went back to his book, both of them ignoring the other.

After he went home, he told Stanley what had happened and Stan laughed.

"You should go, Sixer. I think it'll be good for you." And Crampelter, Stan thought.

Sickness and death made people weird. Stanley had learned that. Maybe Crampelter knew something about it too.

...

August 25th, 1967.

Ford stood anxiously on Crampelter's front door. He wished Stanley was with him. Stanley would make this horrible twisted feeling in his gut go away. He took a deep breath and knocked.

Crampelter opened up the door a minute later and huffed. "Hey man."

Ford swallowed. "Uh- Greetings."

Crampelter snorted but opened up the door so Ford could come inside. Stepping inside, Ford quickly shoved a box into Crampelter's hands. Fumbling with it for a moment, Crampelter stared at it in surprise. "Um. What's this?"

Ford shrugged awkwardly. "Happy Birthday."

Crampelter's brow raised and he smiled slightly. "Oh. Thanks." He scratched at his head and then pointed down the hall. "Well, uh, the food's that way, so..." Crampelter started down the hall and gestured for Ford to follow. He did so with trepidation, but he was slowly starting to relax as he stepped into an open room. The house was nice, even welcoming. He followed his enemy (?) host into another room and found himself in a brightly lit dining room, with a table stacked with barbecue. Crampelter set down the box that Stanford had given him on the table before his eyes widened in horror.

"Crap! You're Jewish, aren't you!?" Crampelter was about to smack his forehead with his hand, but Ford caught his wrist, quickly letting it go. He chuckled tensely.

"Um, it's alright. Me and my brother never really followed any of that. I actually really like hamburgers." Ford kept his eyes trained to the side, rubbing at his neck, but both of them were spared from any further conversation when a voice sounded from a doorway to the left.

"Son!? Who are you talking too!?" The feminine voice asked. Crampelter looked relieved by the distraction, and Ford had to admit he was too. Crampelter started walking towards the doorway and glanced back as if inviting him to come with. Ford walked behind him nervously.

They walked into a large kitchen and Ford glanced a woman holding a large pot, struggling to hold it up. She was small, even petite. She had on a short blue dress and her brown hair was curled up in a bun. Ford noted the deep wrinkles and made a quick assumption that this was Crampelter's mother. Ford was...surprised? It made sense that his long-term bully also had a family but yet somehow he'd never thought to think about it. Ford watched by as Crampelter rushed over to her, picking up the pot himself. He breathed in and sighed.

"Mmm. Mashed potatoes. You make them the best, Ma." Crampelter glanced at Ford, as if embarrassed, but Ford didn't really care. In fact, it was nice to see Crampelter wasn't a robot sent to destroy him and Stanley anyway.

"Always such a gentleman." She cooed, patting his cheek. Crampelter was definitely embarrassed. The woman looked up, oblivious to her son's discomfort and burst into a brilliant smile. "You must be his friend!" She kept moving, picking up several things around the large kitchen as she talked to Ford. She laughed, her kind eyes crinkling. Ford was amazed, how had a prick like Crampelter been raised by a woman radiating such warmth? " Glad to know Gummy Bear wasn't talking to himself."

Crampelter went red, shifting the heavy pot in his arms. "Mom!"

She cocked her head at him as they walked towards the dining room. She had picked up several different condiments and Crampelter held the pot of potatoes. Ford felt slightly useless as he followed them back into the dining room, but he was holding back a laugh, his own face turning red with the strain of holding it back.

"What sweetie? It's a Mother's job." She winked at Ford and Ford stop the small laugh that escaped him. She grinned and Crampelter pouted, actually pouted, as he placed the pot on the table.

"That's just- why do you torture me?" Crampelter muttered, unable to look Ford in the eyes. Ford took a seat where the mother pulled it up for him and nodded in gratitude as he sat down. Crampelter sat on his left, just like he had been at lunch for the last few days. Ford smirked, but it didn't hold any menace. He laughed again, softly.

"Gummy Bear." He snorted and Crampelter rolled his eyes before pointing his fork at Ford.

"Not. A. Word." He threatened. Ford nodded, but he couldn't stop laughing.

"I sw- swear," Ford said between his fingers. Crampelter looked up, ignoring Ford's mirth.

"Hey, Ma? When's Pop comin'?" Crampelter asked, turning away from Ford as he set the fork back down. Ford, the nervousness back at the prospect of meeting even more people, stopped laughing. Crampelter's Mother was organizing things on the table as she spoke.

"He'll be here with your brother's soon." She smiled brightly at Ford. "I hope you don't mind messy eaters."

Ford smiled hesitantly back. "No Ma'am."

She giggled. "Well aren't you just a little gentleman too!" She straightened up and smoothed out the wrinkles on her dress, nodding at her work with satisfaction. She glanced toward the awkward frenemies.

"You two behave now, I'll be right back. Oh! You can call me Molly." She pointed at Ford and Ford nodded as Molly turned and walked out. Ford watched her leave, the knot in his stomach tightening, growing worse now that the distraction was gone.

Crampelter himself looked unsure of what to say. Ford gestured to the box beside Crampelter's plate.

"It's from both me and Stanley." Ford stated. "Um...if you want you can go ahead and open it. It's not much worth waiting for."

Crampelter opened his mouth to say something but closed it just as fast. He took the box in his hands and smiled slightly as he opened it up. Ford watched on, his fear battling with amusement. Crampelter grinned as he pulled out three crisp comic books.

"Comics? How'd you know?" Crampelter grinned, holding up the third comic. "I haven't been able to find this one anywhere!"

Ford rubbed at the back of his neck, laughing. "Yeah, My brother and I bought them out. It was the first thing we did that day. I could give you three more if you really wanted three of the same thing." Ford moved from rubbing at his neck to bouncing his fingers on the table. "We were pretty determined not to let anyone else get them. Although, I can't remember why."

Crampelter laughed. "What!? Are you serious!? Man, you two really are weird."

Ford flinched and Crampelter's eyes widened. "Not like that man, I swear." Ford couldn't look into his eyes and instead slumped further in his chair.

"No, you're right. We're pretty weird." Ford smiled just the tiniest bit and Crampelter coughed.

"Yeah, well, I-"

"We're home!" A loud booming voice seemed to almost shake the very walls.

Crampelter cursed and looked to Ford apologetically, although Crampelter seemed more excited than anything. "Sorry, prepare yourself for my brothers." He warned.

Ford looked up and suddenly he was surrounded by people. All of them young adults, except for a man with greying hair, who was drawing up a chair at the front of the table. Crampelter stood up and started greeting...{Ford took a moment to count, but they all kept moving}, eight different boys. Molly suddenly reappeared and the Father bellowed after giving his wife, Ford also assumed, a peck on the cheek.

"Let's get this party started!" The father's voice boomed over the chatter and everyone sat down, still talking away. Apparently, Crampelter was the last brother still living at home. Ford didn't say anything until Molly cleared her throat several times at Crampelter, who must have forgotten to introduce Ford. His eyes widened and he sent Ford another apologetic glance as he banged his fist on the table once, everyone going quiet at the same time.

"Hey guys! Meet my uh- friend, Stanford." Crampelter gestured to Ford and Ford suddenly had all eyes on him. He shrunk in his chair slightly. He swallowed and waved. One of the taller boys, with a smooth deep voice, smiled at him.

"Hey, nice ta meet ya! The names Boomer." He held out his arm across the table and shook Ford's hand. He didn't hold on to Ford's hand for very long, but Ford saw him glance at them twice. Ford was grateful as Boomer didn't mention it. The boy next to Boomer {You really have to wonder what I was thinking while coming up with these names...seriously I don't remember.} with the only blonde-ish hair in the room, nodded.

"Aye, Stanford. I'm Micheal." Micheal offered his hand and Ford shook his too. He was introduced in this fashion to everyone. He took a moment to memorize their names.

"Greeting's Boomer, Micheal, Jack, Fane, Peter, Jerald and Sam." Ford recited their names in order and all of them looked mildly impressed. The Father bellowed out a laugh.

"Ya got a good memory there! I can barely remember their names, and I named 'em!" The father chuckled as his children groaned, obviously an overused inside joke. Molly smiled and seemed to relax now that everyone was seated.

" And they all love their names, John." She giggled as the Father, John, scoffed. "Well, what're we waitin' for!?" She gestured to the feast {Ford now understood why a feast was necessary} "Dig in boys!"

The boys whooped in excitement and started digging into their plates. Crampelter seemed happy as he started piling his own plate and gestured for Ford to do the same. Ford was slightly disoriented by the chaos, but he didn't really mind. Dinner at his own home was never so...cheerful. It was quiet and lately, it had been...tense. He picked up a bread roll and started nibbling on it, the uneasy feeling in his stomach still lingering.

"So! Son, how's you're day been!? Having a good birthday so far? I'm sorry I had to work, but the boss just wouldn't let me go. John swallowed the mouthful he had and continued. "That and I had to pick up Jerald and Fane from the airport."

Crampelter grinned. "It's been great, Pops." Glancing at Ford, Crampelter continued. "Remember back when I was like...ten? And I couldn't find that comic book?"

Ford flushed. The Father seemed to think for a moment and huffed. "You and you're comics. Weren't you looking for a...special edition?"

Crampelter nodded and pointed with his thumb to Ford. " Yeah. This nerd had it all along. All of them."

Ford groaned as the table stared at him disbelievingly. "I swear, If we had thought anyone else actually cared we wouldn't have done it."

The entire table laughed. Fane, who was sitting beside Ford, held his hand for a high five, snickering through a mouthful of food. Ford hesitantly slapped Fane's hand. Crampelter snickered.

"That's payback."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Enjoy it while it last's, Gummy Bear."

Crampelter scowled, but Ford wasn't frightened by it. It just didn't seem scary like it usually did. It continued this way until the dinner ended and the dessert was brought out.

The entire table groaned. "Mom, don't torture us with more food." Micheal stated. The other's nodded. She grinned, winking at Ford.

"I know you all don't mind, and you wouldn't deny our guest my world famous birthday pie!?"

They all laughed and shook their heads. Boomer snorted and Peter snickered. Ford was struck by how different they all seemed, yet they also seemed so alike. He wondered if this is how people felt looking at him and Stan.

Ford was dished dessert and he had to admit, that after laughing with this loud, yet cheerful family for so long, the nervousness was long gone, and so was the dinner. So much for eating a balanced diet. He filled up on pie and cake and even ice cream. The only thing that kept Ford from pure ecstasy was the lack of his brother's presence. Stan would have loved this.

It was soon after dessert that the family disbanded, all of them wishing Crampelter a happy eighteenth as they left towards the living room, or to their old bedrooms. Crampelter looked completely at ease.

Ford raised a brow as he pushed away his plate. "They don't really stick around, do they?"

Crampelter shrugged. "I think if we didn't get constant alone time we'd kill each other so..." He picked up his plate and put it on top of the stack that teetered dangerously on the table. Ford did the same and blinked as Crampelter sighed.

"So...Uh- I guess you'd wanna go home now? I can borrow a car if you want." Crampelter asked. Ford was silent for a moment before he looking up, his glasses nearly flying askew as he did.

"Want to go to the beach?" Ford asked. He went completely still. He hadn't asked anyone to hang with him before. Crampelter looked shocked.

"Really? I mean I don't have anything else to do-"

Ford nodded and stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Yeah."

Crampelter nodded and picked up his present. "Thanks, for these." He waved them in the air and moved away. "I'm gonna go stash 'em before Jack tries and read them first."

Ford laughed and nodded, moving to the door. Before he made it to the hall he ran into Crampelter's mother. She smiled warmly at him.

"You leaving already?" She asked. Ford nodded.

"Well, that is- me and Crampelter were going to the beach, if that's alright with you?" He asked. Molly giggled. Ford had to wonder if that was her default state- giggling.

"Of course. I gave up trying to corral all my boys years ago! Just be safe, alright?" She glared at him good-naturedly for a moment until he nodded and Molly left. Ford gazed after her in wonder. She was so small. He almost wanted to run tests, just to check if she was superhuman.

Crampelter eventually returned, holding a ring of key triumphantly. "I got the truck." They walked outside side by side, not quite enemies, but not quite friends yet either. Ford's fingers never stopped tapping.

They made it to the beach in silence, other than the steady rhythm of Ford's fingers. Jumping out of the truck, Ford took in a deep breath. He missed the overwhelming smell of the ocean and the sand beneath his feet. Ever since Stanley...well. Ford hadn't been here in awhile. Crampelter jumped out of the truck after him and they walked in equal silence.

Ford stared out into the ocean. A sunset was falling over the horizon, casting colors over the water. He sighed. If Stanley were here, he would've sat down wherever he was standing just to watch the sun fall as the colors danced with the waves.

Ford, without thinking, fell down onto the sand. Crampelter nearly tripped over him, barely keeping from hitting him. Glancing at Ford curiously, Crampelter sat down slowly beside him, several feet away.

Ford blinked as he stared at the sun. "I really miss him." Ford stated.

Crampelter frowned. "He's not gone yet."

Ford growled. "And he never will be." Ford glanced at Crampelter with sad eyes. "But he's not the same. He can't walk. He's so-"

"Skinny? Tired? Way balder than you ever want to be?" Crampelter summed up. Ford looked at him, taken aback.

"What?"

Crampelter nodded. "I- I know what cancer looks like...Stanford." Crampelter's voice grew hoarse. "I know what it's like to lose a best friend."

Ford started trembling. "I'm not going to lose him. I can't." He curled his legs in toward his chest as he stared into the sunset.

Crampelter couldn't look at him. "I know you can't. Neither could I."

They went silent again just as the sun fell and the world went dark.

Ford felt the tears fall and Crampelter saw them but neither acknowledged them.

...

August 26th, 1967.

"So how the dinner go, yesterday?" Stanley rasped. He grinned, his chapped lips stretched to the breaking point. "Didja tell him about the comic books?"

Ford looked up from the book he had been reading. He had been holding Stan's hand as Stan slept, but during some point in his reading Stan had woken up. He smiled down at his emaciated, hollowed eye brother.

"It was...interesting. Did you know Crampelter has eight other brothers?" Ford spit-balled off their names and Stan snorted.

"Whoa. Wasn't expecting that." He chuckled, the laughter slipping into a rough cough toward the end. Ford rubbed Stan's hand with his thumb and handed him a glass water of water that had been waiting on the nightstand for this exact purpose. Stan hummed gratefully. Ford continued:

"Neither was I. It was a mad house. You would've loved it." Ford grinned and Stanley chuckled again, softer as not to start coughing again.

"I bet. You woulda been blushing like crazy in a crowd of strangers. Why did I have to miss this perfect chance at blackmail!?" Stan grieved. Ford laughed, taking the glass of water away.

"Well, now I'm glad you're bedridden." Ford rolled his eyes as Stan gasped.

"Oh! Well if that's how you feel." Stan pouted and looked away jokingly. Ford poked his arm softly.

"Stanley! C'mon, don't be like that. You started it." Ford chuckled. "Pleeeease?"

Stan grumbled. "Fine. But you owe me a...story!" Stan eyed the book he was reading. "Anything good?"

Ford lifted it and snickered. "Yes, I'm sure you're interested in Quantum mechanics."

Stan groaned and weakly pushed the book away. "Ugh, get it away. I'm already feeling confused."

Ford placed the book to the side and swooped to the floor to pick up the novel he'd been reading his brother before. "Maybe this one again? Unless you want me to read you The Hobbit? Or Lord of the Rings?" Ford asked. Stan seemed to contemplate it for a moment.

"Why don't ya read the hobbit book, thing?"

"It's just called The Hobbit, Stanley."

"Yeah, yeah, Why don't ya read that?"

Ford smiled and stood to retrieve it from the top bunk. "Alright." He settled back into the chair besides Stanley and flipped to the first page. Stanley sighed softly in warm content.

This was where he belonged- but the good things never lasted. Stan held tight to Ford's hand as Ford began reading.

"In a hole, there once lived a Hobbit-"

...

September 1st, 1967.

"What were his last words?"

"He died in his sleep."

"Poor boy."

"Better than awake."

"True."

It wasn't supposed to happen. It couldn't have happened. Ford stared dully at the ground, feeling drained. The entire Crampelter family had attended, and even some kids Stan had made friendly with at school. Stanford watched as Carla cried with their- his mother.

Filbrick was no where to be seen. Stanford's throat hurt, as if he had been crying. He hadn't. Because there was no reason for him too because this wasn't happening.

He stared up at the ceiling that night. He could've sworn he'd heard Stan's heavy breaths. Yet every time he glanced down, the bed sat empty.

He couldn't sleep.

...

June 15th, 1968.

He was nineteen. Ford celebrated in his dorm at West Coast Tech. On the phone, crying and talking into a phone, begging, asking his parents to let him go home.

Gigi Pines knew where Ford's home was, and it wasn't with her or Filbrick. She spent that night with her son and her husband, crying and speaking soothing words through the phone.

...

September 1st, 1970.

Gravity Falls! I'm finally here. It's a place I dreamed of constantly. Yet, even as I sit here, I find this introductory into my research hard to write. My hand shakes and my heart is pumping with pain. This dream is incomplete, and I'm finding it hard to move forward in it.

Stanford finished the sketch he'd been drawing and left the book on his desk with a sigh as he went to bed.

When the Gnomes broke in that night, A certain gnome, Shembulock Sr. glanced down at the open book and frowned.

A beautiful sketch sat underneath a blur of words he couldn't read without his tiny gnome glasses. He smiled at the picture before jumping off the desk with a bowl of jellybeans.

It was two boys, smilingly into the wind as they sailed on the sea. A beautiful picture indeed.

ALTERNATE ENDING. BECAUSE I CAN'T LEAVE STAN DEAD I JUST CAN'T I'M NOT READY PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME.

...

March 15th, 1967.

Stan sat on the padded chair in the doctor's office. Ford was holding his hand by his side, along with Filbrick and Gigi, all of them {except Stan} waiting anxiously. The doctor walked in, holding a clipboard. The other's were holding their breath as Stan rolled his eyes. This was completely unnecessary.

The doctor looked up. "Oh, goodness. You aren't all sick?" He teased. Gigi glared at him and he cleared his throat. "Right, your son is fine." He looked at Stan sternly. "But if you don't keep up a better diet, I will hunt you down."

Stan put his hands in the air as the others sighed in relief. "See! I'm fine!"

Ford glared at him. "No, you aren't. Why haven't you been eating?"

Stan blanched. "Uh..."

Ford enveloped him in a hug. "I'm making you eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner every night from now on. You really scared us, Stanley."

Gigi joined in the hug, and Filbrick quietly thought that he didn't really mind the money spent on the doctor's visit. As long as Stanley was okay.

Stanley laughed, looking slightly guilty. "Heh, thanks, bro. I love you guys too."

---

AND THAT'S THAT. CURSE YOU READERS FOR HURTING ME LIKE THIS. Gosh, I gotta stop taking requests, but how could I let such loyal readers down!? I hoped you liked this Abbyswancullen! It was for you, and your crazy love of Stangst.

Stan: So THIS was the sad story!?

Ford: I can't believe you tried to spoil it.

Stan: Kinda wished ya let me so no one would read it. This is sad.

Ford *sniffs*: Yeah.

Stan *Hugs ford staring at a wall with determination*: I refuse to die.

Ford: GOOD. Because if you died, I will go Frankenstein.

Stan: a Uh...good thing I'm not dying...ever.

Ford: Yeah I know.

Also! For MM: Aw! Thanks! Seriously, thank you so much! For the record, you seem like a FABULOUS person, or at least you share my ridiculous humor.

THANKS FOR READING GUYS. THE TEARS WERE NOT MY FAULT. LOVE YOU DON'T DIE!

*quietly hands you cake and tissues and a C.D of all the seasons of The Office.* I also haven't proof-read this... *edit: Now I have! Halleluhiah I hope this was better?