This is just an exploration of an idea I have and not an on-going fic I'm afraid to say, but the plot bunny wouldn't leave, so. This is basically what would happen if Tracey and Quattro came to live with Dipper, and Mabel, Stan and Soos were taken by the FBI, leaving them stuck in the house for a while. Then, Ford arrives.

It took a moment for Stanford Pines's eyes to adjust to the darkness. The contrast of the pale blue light and the darkness of the lab would be startling to most, though he was used to it even with his goggles. The lab appeared empty, dust and dank littered the corners, and as he stepped through he heard his own footsteps ring back at him ten times louder.

The portal went out behind him with a sizzle.

He knew what had happened.

Stanley, despite all the warnings, despite all the clues and notes he'd left, had opened the portal between dimensions. Ford's annoyance and anger at it all overpowered his surprise at being back in his home dimensional by far. He'd come through expecting to see his brother nearby, stormed through would be the better term, but as he raised his hands to lift his goggles and scarf away...he found no-one.

His brow sorrowed, suspicion coiling in his brain. He blinked several times as the portal light faded, leaving only the dim lab lights to guide his sight. Someone had to be here, that portal couldn't operate by itself, did Bill and his cronies lay a trap?!

But then he heard something. A breath? His eyes snapped to the perpetrator and –

A little boy was standing a few feet away, clutching his journal in his arms like a teddy bear.

Stanford's eyes widened. "..."

Why did he have his journal? The one he'd – judging by the number, yes – hidden well in the forest? All of these things, a child in the portal lab with his journal and looking at him as if he'd seen a ghost, none of them made sense.

The boy stepped back from him, expression stiff. Then he turned and bolted.

"Wait!"

Ford reacted quickly. His suspicious mind didn't help his actions. A child, operating this machine? Ludicrous, it had to be some kind of trick, but either way he had to move. The boy was slamming his fists on the elevator, and when he saw the man's shadow fall over him he turned his head and gave a strangled noise of fright.

Ford reached out, opened his mouth to ask, to inquire about this madness, when the elevator doors opened and the child threw himself inside. The door closed before the man could stop it.

He had to wait, with ridiculous patience, for the elevator to return, then for it to travel up to the main floor of the house. When he finally got there (why was there a soda machine on the door?) he caught sight of the boy wrenching open the front door.

"Come back here!"

The child dove out the door. Ford scaled the hall in a run.

It was summer. The last time he'd seen the outside world of earth, it had been encased entirely in snow. The boy had leaped down the porch stairs, running for the woods and hollering like his life depended on it.

Ford caught up to him in quite impressive time, seizing the back of his jacket. The boy yelled out loud, kicking frantically, but Stanford quelled the pang in quilt threatening to rise in his chest and scooped him up, hand grasping the boy's jaw. "Keep still, keep still – I won't hurt you, I just need to see your eyes –"

At that phrase, the boy's face blanched again and he clamped his palms over his eyes like a vice, "No, no, no, no!"

Suspicion returned to Ford's brain in a flurry. Glancing about at the eerily familiar yet different area outside the shack, he turned and strode back inside with the squirming child in tow – if he really was a child.

The boy, with one arm slunk over his eyes and the other grasping madly at the air, tried to latch onto the wall. "Let go of me! Lemme go, please, please –"

"Just let me see your eyes and I will, boy!"

"No! You're not taking me eyes!"

Ford stopped short. The boy was kicking his legs, quite close to hyperventilating. The familiar words had hit him like a gong and for a moment he stood there, the boy near hysterically trying to escape his arms.

Shaking his head, Ford manoeuvred the child into one arm, ignoring his little fists, and fished a flash light out of his pocket. "All right. Now be still."

"No!" The boy was clutching his face with both hands again, sweat trailing down his brow. "I won't let you!"

Ford, holding the flashlight between his fingers while also trying to pry the boy's hands away, realised that it was no easy task. Giving a grunt as the boy slapped his hand away a third time, he said, "If you have nothing to hide, then why won't you listen?!"

"You can't have my eyes!"

"I'm not –" Ford forced himself to lower his voice. He breathed in and tried to level his tones, as shouting at this hysterical little being was getting them nowhere. "I'm not going to take your eyes. I haven't hurt you so far, have I?"

The boy said nothing, hands still in place, but his fighting had lessened. Perhaps tired, or calming down, or a bit of both. He bit his lip.

Ford pressed on, allowing himself to let a little gentleness into his tone. Even though there was a chance this whole thing was a facade. "It's all right. Now let me see."

Slowly, with quivering arms, the boy let his hands lower. Ford noticed with another small pang that they were watery and bloodshot. He held the flashlight up, shining it into the boy's pupils. The kid gulped once but didn't struggle further.

Ford found nothing, no light, no off-synchronisation. He flicked the flashlight off, trying to smile a little to placate the situation. "There, that wasn't so hard. Everything's fine."

Slowly, he set the boy on his feet. His hands went to grip at the end of his shirt right away.

It was then, now that the fiasco had passed, that Ford saw that the house looked rather cluttered, but in the kind of way that looked recent. The cushions in the living room, visible from the hall, were all over the place.

The boy himself looked a little woebegone, with stains on his shirt, a tear in his fleece and his unkempt hair meshed under his hat. Pale and shivery. Ford wondered what on earth the circumstances were...

...What in earth indeed.

He ran a hand along his stubbly chin, clearing is throat. "All right, then...can you tell me what happened?"

The boy glanced around uneasily before looking up at him again. "Um. I don't know." His voice cracked a little. He was still shaken up.

The man sighed, his hand running from his chin up to his hair. "This situation must seem...shocking to you, but I promise there's a reasonable explanation."

The boy didn't reply, staring at him as if he were a ghost still. Ford knelt down; lifting his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner. "It's all right. I'm sorry for frightening you, but it was necessary. What is your name?"

He held out a hand. The boy reached out, curiosity lighting up his pale face like a light. "D-Dipper. Um, Hi, I'm Dipper."

Ford smiled despite himself, shaking his hand. The boy's skin was freezing. "Greetings, Dipper. I'm Stanford Pines."

Dipper, however, was staring down at his hand. Oh. Yes. Unlike the creatures that lived in other dimensional, this boy knew that most people had five fingers.

"Er, perhaps something to drink is in order." Ford certainly needed one, and the shell-shocked child wouldn't be able to tell him anything if he wasn't comfortable. He led him, gently, towards the kitchen.

Which was also a mess. There were jars out everywhere, knives with jam and butter on them, dishes clogging up the sink and the table cluttered with what looked like maps, letters, and other pieces of paper.

Ford tried not to appear perturbed by this, and found that the tea and coffee were still stashed in the same places he and Fiddleford used to leave them.

He settled the boy down in one of the chairs as he went about making the coffee and tea, noticing – he was always on high alert these days – that despite the mess, there wasn't much food. The lights were all off by the looks of it...the dying sun wouldn't last forever.

He set the boy's tea in front of him and reached out for the light switch.

"W-wait, we gotta save power." The boy said, quickly. Ford lowered his hand, eyeing him curiously.

Deciding not to ask, he sat opposite of Dipper and took a sip of his coffee.

...Coffee was a beautiful thing. He had to squash the raw emotional that flurried up in its wake. This situation had to be dealt with, there was no time to go to pieces over a drink.

"Are you alone here, Dipper?" He ventured, slowly. Dipper stared down at the contents of his cup, grasping the sides tight. He shrugged.

Ford put his coffee down slowly, still watching his face for any kind of indication. "Where are your parents?"

"Not here." The boy mumbled.

Then, the door clunked shut. Ford heard the noise echo through the hall and made to stand up, but Dipper clutched onto his sleeve, "its okay, it's just –"

Another boy appeared in the kitchen. Ford blinked. A boy that looked identical to the one sitting at the table with him. He, however, had far lighter hair and skin, was wearing what appeared to be a yellow raincoat, and was clutching a grocery bag in his arms like it was a life line,

"I, I, um, survived." The new boy breathed, staring right at Dipper, "I think Rob saw me but I –"

He stopped, staring at Ford in the same amount of horror as his look-alike had down in the lab. He gave a shriek and stumbled back.

"Tracey, wait, it's okay, he's not –"

"Quite down!"

Stanford was holding up both six-fingered hands. The two boys had frozen, staring at him. "I think we all need to calm down here. I'm not here to hurt either of you, but I'd like to know what's going on and why you're in my house."

"Your house?" The raincoat boy echoed, wide-eyed. His twin rubbed his face. Twins – the word made something in Ford curl. Well, it was obvious that they had to be. He'd never seen such uncanny resemblance aside from himself and Stanley.

Speaking of...

"I guess we're freaking out because..." Dipper interrupted his thoughts, poking his fingers together as if he was aware his next question would sound weird, "How come you look just like Grunkle Stan?"

Grunkle Stan.

Ford sat down again. "Stan – Stan is my brother." The boy's faces lit up in shock simultaneously. It was quite a show. "My twin brother. I haven't seen him for thirty years, but I'm quite sure he's to blame for all this."

"You mean the portal?" Dipper ventured, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. Tracey – Ford thought that was the right name – plodded over to the counter and brought out some peanut butter and bread, and began making a sandwich.

Dipper gave him a look and he paused, knife in the jar. Tracey stared back at him innocently. "What? We've not had bread in a week."

"Why are you boys on your own like this?" Ford wasn't a detective, but he saw the pieces – grubby clothes, messy house, lights out everywhere and no adult in sight – these boys were on their own, and had been so for a long while. Their peaky complexions didn't look healthy at all. He frowned, "And by 'Grunkle', you mean –"

"Great Uncle Stan." Dipper elaborated, watching his face inquisitively.

Great Uncle...?

"Grandpa Shermy's brother." Dipper said with a blink. Ford nodded once, feeling a little odd. Great-uncle. He had a pair of nephews peering up at him. The years suddenly felt all too real.

Tracey had gone back to making a sandwich, as if hoping he could do so quickly so it would limit the awkwardness.

"So by extension that would make me your Great-Uncle, too." He said, smiling a little. Dipper beamed a bit in return and the little familiar face made Ford's heart fall. He resembled Stanley all right, aside from the tiny nose and...

His eyes had trailed to the boy's forehead, were something pink and line-like was peeking through his fringe. Instantly, the boy's hands rose to drag his hat down further over his brow.

Before Ford could ask – or apologise, as the 'hiding' gesture was another familiar ache he was all too known for, another voice called out from the hallway.

"Uuuh, guys, why's the door wide open? Have you all been eaten? You gotta tell me before I step in and –"

"We've not been eaten!" Dipper called, as if this was a perfectly normal assumption, "But you gotta do the password!"

"Oh right, uh, 'Wendy!"

"I forgot to do the Password." Tracey said, suddenly, looking stricken. Dipper's eyes widened. Ford on the other hand felt very confused, and rather out of the loop.

That is, until another child materialised in the kitchen, also wearing a yellow jacket, but with the hood down and a guitar dragging behind him.

It was a repeat. The boy took one look at Ford and shrieked, raising his banjo up like a bat, "Shape shifter! Aaargh –"

Dipper surged forward with impressive speed and tackled him, "No, wait!"

Tracey, by the counter, said something through his mouthful of sandwich, but what Ford couldn't decipher. He cleared his throat pointedly and the other two boys stiffened.

All right, veto the twins. Triplets?

And how did they know about shape-shifters? Unless they'd read the –

He was reminded that the journal was, in fact, tucked away in Dipper's vest. The third boy was still staring at him in paranoid suspicion, but he supposed it was warranted. "Could someone explain this, please?!"

...

Half an hour later, things were a bit more tame. The three boys were sat at the table with their sandwiches and tea. Without their raincoats, Ford would have had a hard time separating Tracey (hood up) and Quattro (banjo and no hood) – the third boy's name was odd, and odder still as it meant 'four' not 'three'. Dipper had darker hair, and no raincoat at all, was easier to spot.

Ford was pacing around slowly.

They watched him like a trio of apprehensive birds.

"So you're not a shape shifter?" Quattro asked again, still a little suspicious.

"No."

"You're not gonna steal our eyes?"

"No." Ford paused at last, turning back to them. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

They all looked down in perfect synchronisation. "Er." Dipper offered.

"Bill." Tracey said, finally, with the air of someone quickly tossing salt on the wound. The other boys cringed. Ford felt his blood run cold.

"Bill?" He echoed, his voice showing far more of his own discontent than he wanted it to. "How do you know Bill?"

"He came for Dipper when he was sleeping." Tracey said quickly, as it seemed Dipper was about to stop him via mouth-clamp.

Ford stiffened. His eyes fell on Dipper in a fluid sweep and the boy shrunk under his gaze. He realised that his face must have darkened considerably, and now all three children were staring at him uneasy again. Ford couldn't sugar-coat the situation, "Your dreams?" His voice was a little more hectic this time, "What did he do?"

Dipper swallowed. "It's okay, he's gone now. He's gone, I swear."

The other two boys, sat on either side of him, had inched closer. Ford flexed his hands, placed them behind his back and sighed. "It's all right." He seemed to be repeating that often. "I'm not here to hurt any of you. I already made sure there was no trace of Bill in your eyes."

"He wanted the journals, but we stopped him." Dipper said after a moment. "He's gone."

It was dark outside, now, and the candles the boys had lit in the kitchen didn't help the atmosphere much. But Ford still had questions.

"Where's Stan?" He said, changing the subject. Dipper drummed his fingers absently on the table.

"G-government agents took him away." He said, thickly.

A streak of vindictiveness slid through Ford's heart, and he let it. Stan facing consequences for his foolishness. He'd never learned, had he? Dipper, however, lowered his head.

Ford quirked a brow.

"What is it?"

"I thought – I thought it was something bad, the portal." The boy didn't look up. "But he was bringing you back. I get it now."

"No." Ford spoke so suddenly that the triplets jumped. He rubbed the space between his eyes and sighed, "Stan could've destroyed the universe with that stunt – he very nearly did. He ignored all my warnings, and now look what's happened –"

"But we're still here, the universe isn't in pieces." Tracey said, blinking. "It's all okay, right?"

Ford glanced between each boy's apprehensive face, suddenly aware of the heavy weight in his pocket, where the rift, small and housed in a little container, was drifting. He couldn't spring this on them, now, to satisfy his frustration with Stan. "Never mind. What's important is that I get the government's sent away from this place, and preferably knock some sense into my brother." Who knows, maybe some time in a high security cell would teach him a lesson...

He turned back to the boys and found Tracey and Quattro were leaning against Dipper's shoulders, looking droopy. Dipper was peering sleepily at the table.

"You three should get some rest while I handle things downstairs." He said, lowering his voice. He had to dismantle the portal, now that he thought about it, and Bill-proof this house while he was at it. It would be best if the children were out of the way.

Quietly, he ushered them to the staircase. Tracey and Quattro, in their raincoats still, leant on each other as they trekked up to the attic. Dipper, however, paused on the landing,

"Um, Great Uncle Ford...?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll explain how you got in the portal tomorrow, right?"

"Of course."

Dipper nodded and ambled out of sight, looking half asleep. Ford turned his attention back to the elevator, his smile fading back into a frown.

He had work to do.