Remember when I said forever ago that I had a new story in mind, involving the shape-shifter? Actually it was like three days ago... But never mind that. It's been in my head forever, and that's what counts! I only plan for it to be around ten chapters, but we all know that I'm going to end up taking things too far and it will be like ten million instead.
So here we have this AU. The uh... I'm still working on a name. Any suggestions (Beyond the title, because that's the one everyone does.) are very welcome! This likely won't have frequent updates, seeing as Versability is on-going and the second half of Abomination is in the writing process right now. However, once Versability finishes, things will begin to speed up. As per usual, the first chapter is the shortest one, and everything else will pass 3,000 words.
Read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.
Maybe wandering in an unfamiliar forest in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Maybe refusing to buy spare batteries for the flashlight was also a bad idea. But while those ideas were both bad, they were no better than going on a hopeless trip to find a stupid book so he could find a long-lost brother. So, Stanley couldn't be mad at himself for getting lost in the dark. The way he saw it right now, he had two options: spend the night getting eaten alive by bugs and whatever crazy things lived in the forest, or continue searching for a way out until he was exhausted. He had brought food and a gun along with him in a backpack so he wouldn't be starving to death soon. But that didn't mean he wanted to spend any more time in the forest than necessary.
"Grrr..."
Stanley decided that he would search for an exit now, before he ran into some real problems. It was only the start of spring, so the forest was not very dense. Buds were beginning to bloom on the trees, and all the snow was starting to melt. It was still very cold at night. Stanley could see his breath, puffing out in little white clouds. He was grateful for his jacket, which at least sheltered him a little from the chill. The ground was slick and mushy underfoot, from all the rain the small town had been experiencing. More than once he had wound up stepping in a large, icy-cold mud puddle, because they were almost impossible to see in the dark of the night.
He only had the moon and the stars to light his way. And that sort of sentimental stuff was for losers. He was not going to follow any star home unless it gave him a map or a new flashlight. Luckily in some of the shadier areas, mainly where evergreens were growing, there was still snow on packed, dry ground. The pine trees shielded most of the elements with their branches, and he chose to stick near them to avoid the water.
Eventually, Stanley came to a clearing in the forest. He sighed, and sat down on a recently fallen tree. Everything looked the same in the woods. He definitely had no idea where he was going at this point. The search in the woods had started out fairly organized. He had looked around some of the places Stanford said he had investigated in the journal, but they all turned up nothing...
There was another growl, closer this time. It was impossible to see what was following him in the darkness, but he was not too interested in finding out either. Stanley got to his feet. He needed to start walking before that thing decided to catch up with him. The next snarl was too close for comfort. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Stanley ran to the nearest tree and flung down his backpack. He scaled it, gripping on to the sides for dear life.
The tree bark was very slick. He could not get a good hold on it, and Stanley felt himself starting to slide back down to the ground. He refused to go out like this. Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, he reached for a limb mere inches above him. It moved, and for a moment, Stanley thought he had broken it. He closed his eyes and waited for the worst, but he did not fall. The branch was still in place, it had bent. Branches didn't bend like a lever... Stanley did not dwell on it, because he was still holding on to the tree. Beneath him, he could hear more of the animal's angry cries. He already had a fear of heights, so he did not dare look down to see what the thing stalking him was.
Just as he thought he was safe up in the tree, the ground started to rumble. He felt himself starting to slide back down again. There was a loud yelp, and he heard tree limbs snapping. By the time the shaking had stopped, Stanley had reached the bottom of the tree. The real bottom of the tree. Still shaking himself, Stanley let go of the tree, and took in his new surroundings. The bottom of the tree was in a pit. There were stairs along the inside of the hole, leading back towards the top. There was also a doorway. Stanley looked at the entrance, and then back at the stairs.
He felt hope rise within him. This had Stanford's weird science finger-prints all over it. He needed to investigate. Stanley went back up the stairs, which were in good condition, if not a little slippery from the rain. He retrieved his backpack, and looked inside. The journal and his food was all still intact. He grabbed the gun, and a box of bullets. He tucked the bullets in his jacket pocket, and hung the gun on his belt loops. After some of the things he had found in the woods, Stanley knew that it wouldn't do much, but the small sense of security was welcoming. The entrance lead away to more stairs. They spiraled downwards, deep into the ground. Stanley held on to the railing as tightly as he could, not wanting to slip and fall. While it had been dark outside, there were at least natural sources of light. Here, there was nothing, no light to provide him with any visibility.
When he reached the bottom, he entered into a wide, open space. Stanley did not try to walk any farther, not knowing what crazy things to expect. He felt around his surroundings a little, and found that his eyes adjusted the longer he stood still. He could see the wall beside him, and there was a light switch. Stanley flicked it on. The room was instantly flooded with a harsh white light. His eyes watered, and he shielded himself from the brightness. Little spots appeared on the edges of his vision. But when his eyesight finally cleared, he was not disappointed.
It was a small, rectangular room. There was a bed with a worn mattress pushed into one corner. There was a wooden crate at the foot of it, and two shelves piled with books to the wall next to the bed. To the other side, there was a shelf. Stanley walked over to it. There were boxes. Neatly packed and neatly labeled. 1999, 2012, 2016... They all went on, for years and years. There were posters on the walls. He walked up to one next to a cabinet. Written in large, bold letters were the words: NUCLEAR FALLOUT SHELTER
Yeesh, he had known his brother was paranoid, but this was a little excessive. The Russians weren't just going to bomb a small town in the middle of nowhere. They'd been pretty quiet this year after all... He brushed the edge of the poster with the tips of his fingers. He had really been going crazy, hadn't he? Stanley was about to turn to the cabinet labeled weapons, when he felt something underneath the poster. He touched around the edges, and carefully pulled it up by the tape. Stanley set it on the bed gently. There was no point in destroying Stanford's things, and he didn't want him to get too mad if, when he returned. He had already taken over his brother's life, there was no need to ruin his stuff.
Behind the poster, there was a hatch. There was a warning written on it, but Stanley ignored it. He twisted the handle. There was a hiss of air, and the door swung open. There was a short tunnel inside, with a room on the other end. Stanley propped open the hatch as wide as possible, and he fixed it in place with a chair. If it closed, he might not be able to get out. He got on his hands and knees, and crawled through the short tunnel.
At first, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the other room. The walls and floors were all made up of metal square tiles. They had strange symbols drawn on them. They looked exactly like the kind of weird thing Stanford would have written in the journal. Stanley was used to being in places he shouldn't be. Bank vaults, the back of car trunks, the psychiatric ward, and everything in-between. He had a fair idea on what not to do when walking across the floor designed by his paranoid twin: avoid the spots with something on them.
His idea worked, for he made it over to the other end without any trouble. Then, he picked the lock on the door (At least the flashlight came in handy one last time before he broke the door knob.) And entered the next part of the bunker. The lights were already on in this area. They were much dimmer however, and they flickered occasionally. Humming machinery was placed along either wall. Most of it still looked like it was active. Dials and monitors glowed eerily in the wavering light. Stanley trailed his hand across the desk as he walked deeper into the lab.
Papers were scattered everywhere. Notes, sketches, plans for the future. All written in the same, familiar writing of his brother. Stanley did not doubt who the fallout shelter belonged to now. There was an abandoned set of glassware near a set of monitors. Volumetric flasks filled with strange, viscous-looking liquids, an empty burette attached to a retort stand, all of its slimy contents titrated into an Erlenmeyer flask... Stanley picked up a petri dish and brought it to his eye, making the surroundings appear magnified, before shrinking them again. He put it back down in place, and continued his walk to the end of the hall.
It could take him weeks just to search through all of this room. There were countless shelves, filing cabinets to break in to, and who knew how many secret compartments to discover. However, he did not have weeks. He had a small supply of food, and no other resources. Also, he was still lost in the woods. Even if he found his way out, what were the odds he would find the bunker again? Stanley decided that it was best to search all of the place for anything useful. But first, he needed to get an idea on how big this place really was.
At the end of the area, there was a room, about the size of a closet, designed for decontamination. He had enough bad memories of what decontamination involved when he was in the loony bin. Stanley skipped over that, by breaking open the next door (With the help of a clipboard that had been resting on the desk.) And leaping through before he was showered. The next room looked like something out of a horror movie. Most of the lights were shattered, and the functioning ones gave off a strange iridescent blue colour. It cast the area in a sickly shade, and did little to help with visibility.
Unlike the previous rooms, this one appeared to be unfinished. Or perhaps more destroyed. Pipes were running through the area, some of them still hissing. The ground, walls, and ceiling were all dirt. Loose, chewed-through cables were crept across the floor and snaked around more machinery. Stanley could only guess what the purpose of any of the machines were. They appeared to be large cages, or perhaps tubes. A way to keep something inside. The glass front on one of them was smashed. The pieces still littered the ground, and they crunched underfoot as he walked past it.
From deep in the cavern, there was the sound of dripping water. Puddles were everywhere on the floor, and there was no way for him to avoid stepping in them. The water must have been coming from the thawing snow above. Stanley could tell he was deep underground, as there were tree roots poking out from the top of the ceiling and some of the cave walls.
How strange to think that his brother had built all of this for his nerd stuff. He already had a lab back at the house. Heck, the entire house was his lab seeing as there was research everywhere. Why would he build a second, even more secretive lab? Why were his labs always underground? Did he have something against daylight? Remembering how pale Stanford had been, Stanley realized he probably did.
As he walked deeper into the area, Stanley came face-to-face with another wall. It was filled with holes, countless tunnels that could go anywhere in the underground. How was he supposed to navigate all of them and still come out of this alive? It was impossible, he could never go through all of them with what little he had on him.
Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, and his nose started to run. His throat grew taught and began to ache he tried to stop himself from crying. Stanley realized how hopeless the entire idea of searching this place was. There were tunnels everywhere! Countless holes dug in to the walls, no doubt leading to even more labs or projects or whatever Stanford had done with all the money of his. The weight of what he had to do pressed down on him again.
Stanley found himself slumping to the floor, holding his head as he tried to keep calm. This was impossible! There was nothing he could do without those other journals! There was nothing he could do to even find them without dying in the woods first. And on top of that he had bills to pay, a tourist trap to run, and a million other responsibilities that came with assuming Stanford's identity! He could handle nearly being killed. He could handle living in his car for the past ten years. But what he couldn't handle, was the thing he did not understand in the slightest!
So caught up was he in his emotions, Stanley did not realize something had snuck up behind him until it was too late. A sharp blow landed across the back of his head. Stars sprung up and swirled in front of his vision. A shrill ringing sounded in his ears. Stanley was stunned, but he had dealt with situations like this in the past. He reached for his gun, but he saw stopped.
A pair of hands even colder than the air of the bunker grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. When he struggled, another, dizzying blow struck him. He howled in agony as the excruciating pain blossomed in his head again. More stars popped in front of his eyes. He fought to keep them open, to avoid the coming darkness, but it was too late. He slipped in to a blissfully calm state of unawareness.