AN: Wow. Wasn't expecting to come back to this fandom quite so soon, but this idea got stuck in my head and much like my last story I just had to write it down. Most of what I want to say about this include spoilers, so I'll save most of my comments for the bottom.

Enjoy!

The college student shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited on the doorstep of the shack, trying to hold back a yawn. He had heard a number of complaints from others on campus about how terrible the summer research internship was in Gravity Falls, the first of which being the practical nonexistence of civilization that far in the country. Charlie had been thinking they were over-exaggerating, after all, half his friends believed he must have grew up on a hick corn farm just because he's from Kansas. He hoped that the majority of the rumors were wrong, after all, he was really desperate for the combination of research experience and the free room and board that came with the gig, but seeing the first prediction come true didn't make him feel any more optimistic about his summer.

Charlie turned back to look in the direction of the town- in the direction with the lowest density of trees, he mentally corrected, as he rang the doorbell the second time, wondering if he got the address wrong. It wasn't like there was any other place it could be, he reminded himself. The only thing in any direction was forest: tall, uniform pines reaching out as far as the eye could see (which would be a lot farther if everything wasn't blocked by damn trees).

Just as Charlie rang the doorbell a third time he heard a shout inside. "Hey, I'm coming, I'm coming! Don't go pressing that thing any more than you need to you'll break it!"

The door opened in front of Charlie to reveal a man in his late twenties to early thirties, with dark, slicked back hair, a trace of a five-o-clock shadow, and what might be the biggest nose Charlie had ever seen. The boy must realized he must have been staring at the offending appendage when the man coughed, staring at him blankly as a voice that sounded way too old and scratchy asked "who the hell are you kid?"

"Nothing! I- uh…" Great, Charlie thought as he realized he was so nervous the man would accuse him of staring at his weird nose that Charlie completely forgot to listen to his question. This is going just great. Exactly what I get for not sleeping well last night. "I'm your intern for the summer. I think. This is 618 Gopher Road, right?"

The man gave him a funny look. "It is, kid. But what are you doing here? It's not summer."

"It's May 3rd."

"Exactly."

"School lets out on the first."

The door opened all the way as the man moved aside, "I forgot how stupid you nerd are with your inability to read a damn calendar. I'm Stanford Pines by the way." A hand reached over to Charlie, who looked between his duffle bags in each hand, then to the waiting hand before setting one down and shaking it. As the boy fully entered the shack he got a better look at Stanford: the man wore an old white t-shirt and a nondescript pair of jeans and appeared to be holding an open can of brown meat in the other hand, a fork resting lazily inside. This was definitely not what he was expecting.

"Um, are you a professor on the project sir?" Charlie winced even as he said the word sir, not even certain the term could be applied to someone like Stanford no matter what qualifications the man had.

"Ha! I like your gumption, kid! No, I just live here. I leave all the research and other nerdy stuff to Fiddle and the others."

Charlie couldn't help the automatic reaction that escaped his lips, "do you mean Professor McGuckett, sir?"

"So that's what the uptight nerd's going by these days?" The man laughed in a way that left Charlie unsure whether he or Professor McGuckett was the one bearing the brunt of Stanford's jokes. "Anyway, kid, here's your room, right up here in the attic."

Calling it a bedroom was a little bit of an exaggeration. While it was bigger than Charlie was expecting (he had spent the past two years living in a college dorm, after all), half of it was taken up by old boxes of stored goods. The other half of the room had a bare twin bed with wooden, splinter-filled walls leaning down over it, to the point it looked better suited to sleep a twelve year old. Charlie noted he would have to either be extremely careful navigating his adult frame out of bed each morning or invest in a good pair of tweezers.

"Um, Stanford, sir? If you don't really mind, I think I'm gonna unpack and call it a night."

"Really kid? It's like four o clock in the afternoon."

"I didn't sleep that well last night. You know, being on the road and all."

Stanford paused for a second, before letting out a gruff laugh, "Ha! Guess you better get all ready for to work for the hoity-toity "Professor" tomorrow!" Charlie just sent him a deadpan stare.

"Yeesh, kid, I was just fiddling' around!"

Another pause.

"It's a pun, kid. You're supposed to laugh."

…

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow morning kid. Good night!" With a slam to the door that left it shaking (although Charlie couldn't tell if it was from excessive force or if it was just a really beat up door), Stanford finally left Charlie alone in the attic. The college student quickly unpacked his meager belonging from his two duffle bags and set the last of his things, two ornate notebooks passed down from his great-uncle, on the nightstand at the head of the bed.

He picked up the both of them and sheepishly scratched the back of his head, he was planning on bringing all three of them in hopes of impressing the professor, but if Stanford's attitude was anything to go by this summer would already be much different than he thought. It's a good thing, too, Charlie noted, seeing how badly I messed it up already. Indeed, when Charlie forgot the third journal at home he optimistically reminded himself he'd just have to limit his notes to two books and come back next summer. But after he woke up from the worst nightmare of his night last night and scribbled all over the pages of Two without even realizing it Charlie was torn between leaving all of his serious notes to One or just forgetting the idea altogether. Charlie opened the cover of two to examine the drawings he made in its opening pages, hoping that maybe after some time had passed he'd be able to look over what he'd scribbled in hysteria without feeling the stress he had when he'd tried on the bus.

There were two pages filled with various sketched reflecting his dreams: various people, men and women of all ages and ethnicities, although the women all appeared to be younger adults. The most common feature, however, across all of the men and something simply doodled separately on their own, were the eyes. Some were clear, some clouded over, some showing the impression the beholder was happy and satisfied while others brimming with rage, yet all of them had a certain hint of malice within their depths.

And despite having been drawn by a sleep-deprived college student at three am in the black ink of a cheap hotel pen, each pair gave the striking impression that they were yellow.

Charlie could hear the sounds Stanford talking on the phone from the floor below, and based on the uncomfortable laughs of Stanford as he spoke and the references to "he's fit as a fiddle but a bit odd", Charlie could only guess the man was checking him in with the professor. As he heard the telltale signs of footsteps on the staircase (guess he wouldn't have to worry about being snuck up on this summer), he made his way to answer the door before his new neighbor even had the chance to knock.

"I probably should've asked you before you came and settled into the house, being a responsible adult and all," the man groaned as that got his first chuckle out of Charlie, "but what's your name again kid?"

"Chuck. Chuck Shurley."

"Well, goodnight ki-Chuck. Get a good night's sleep or whatever." The door was halfway closed before Stanford pushed his hand in the way.

"It's Stan by the way. And uh, hope you enjoy your summer here in Gravity Falls."

Chuck made his way over to his bed and flipped the journal closed, resting his hand over the six-fingered handprint on the cover, hoping he wouldn't have too many nights filled with weird dreams and demons and creatures. Little did Chuck know he wouldn't be getting a good night's sleep for a very long time.

AN: Yeah. After thinking about the whole Chuck wrote Supernatural thing I just couldn't get the crossover theory of Chuck being the author out of my mind. A couple of notes about little details in this world, because I'm highly considering writing more of it. I can't decide if it'll be individual one-shots, a collection of one shots in this story, or actually trying to create a distinctive plot (I will make no guarantees about timeliness in this case because it's completely up to my muse/schedule. So feel free to review or pm your thoughts and opinions, because that's definitely the best way to keep the inspiration coming!

World-building points:

1. I was highly conflicted here about bring the whole Stanley/Stanford twin theory in. I felt originally I wanted to try sticking as close to canon as possible, but if you look closely I left him a lot of room (specifically calling Stan "Stanford" most of the time, his not being a scientist implies someone who lives in the Shack is, etc.).

2. The official date of this story is May 3rd, 1972. That means Chuck's prophetic dreams first started on May 2nd, 1972. This was picked from Supernatural as 10 years before Sam was born. Originally I was planning on having it be the night of Mary's deal, but then the summer intern idea wouldn't make sense. Having a college get out before May is a lot easier (I know of a couple that do). So in timeline land McGuckett is researching the portal, Azazel is running around making deals, and in six months he'll go after Mary Winchester and shit begins.

3. Chuck is 19-20ish. Stan and McGuckett are late twenties, early thirties depending on how old you think they are on the show. McGuckett has been a professor for a few years and isn't taken very seriously because people think the idea of building an inter-dimensional portal in the middle of nowhere is a bit insane.

4. Chuck either is a science major until he very quickly switches/drops out of college altogether due to trauma from this summer, or he's an English/journalism major who's just really desperate for a job. Whichever floats your boat.

Please feel free to comment about this idea, whether it's questions, ideas, or wanting to write something of your own.