"We're going back to Gravity Falls."

"That was a statement, not a question, Sixer."

"Yes, that's correct, and it's final. I'm turning the boat around right now."

"No." He was in denial. Typical Stan.

"This isn't funny Stan! Serious stuff is going on here, and if I had the proper equipment I could assess it correctly, but I don't! We need to get back to the Shack!" I almost wanted to scream at him. I knew my argument was pretty feeble, and not to mention I had no evidence to back it up. If I told him the truth of the enormity of the situation, he wouldn't believe me.

My nerd brain, always on and calculating. Typical me.

"Alright, alright, you big brainiac. But I'm gonna to sit on the boat and complain and ask if we're there yet the whole way there."

"You do that." My comeback was bad, but I didn't have time or room in my brain to help him out at the moment.

We were marching to the dockyard, sand flying every which way as it was kicked up from our hustling feet. We had docked on Bermuda, in the Royal Naval Dockyard. Flags with the British insignia fluttered in the slight breeze. Stan tried to keep up behind me, carrying his singular suitcase and fez. He blumbered about in the sand, trying but failing to keep his balance as he raced to keep up with my pace. I held my laptop and briefcase in my left hand, and had my lab coat slung over my arm. In my right hand I dragged my rolling suitcase, which was airtight so that no sand could get in.

The boats were all lined up on the dock, and I looked them over as we passed by. A red boat happened to catch my eye. It was very large, and had three levels to it. It was lined with gold trim and it was named The Eye. It was gorgeous, and Stan look at me oddly as I sighed when we passed by. The paint was fresh, the trim was new, and it gleamed in the sunlight. The mast was over 30 meters high, and the sail was decorated with a large eye emblem and The Eye printed below it. The sail was gold, too, like the trim. The overall effect of the boat was overwhelming, broad, and intense. It stood there amongst the other ships like a grand general, commanding his army. I was reluctant to leave it, but I knew we had to hurry back to Gravity Falls. If we didn't set sail now, it would be too dark to steer the boat.

When we arrived at our small boat, the Stan O' War II, I jogged up the ramp onto our boat, and positioned my items down below, strapped to the walls so nothing would fall. Stan was right behind me, even making a small seat for his fez. I rolled my eyes, but he caught me looking and hurriedly put it back on his head, blushing. "Nerd!" He said in his defense, and I laughed out loud as I ran back up to the deck. I then quickly took hold of the steering wheel, turned us around, and pulled us out of the port we were in. We had clearance to dock here because we were certified paranormal investigators, and even sported badges to prove it. My badge, pinned just above my name printed onto my jacket, Ford Pines, glinted in the morning sunlight as we sailed out of the dockyard.

It was quiet for a while. Just the breeze, sun, water, and us. Then I noticed the quietness wasn't emanating from us because we were simply quiet. It was because something was missing. That was when I turned around.

I saw it, oh the horror, I saw it sticking from his side. He smiled weakly at me. He tried removing it at first, but when he saw that the harpoon was in too deep, he gave up and collapsed on the floor. There was no blood, no gore, and I was grateful for that. He looked up at me, his brown eyes glinting in the sunlight, reflecting in my own. Blue on brown, the first gazing with intent and purpose, fierce and determined to save, the second slowly draining of itself, it's life source being pulled from it. I rushed towards him as soon as I saw him collapse, and shifted from captain to doctor in almost an instant.

"Stan, stay with me Stanley, don't move, breath slow and deep." I murmured to him, keeping quiet less I disturb him or cause him to panic.

"Ford, if I don't make it-" He whispered feebly, his breathing coming out in rasps of pain and spittle.

"No." I said sternly, being firm with him, "Follow my breathing. In," I breathed in, deeply and slowly, held it for a second, and he followed along, trusting my advice for once in his life, "Now out," I let go, letting my air flow easily from my lips, slow, still so slow. I needed this moment to last, I needed it to stay this way and move oh so slowly.

This was crucial. If I rushed or went to fast, he might be a goner. I stripped his clothes from his body, then used it to soak what little blood there was. The harpoon hadn't went too deep, but if I didn't cleanse the wound fast it was sure to become infected. The harpoon was small, smaller than usual, and there was no connecting line, just a silver tip sticking out. I hoped my minor in medical school would be able to help. I had gotten a diploma... I tried to think straight and remember my training. First you need to reassure the patient, so they don't make it worse. Check. Make sure their breathing is secure, and no major organs are damaged. Check. Then we need supplies to fix up the wound. Before I pulled the harpoon out, I stood up and made to go get the first aid kit, but Stan gasped and spluttered. "Ford! No, don't leave me!" His tone was pleading and desperate, small and weak and vulnerable. It was quiet as well, almost a whisper, but it caused his body to cough and wrack with pains. I had never seen him like this. It made my eyes well up with tears, my heart to reach out towards him. I hoped that once I fixed him, I would never have to see him this way again. It was pitiful and horrible to watch, like a dying wounded animal fresh for the kill, the final blow, the last strike.

I took a deep breath.

I needn't think like that,

I scolded myself,

get a grip, he will survive, he WILL.

I reassured Stan that I would be back as soon as possible, then started down the stairs and found the first aid kit.

I hope he's okay, he's my twin, the only family I have left besides Mabel and Dipper,

I took the stairs back up two at a time,

Who did this?

Stan groaned, his body almost devoid of life,

Why would they do such a thing?

My mind was in overdrive, calculating, trying to understand,

Who? What? Why? Where? When?

I ran towards him, almost skidding in the fresh blood from his wound,

I thought I had been watching him, I'm his brother, I should've been watching,

Kneeling next to him, I opened the kit and laid the tools out,

All my fault, it's all my fault, it's always all my fault,

and I urged him to not fall asleep,

Can't I do anything right?

He weakly smiled and winked at me,

Sure, Stan might steal the occasional tangerine,

I almost laughed at the small gesture,

but he's not some kind of evil supervillain!

but reminded myself that this was serious, so I merely smiled.

He's okay, I have the tools now, he's okay,

"Stay awake, Stanley, stay with me!"

Once I get him back to health,

I kept telling him to keep it up, he was doing great,

I will find the person who did this,

I took out the tools, pulled out the harpoon, cleansed his wound.

and make them pay.

Chapter 3, now with extra tragedy, free of charge! Been triggered yet? Jk, but will you believe me when I say I actually didn't mean it to be so nasty? Also, the part with The Eye boat was pretty lame I think, I just added it to maybe use later in the story. But sorry if it's kinda bleh. I've never had to describe a boat before, and I actually had to look up the parts of a boat just to write accurately about it. XD

It just got very emotional very quick. Sorry... but I guess tragedy emphasizes and helps bring a story together! Yes? No? I promise, I'll clear this up. (There's a million things I haven't done...just you wait, just you wait...)

Ford: No! Not my brother! Don't take him away, we haven't even gotten that far into the story yet!

Me: Oh gosh, I didn't mean it to be this way, I'm so sorry Ford-

Ford: Don't you say sorry to me! Do you know how many times I've heard that, and it's never been sincere?! YOU'RE KILLING MY TWIN!

Me: *blushing fiercely* Aw what a cute, overprotective, puffed-up owl.

Ford: SHUT UP ABOUT MY OWLISH TENDENCIES

Me: Now for chapter 4, where Stan's fate is sealed...

Ford: NOOOOOOOOOOO *wailing and crying while being pulled away by men in white coats*

Me: Yikes. I was just kidding.

Soos: Yea, you know her and Dipper's jokes are terrible.

Me: Soos, where'd you come from?

Soos: Doo doo doo, just awkwardly listening in on your conversations from backstage...

Me: You're not even in my story.

Soos: Yep.

Me: *turns away* creepy...

Btw, if anyone has any ideas for a title for this story, it would be greatly appreciated! The title right now is just a placeholder, and I don't have any real ideas for it rn. I'd like for a simplistic yet bold title if you can come up with one. Thanks!