More fuzzy stuff (at the beginning, at least). Let me just respond to reviews first, then I'll leave you on your way.
Liliana Dragonshard: Yep, Lee is going down *grins evilly, clearly with an evil plot in mind* And I intend to have some fun with Stanford's social anxiety before fixing it, so keep your eyes peeled for that! ;)
HowAboutThat: Haha, thanks. I owe it to you for these endings, and you're welcome :D
Here's the chapter right now! Prepare to hate me!
Aleja08: Oops. My mistake. ^^; I'm too lazy to change it, though. Sorry if that's a bother to you.
Candymouse22 (Guest): Thank you! Err... you might not be finding it great at the end... Just saying...
So, this here is the second to last chapter of 'Reconciliation', and I have to thank all of you for the 17 faves and the 16 follows that I've got already. I never expected for this story to get so much attention so fast, and it makes me feel all fuzzy to know that there are people out there who will put up with my sadistic insanity. Just... do me one last favour...
Forgive me for this chapter's ending.
Chapter 3 – Another Rough Night
That night, Stanford couldn't sleep. Again. He was in Stanley's bed again, and said twin was fast asleep on the couch in the living room. Tossing and turning, Stanford somehow managed to get himself hogtied by the sheets within ten minutes of getting into bed.
He continued his restless tirade until late into the night, when; in his frustration; he wound up rolling over and falling out of the bed, landing on his face in the process. Now his nose throbbed painfully, and he couldn't find his darn glasses.
After several minutes of blindly groping around for his glasses, Ford finally managed to find them and slipped them onto his dry, stinging eyes. Once everything was returned to clarity, he straightened himself out and headed for the kitchen. Because two o'clock in the morning was the perfect time for toast.
In the kitchen, he methodically placed the bread in the toaster and got the jam and knife out for when it was ready.
"Hey, Grunkle Ford."
Stanford barely managed to supress the yell of panic that suddenly wanted its way out of his throat. Spinning round to face the source of the voice, he was surprised to find Mabel at the door, looking up at him blearily.
"Oh… Mabel, it's… it's just you. Right. Good, I, um… ahem, right. So… is everything alright?"
Mabel nodded and shot him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good," she said. "Just after a midnight snack. Seems you beat me to it, huh?"
Stanford's eyes flickered over to the bread that was still in the toaster. "Yep," he replied, allowing himself to relax. "Nothing like some jam and toast at two o'clock in the morning."
The girl gave him a deadpan look, as if he'd just said or done something stupid. "Really?" she questioned incredulously. "Grunkle Ford, jam is for breakfast, not midnight snacks. What you need is this."
Prancing over to one of the cupboards, Mabel rifled through them until she brought out another jar, this time full of a brown substance.
"I present to you; chocolate spread," she announced proudly. "The perfect thing for a midnight snack."
"I'll take your word for it," Stanford chuckled, stepping back to allow Mabel to slather the chocolate spread on the toast and dish it out for him. Once that was done, they both sat at the table and dug into the sweet treat. "This isn't that bad."
"What do you expect? Nobody can shun chocolate. Unless you're allergic, then you kinda have to."
Stanford hummed in acknowledgement and swallowed a mouthful of toast. As he continued to eat, he noticed Mabel observing him closely, her scrutinising gaze making him feel uncomfortable.
"Are you okay, Grunkle Ford?" she asked out of the blue, catching him by surprise.
"Yes, I'm fine," Stanford dismissed, but his niece didn't look convinced.
"Then how come you're eating like that?" she questioned.
"I'm having a midnight snack, just like you said."
"No you're not. You're comfort eating. Something's bothering you."
Can she really tell that much just by the way I eat? Stanford questioned in mental wonderment. Ingenious.
"I suppose… I'm not in the best of sorts," he admitted. "Nothing serious, though; just a bit of stress."
"Ish that why you loogh lighe 'oo 'aven' shlep in a while?" Mabel continued through a mouthful of toast.
"Yes. A lot of my attention was on my work."
"Well, shtop it," Mabel mumbled. "Sh'not healthy."
An unexpected chuckle made its way out of Stanford's chest as he took in Mabel's appearance. The pre-teen looked like a disgruntled chipmunk; her mouth and cheeks completely stuffed with chocolatey toast, and sizeable smears of the sweet substance covering her face.
"Wassho funny?" she enquired before finally swallowing her food.
"Hehe, sorry," Stanford snickered. "I just realised how much you looked like a chipmunk with your mouth full like that."
Upon this revelation, Mabel grinned. "Well, I know what to put on my latest sweater, now," she declared. "Thank you, Grunkle Ford."
"You're welcome. Now, are you done with your snack?"
"Yepadoodles."
"Good. Now off to bed; I don't want Stanley tanning my hide for letting you have chocolate in the middle of the night."
"Okay. Goodnight, Grunkle Ford."
"Sweet dreams, Mabel."
Wiping the chocolate from her face, Mabel hopped down from her seat and made her way upstairs. Stanford waited to make sure she'd definitely gone upstairs before rising to his feet and clearing everything away. Once done, he returned to Stanley's room to try and get to sleep.
A while later, he felt his eyelids drooping, but a jolt of fear snapped them open again. He still couldn't sleep. In a burst of frustration, he got up again, picked up a blanket from the foot of the bed along with a pillow, and hastily went downstairs into the living room. There, he found Stanley fast asleep on the couch, snoring heavily. One arm was hanging off of it, fingertips brushing the floor.
Cursing himself for his weakness, Stanford placed the blanket and pillow on the floor in front of the couch and lay down on it. He hated this. He hated having to rely on everyone else for something as simple as a good night's sleep. Stanley was right; he couldn't take care of himself. He'd starved himself for a week – spent most of that time drunk – gotten so absorbed in his work that it came before anything else, including his own family, and he'd lost count of the amount of near-death scrapes he'd gotten into throughout the last forty years. Heck, he'd nearly lost his soul to Bill Cipher! What sort of moron allowed that to happen to themselves?!
An exasperated sigh escaped him as he backed up against the couch, feeling Stanley's hand against his back as he did so. It was oddly comforting, but he flinched when the hand lifted and rested on top of his shoulder. Sheesh. Paranoid, much?
It took a while, but eventually, the steady, rumbling snores of his brother became all-too familiar, and his eyelids felt heavy once more. The paranoid voice in the back of his mind told him not to give in, but he didn't listen this time.
Just let me sleep, you annoying little prat, he grumbled silently as he slipped into darkness. I'm tired and miserable, so just leave me alone.
Several days later, Stanford left the Mystery Shack in a bad mood after having just ended a heated argument with his brother. With Journal #3 in hand, he spent the rest of the day exploring the woods, looking for something to research and document. He came across an unusual-looking dog, but mere seconds after spotting it, the animal darted off deeper into the forest. Twice, he'd fallen into the same ditch whilst trying to approach a familiar-looking gnome, and he'd nearly been knocked out of a tree that he'd climbed in order to approach an unfamiliar species of bird. Clearly, today was not going his way.
When he finally arrived back at the shack, he'd expected a grouchy Stanley to be shooting him dark glares whilst preparing dinner. What he'd actually come back to was a pale-faced Dipper and a distraught-looking Mabel, both looking up at Soos, who was nervously talking on the phone.
"We'll be right there," the gopher-looking man said quietly before hanging up.
"Is something wrong?" Stanford asked, concern biting at his chest.
Both of the younger Pines twins turned to look at him with frightened eyes. "G-Grunkle Stan's just… just been in a car accident," Dipper murmured.
Bill: *stares at me dumbfoundedly* I knew you were sadistic, but I didn't think you'd take it this far! Not even I am that cruel!
Howls: *currently crying out of self-loathing and because of the next chapter* I know! I don't know why I do this! Somebody help me! *breaks down into a sobbing mess*
Bill: *sighs* Review, you lousy fleshbags. Send her a link to some psychologist before she turns me into a kitten and gets me run over.
Howls: *still wailing* I'm so sorry!