What kind of brother would he be if he let Ford spend the next thirty years locked in this house? Granted, probably a better brother than if he had let Ford get knocked into that portal and then started Weirdmageddon getting him back but he already fixed that so the next step was to get Ford to be less of a hermit.

"Ford, I've been here for a week and a half now and you haven't left this house once," Stan announced. "Or if you have it's only when I'm sleeping or when I'm out, too, in which case I'm a little suspicious why you feel the need to hide the fact you're leaving the house from me. Either way, it's weird."

"I can't leave the house," Ford told him, not looking up from his journal.

"Okay, pretend that's not ridiculous for a second," Stan said. "Why not?"

"There's a portal to another dimension in the basement," Ford reminded him. "It could help bring about the end of the world. I can't just leave it unattended."

"Well…I'm also here," Stan pointed out.

"That's not any better than leaving it unattended," Ford told him. "Or, well, not much better at any rate."

Stan narrowed his eyes at him. "Gee, thanks."

Ford shook his head impatiently. "No, that's not what I meant."

"You really should start actually saying what you mean because I don't know if it's Freud or what but you keep accidentally insulting me," Stan complained.

"I'm just stressed out," Ford said. "Look, I inserted a metal plate into my head. I'm safe from possession by Bill. You dismissed the idea of getting a plate in your own head out of hand-"

"As, I would like to think, any normal person would do," Stan interrupted.

"Normal people don't find themselves in these kinds of situations," Ford said. "You are not protected against Bill. This house is not protected against Bill. I can't just walk away and risk him choosing to attack when this place is vulnerable. I can't even guarantee he won't attack when I'm sitting right here."

"You could always dismantle the portal," Stan offered.

Ford shook his head. "I couldn't risk it."

"Why not?" Stan asked. "You think you'd do it wrong or something?"

"Not exactly," Ford replied. "Taking the portal down safely is very delicate, very dangerous work. I would need to be completely focused. And if Bill hasn't attacked before, he definitely will if he catches wind of what I'm doing. I covered or otherwise disposed of all the images of Bill that I've found to stop him from seeing what I do but I can't risk it. Not when the fate of the world could be jeopardized by a mistake or a distraction."

"So it sounds like what we need to do is Bill-proof this place," Stan said. "Because while I do love you, Ford, I do not love you enough to let you perform brain surgery on me and metal plates do not belong in people's heads."

"I keep telling you, Stan, I did it to myself and I'm perfectly fine," Ford told him.

Stan laughed. "We seriously need to reevaluate your definition of the word 'fine.'"

"Well it's not like there's any real way to protect the house, either," Ford said. "If there was I would have done it already."

Stan frowned. That didn't seem right. While he had been a little busy quickly getting rid of some pugs after the news anchors had, for some reason, felt the need to remind everyone that he had a truly impressive criminal record (or, well, Stanford Pines did at any rate) to help out, he had heard afterwards that they had found a way to protect the Shack. It was why that was pretty much the only building still standing in Gravity Falls after Weirdmageddon had started. Since he had been there for Ford's last moments in this dimension originally, it would have to be something Ford already knew about as he certainly hadn't gotten out very much before they'd stopped Bill.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "There's nothing? Not even a long-shot?"

Ford hesitated. "Well…"

"I like the sound of that. Sounds much better than 'literally nothing'," Stan said.

"There is something that should theoretically work on Bill," Ford said. "It hasn't been tested, of course, because before there was no need for it. I would need moonstones, mercury, and unicorn hair. The first two wouldn't be a problem but the last one…I really don't think it's even worth attempting."

"Why, are there not any unicorns in Gravity Falls or something?" Stan asked. And who knew? Maybe there weren't. There must have been some in 2012 but that was a long time from now. Things have a way of changing.

"No, there are, they're just…extremely frustrating," Ford said with an expression of distaste.

"More frustrating than not having a way to keep Bill out?" Stan challenged.

Ford hesitated.

"Ford."

"I mean, it really is a toss-up," Ford said. "I encountered some a few years ago, before I'd even heard of Bill, and I just…that was not a good experience."

"Well I'm sorry that you need to face them again but you really do need to face them again," Stan said quietly.

Ford sighed. "You're probably right."

"Now, you know all about this but, given your previous difficulties, I'd like to come with you," Stan said. "Would the house be alright for a few hours, do you think? I mean, you must have left before I came, right? If only to get groceries and stuff."

"I did but not for very long," Ford replied. "I don't know that you'd be able to help but having you can't hurt."

In a way, that was progress. Stan just had to keep telling himself that.

"I probably wouldn't be very much good at the sha-house without that metal plate, right?" Stan asked rhetorically, refusing to feel bad about not being willing to stick a metal plate into his own head.

"Bill can't just force his way in if you've never made a deal," Ford said. "And I very much doubt you've made a deal. But he's crafty."

"Yeah, well, so am I and I haven't been conned since 74," Stan said. Which was actually quite a bit longer than Ford thought but eight years was also perfectly respectable, especially at their supposed age.

"Why do you keep calling my house 'the shack' anyway?"

Stan just coughed and said nothing.

The thing about Ford on a mission was that it was too easy for him to get overly focused on it and not want to think about anything else. And while this was important, there was only so much they needed to discuss about unicorns.

Stan remembered when that wasn't the case, when he could get Ford to focus on something else even while they were working, but those days had been left behind in New Jersey and he wasn't sure just yet how to get them back.

"This is the magical part of the forest," Ford announced finally.

"Magic part?" Stan asked. "What about all those weird things we passed on our way here?"

"It's not as though there's a barrier keeping the creatures in," Ford said. "Most magical creatures can and do leave the magical areas even if that's not where they belong. But this is the kind of place we need to be at if we want to summon a unicorn."

"Well your voice is deeper than mine so I'll let you get to it," Stan said. "Mind sharing how you managed to figure out how to summon a unicorn anyway?"

Ford shrugged. "As to that it was just a matter of asking the right people. Summoning unicorns isn't really a secret. No one likes to have anything to do with them. Well, except that gnome therapist who specializes in people who just got back from seeing a unicorn."

"Why would there need to be a therapist who specialized in people who just saw a unicorn?" Stan asked.

"Because unicorns are terrible," Ford said simply. "You'll see soon enough."

"So who did you have to ask to figure out how to defeat an army of zombies?" Stan asked.

Ford gave him a sharp look. "Stan, I don't mention anything about the undead until my third journal. Which is safely hidden. How do you know about-"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Like we live in a world with unicorns but not zombies. I refuse to believe it. My very manliness depends on it. And I just figure that if there were zombies anywhere they'd be in this weirdo town and so you'd have a way to deal with it."

Ford gave him an inscrutable look. "You assume that if there was a problem that I'd know how to deal with it?"

Stan shrugged. "Or figure it out, yeah."

Ford laughed bitterly. "Were that that were so."

Stan crossed his arms. "Look, if you're talking about Bill-"

"That's a pretty big problem," Ford interrupted.

"Yeah, sure, but then what do you call what we're doing right now?"

"A fool's errand. You don't know unicorns."

"We'll succeed. Just watch. Or what about you putting the metal in your head to begin with?"

"Desperation that might have gotten me killed or left me brain damaged."

"But it didn't. How about calling me out here in the first place?" Stan pressed.

"That did not even accomplish my objective," Ford said.

"Yeah but now you're not alone in this so I'd call it a win. And you're going to dismantle the portal and then things will be fine."

"Bill's still out there."

"And he can't control you and he won't be able to touch the shack and I won't make a deal," Stan countered. "And since he has to possess people and doesn't actually exist in our dimension, there's only so much he can even do. I mean, you're probably not ever going to get a good night's sleep again but that's not on the same scale as the end of the world."

"If we can pull this off," Ford said, sounding dubious. "And you called it the shack again."

Stan shrugged. "That's just how I think about it."

"It's just a little rude to call my house a shack. It's a very nice house."

"I agree," Stan said. "I'm pretty fond of it, too. Just ignore the negative, uh, what is it that makes it shack sound like a bad word."

"Connotations," Ford said. "Say I do. Why do you keep thinking of it as a shack?"

"It reminds me of another place I knew," Stan said reluctantly. "Though this is in far better shape. The Mystery Shack."

Ford wrinkled his nose. "Is that one of those fake tourist trap kind of places that eschews really paranormal things in favor of gluing antlers on fish and things like that?"

"Actually, that would make a great attr-I mean, yes. Yes it was."

"I hate those kinds of places."

Stan sighed. "I know. But come on, you didn't tell me about the zombies. You did figure out how to beat zombies, right? Please tell me you did."

Was it a miracle or did Ford just smile at him?

"Yes, Stan, I do know how to stop the undead."

Stan waited but Ford seemed to be finished. He may be the Author but the man clearly knew nothing about storytelling. "And? Don't hold out on me!"

"We had been trying to raise the dead," Ford explained. No need to ask who 'he' was. "But we were, uh, perhaps not fully prepared for it. And there wasn't time to sit down and plan it out. Fortunately, it was karaoke night at the local bar."

Stan stared at him, a grin on his face. "You're kidding."

Ford shook his head. "I wish I could say that I was. But how else does one discover you need a perfect part harmony to stop them? I'm just lucky the singers had some talent."

"Wow. That's amazing, Ford," Stan said.

Ford looked taken aback. "You think so?"

"Of course! You figured out how to raise the dead and then stop it? Maybe I don't support creating zombies but at least you figured out how to stop it."

Ford gave him a small, pleased smile. "Well, I do what I can."

"No need to be modest. You do a lot more than that. And now you're about to summon a freaking unicorn!" It made him a little sad just how little it took to make Ford happy, even with someone he still clearly didn't want around. If he hadn't realized how lonely and isolated Ford was, before…

Ford, still smiling a little, stepped forward, flipped through his journal, and started chanting.

Nothing happened for a moment, a moment in which Stan felt the absence of Mabel keenly, before the ground started shaking and giant circle thing came shooting out of the ground.

"Now be careful," Ford cautioned as they pushed through the door. "Unicorns are…frustrating."

Stan nodded though he hadn't gotten enough information about Mabel's trip to see the unicorns to know what he was in for.

He saw a beautiful white horse with a rainbow mane, eyes so big it kind of freaked him out, and a horn. "So that's a unicorn."

"That's a unicorn," Ford confirmed, sounding a bit needlessly grim. He slipped off his shoes and gestured for Stan to do the same. "No need to make this harder than it has to be."

Stan reluctantly took off his shoes and followed his brother to the unicorn.

"Greetings, humans," the unicorn said. Oh, God, her voice was annoying. "I am Celestabellebethabelle."

He snorted. "Yeah, there is no way I'm remembering that."

Ford elbowed him in the stomach. "We need some of your hair. It's important."

"Why, of course!" she said, drawing the last word out. "As long as you are pure of heart."

"What now?" Stan asked skeptically. Though that did sound sort of familiar.

Ford was standing closer so it was his chest that began to glow.

Celestawhatever reared back on her hind legs in horror. "Your heart is not pure! Wrong! This is all wrong!"

Ford sent a strangely guilty look Stan's way. "Yes, I know that, but-"

The unicorn peered loser at Ford. "Oh, but I've met you before, haven't I?"

Ford met her gaze evenly. "You have."

"Your heart is not pure at all! So very wicked!" the unicorn cried out, looking like she was pained by whatever she had seen in Ford's heart.

To Stan, this sounded like a load of bunk. Pure of heart? Nobody was pure of heart. They weren't Disney princesses; they were real people.

But Ford looked upset and, coincidentally, Stan wanted to beat the crap out of this unicorn.

"I know that," Ford said again. "But-"

"I'm sorry," the unicorn said, not sounding at all sorry. "But those are the rules. No pure heart, no hair. Now unless your friend wants to see what their heart looks like, you can both leave."

"Stan?" Ford asked.

He laughed. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Ford's shoulders slumped. "Well, we tried."

"Is that it?" Stan couldn't believe it. But no wonder Ford hadn't had any faith in this plan if he was willing to just let one unicorn send him packing after two minutes.

"I will not give you any hair," the unicorn repeated. "And, unfortunately for you, I am the last of my kind."

"Yeah, whatever."

The unicorn drew back warily. "What are you suggesting? I'm starting to see why you didn't want to test your heart."

"Stanley, we're not going to change her mind," Ford said. "Let's just go."

"We don't have to convince her," Stan assured him.

"What was that?" the unicorn asked, lowering her horn threateningly. Like Stan had any intention in losing to an armed horse.

"Have you ever actually met someone 'pure of heart'?" Stan demanded. "Oh, wow, I had a bikini fantasy. Not so pure anymore. And even before that, that kid pushed his sister down. Bye-bye pure of heart. I mean, maybe you could have a pure of heart infant but they don't have much going on there. And I've met some shifty-eyed babies."

"What are you saying?" the unicorn asked.

"I'm saying this pure of heart racket is almost offensive," Stan said.

"Oh, finally, someone seeing through this," another unicorn said, wandering by. "It's so depressing watching all these mortals fall for it."

"Hey, what happened to 'last of my kind'?" Stan asked, not even surprised.

Ford's fists were clenched and shaking. "All this time…and it's not even true."

"Not even a little," the second unicorn said. "I don't know why C-Beth keeps doing this. We cannot and never have been able to detect 'heart purity', whatever that even means."

"Well, what do you expect?" the first unicorn whined. "Everyone always comes up to me demanding hair and I don't want to give it away. It's mine. But they just keep asking. They 'need it' because it's a 'matter of life and death.' And they already come in believing the pure of heart thing. It makes them go away a lot sooner than just saying no."

"And I'm sure you made a bunch of people feel like crap," Stan said angrily. Had Mabel been told this? Did it hurt her? "They didn't deserve it."

"It's not my problem," the unicorn said indifferently.

"We're not leaving without that hair," Ford said firmly.

"I'm not going to give it to you just because you know the truth," the unicorn said.

Stan put on his brass knuckles. "I think we're willing to just take it."

When they returned to the Shack, they were laughing. Ford was carrying the blood he needed and Stan had the chest of gold and jewels the unicorns gave them to go away. That should come in handy.

Stan dropped the chest off inside then came back out to watch a protective barrier forming around the place. He did have to admit that he felt safer seeing it.

"That was so much more fun than I expected!" Ford said, still exhilarated.

"Yeah, I can see why if you had to deal with that," Stan said.

"I can't believe we beat up a bunch of unicorns," Ford said, shaking his head. "I cannot even believe it."

"Yeah, it's one for the scrapbooks alright," Stan said. It was a first for him, too, even if he'd also beaten up a pterodactyl and zombie horde. "Was that your first fight in a while?"

"You know what?" Ford asked rhetorically. "It was, actually."

"Well you did pretty well for being so out of practice," Stan said.

"I take it you're less out of practice?"

"I wouldn't know who I was if I didn't get into at least a fight a week."

"I always knew that unicorns were frustrating," Ford said, going over to sit on the porch. "But I never thought they were cruel."

Stan sat down next to him. "You, uh, met her before and she said you didn't have a pure heart."

"She did say that to everyone apparently."

"And you believed her," Stan continued.

"You believed her and she didn't even tell you you didn't have a pure heart," Ford countered.

"Yeah but I don't accept purity of heart as a premise," Stan said. "And it didn't bother me. But I sort of got the feeling it might have bothered you."

"Yeah, well…" Ford trailed off.

Stan waited for him to go on.

"It's difficult, starting with a new species. Especially species I've heard of before. The multi-bear? What do you know about the multi-bear?"

He knew it liked Baba, was deemed too embarrassing to live by the manotaurs, and used all the toilet paper during Weirdmageddon.

"I don't know, there are multiple bars in one?"

"It does have many heads," Ford said. "But that's pretty much it. What do you think you know about ghosts?"

"Translucent, dead people, haunt stuff?" Stan offered. "Any of that off? Be warned, you may upset my entire worldview."

"No, that sounds right," Ford said. "And I'm not just saying that to avoid you having a breakdown."

"Thanks. I think."

"I went into this believing unicorns could detect the purity of a person's heart. I wrote it in my journal. And now I'm going to correct that."

"And it seems like you accepted that you weren't pure of heart pretty easily."

Ford snorted. "Can you blame me?"

"Well, you're a person not a saint, true, but you're not especially impure."

"Are you kidding? Stanley, I trusted a demon and could destroy the world."

"And it was an accident and you only had the best intentions," Stan argued.

"The road to hell…" Ford trailed off.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Don't sit there spouting clichés at me. I didn't say good intentions can't lead to bad ends. But good intentions aren't impure. That's why they're called good intentions. And did you even know Bill back then in journal one?"

"Well, no."

"So logically he can't have had anything to do with it back then, right? So why did you believe it?"

"I told you, I accepted they could so if they said it then I believed it."

Stan shook his head, unsure of why he was pushing. It was a gut feeling more than anything. "That's not good enough. Don't unicorns also have some myth about only showing up for a virgin? I don't know about you but that hasn't been true about me since high school. If I'd believed I had to be a virgin to see a unicorn then saw a unicorn, I'd accept that the myth was wrong. I wouldn't suddenly decide that I must be a virgin after all! But you believed you weren't pure of heart. And you accepted that purity was attainable."

"That's not exactly the same thing," Ford protested. "Virginity, while a social construct, is something you can objectively know about yourself."

"Unless you're one of those people who can't make up their mind about oral," Stan muttered.

"There's no objective way to measure heart purity. I had to take her word for it."

"So why did you?" Stan demanded. "Come on, Ford, why pre-Bill were you willing to believe that?"

"Because of you, alright?"

Stan froze. That could mean any number of things. He made himself breathe. "Come again?"

"It wasn't my fault, what happened to you," Ford said firmly. "I won't take responsibility for what Dad did."

"Nobody's asking you to," Stan said, praying they weren't about to really get into it. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

"But I turned my back. I watched it happen and said nothing. It took me some time to find you a few weeks ago but I did it. I didn't even try before I needed you. I certainly hadn't tried back then."

"Is that an apology?" Stan asked uncertainly.

"I don't know. But I must have been such an easy mark. She told me I wasn't pure of heart and I immediately thought of you. I didn't even argue. And I still didn't try."

Stan wasn't sure what to say. A lifetime of caring for and missing his brother rebelled against the idea of Ford feeling guilty, especially because of him. But there had been a lot of resentment there for a long time, too, and that wasn't so easy to let go of. This Ford was carrying around so much resentment, too, even if it was nothing compared to the baggage the Ford he'd reunited with was carrying. But Stan was thirty years older than this brother of his. He was supposed to know better.

Eventually, he settled on, "But she was full of it, wasn't she?"

Ford knocked their knees together. "Yeah, she was."

"And now we're safe. Or as safe as we can be here."

"Thank you," Ford said, "for that."

Stan tapped down his immediate instinct to tease Ford about actually thanking him for something. That would only get his brother's defenses up.

"Hey, it was all your research that told us how to protect this place and gave us the means to do it."

"And you made me try and saw through her lies," Ford countered. "So just…take the compliment."

He couldn't resist. "Don't tell me what to do."

Ford chuckled and it occurred to Stan that they were actually having an honest-to-God moment.