The story was, indeed, long. Ford took over after a while, so Stan headed to the kitchen (Ford occasionally reminded him that the correct term when on a boat was 'galley,' but to Stan, a kitchen by any other name was still a kitchen) and warmed up some leftover clam chowder for all of them. He came back with three steaming mugs, handing one to Ford and then approaching the Stanley Line.

"Stanley!" Ford started to warn-

-just as Stan knelt and carefully set the mug down just on the other side of the line, shooting his twin a meaningful glance over his shoulder. "I'm not an idiot, Sixer."

Ford raised his hands placatingly.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to be careful."

"Have a little faith in me, wouldya?" He pulled himself up on somewhat creaky knees and sat down in his chair.

Ford patted his arm briefly, and then turned back to Shanklin.

The younger version of his brother was watching them, expression once again wistful. But when he saw their attention had returned to him, he quickly picked up the mug and began gulping down the contents.

Neither of the old Pines twins bothered to scold him on table manners, knowing all too well what it was like to go a long time without food and then finally have it set before you. They just went on with telling their story (even the uncomfortable bits, like Ford wanting to kick Stan out of the Mystery Shack, or Stan being too angry to just take Ford's hand and complete the zodiac).

By the time they finished, the moon was high, and Shanklin was staring at them in open amazement.

"You managed to scam Bill?" he asked after a long moment.

"Indeed. Stanley saved the day using his talent for lying like a rug." Ford gave Stan a fond smile in hopes that it would take any sting out of the words.

Stan visibly preened.

"You guys are awesome," Shanklin said.

"We're the kings of New Jersey; whaddya expect?" Stan asked, puffing out his chest a little.

Ford worried that if he rolled his eyes any more, they'd be permanently stuck pointing upwards. He decided to move on to other matters. "Shanklin, you still haven't explained how you traveled here. That definitely wasn't a wormhole; it looked almost like...you have a portal of your own."

Shanklin set down his mug, unclipped the broken device from his belt and held it up. "Kinda. I got this." His eyes traveled back to the broken hourglass part, and he gave it a concerned frown. "It opens mini portals into other dimensions for a few moments. And looks like I'm gonna need a glass blower and a lot of tape to fix it. To start with, anyway."

Of course, by now Ford's eyes were bright with curiosity, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Where on earth...did you make that?" Now that he was giving it his concentrated attention, he recognized some of the parts from several different areas of the multiverse, many of which he would never have tried putting together but which had been put together anyway. It had a definite Stan Pines touch to it, down to the name "Vera" written along the handle.

"I had some help a few times. And...I may have added a bit to your rap sheet of stolen parts-somehow nobody in the multiverse seems to have figured out there's two of us yet."

Both older Pines twins snorted.

"May I see it?" Ford asked.

Shanklin passed it over. "Don't spill the cosmic sand, please," he warned. "I need what's left if I want to have any fuel at all."

"Cos-how did you get cosmic sand?!"

Shanklin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "...Let's just say Time Baby is a little upset with you too."

Stan's snort was filled with pride this time.

Ford carefully examined the portal gun, running his fingers over welded-together scraps of metal and pieces of wiring, and making sure not to disturb the hourglass part.

"This is...incredible," was his final verdict. "I mean, you've taken a few shortcuts which could cause trouble in the future, here and here-" he pointed to a few areas- "but still. Very impressive."

"Guess our teachers and Crampelter were wrong about me after all," Shanklin murmured, resting his chin in one hand and preening just as much as Stanley.

"You were never stupid," Ford said, looking between the Stanleys, "neither of you. You just...never took the opportunity to apply yourselves."

"Thank you, Mom," they groused almost in unison. He ignored them.

"I have some materials we can use to fix it," Ford said, deciding he could put aside his combustible lemons experiment for a while. "Are you sure it has enough fuel?"

Shanklin shrugged a little. "Dunno where we can get more if it's not. Unless you know a place we can get liquid dragon fire in a pinch; I can use that and a few other ingredients to synthesize more."

Stan stared at his young counterpart. Hot Belgian waffles, it's like he's picked up some of Ford's brains from all that traveling the multiverse.

Ford pursed his lips. "If we were back in Gravity Falls, I'd try going to the Crawlspace...wait!" He snapped his fingers. "The Floating Market! Of course!"

Shanklin glanced at Stan with a question in his eyes.

"Don't look at me, I'm in the dark as much as you are."

"It's a bazaar that's set up in London Below-we're just a week's journey away from there, and if anyone's going to have dragon fire, it's them!" Ford pulled out his digital map, began charting a course.

"...Is that a weirdness community?" Stan asked.

"Yes! I've never been there, but I've heard about it; it's probably our best bet for finding what we need."

Already, Ford's eyes were glazing over as he began making plans and putting together calculations.

"...We should probably finish fixing the wheel first," Stan felt obligated to point out.

"Helm."

"Whatever."

If anyone can recognize all the references I put in here, I will be very impressed.

Also, just in case, I own almost nothing except Shanklin. Please don't nobody sue me.