In the hours of quiet vigil, Ford had forgotten his initial impression of America: that the man was a living whirlwind of chaos made flesh. As the nation was currently rocketing from one end of the kitchen to another, chattering about any- and everything that came to mind while he swiftly chopped vegetables, dug into the cabinets for jars and cans, and dumped everything into a large pot he'd set to simmer on the stove, Ford found himself remembering the barely suppressed energy from their first meeting.
The scientist had quickly found himself pushed into a seat at the rickety kitchen table with a plastic sleeve of cracks, a block of cheese, and a knife to "tide him over" until the stew America had decided to make was ready.
"It'll keep for a long time, stick to your ribs, and you can just leave it on the stove with the lid on," the nation had stated. "Easy enough for two busy bachelors getting ready for a trip."
"Yes, that sounds lovely," Ford had desperately interjected, "but you are a guest so I really think I should be the one-"
America had spun around, jabbing a large wooden spoon in his direction. "Unless you can tell me HERE AND NOW that you learned to cook while you were traveling the multiverse, I am not letting you near the stove. I was in Stan's mind. I saw what you did."
And thus, having no actual counter argument (he doubted he could convince America to adjourn to a campfire outside), Ford reluctantly started snacking on crackers and cheese while the living personification of his homeworld's first global superpower made stew. Casting a wistful look at the temperamental coffee maker still groaning away as it brewed, Ford absently drummed his fingers on the table top, hoping America's frantic pace would slow soon so he could inquire further after Stan's condition.
Finally, America deemed his prep work done and he dropped the lid onto the pot and turned down the heat slightly to let the stew simmer. Plopping down into the chair facing Ford, he reached across the table, snagged the cheese block and knife and hacked off a large chunk. "You and the twins," he started without preamble, "did a really, really great job helping Stan recover his memory."
"Evidently we didn't do enough," Ford sighed. A familiar wave of guilt crept over the scientist, a surge of emotion that had become quite familiar since he'd pulled the trigger to wipe Stan's mind and destroy Bill. Pressing his lips together as he bowed his head, pressure built up in his eyes as the memory of Stan, so empty and pliable in the forest clearing, crossed his mind.
A piece of cheese ricocheted off his forehead and fell onto the table.
Aghast, Ford's head snapped back up.
America, looking wholly unimpressed as he stared back with one eyebrow raised slightly, had another piece of cheese poised for launch. "Let's try that again," he announced. "You and the twins did a really great job helping Stan recover his memory."
"Gee, thanks for saying that, America," the nation continued, dropping his voice down an octave in obvious mimicry. "It is impressive that we were able to help him rebuild probably what amounts to at least 80% of his entire life in less than a week considering we had such little material and personal stories to help remind him. Good gad, who'd have thought that a memory erasing gun built by world's greatest mechanical and computer engineer would be so gosh-darned effective. But, darn it, we love Stan and were determined so we persevered until we literally hit the absolute limit of what we could help with." Now finished, America leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest after popping his cheese projectile into his mouth.
"Well, I suppose when you put it that way," Ford muttered. Then sighed. "I- It's unfair that Stanley had to pay the price for my mistake. I was the one who built the portal. I made the original deal with Bill. I- I'm responsible for- for everything that's happened."
"True, but you also did everything you could to fix everything. 'Could have' and 'Shouldn't have' don't have a place in the equation. What happened happened. And when push came to shove, you did everything you could to fix it." With a small, understanding smile, America leaned forward again, propping his arms on the table. "And someday, you'll feel that way too."
"I suppose. In the meantime," Ford continued, determinedly pushing on ahead, "could you tell me a bit more about how Stan is? I- I do understand that whatever memories you and he worked to restore are his to share as he chooses but I would like to know what I can about the, ah, experience."
"That I can do," America agreed. He took a moment to think, cutting off another hunk of cheese. "Well, as you know, there are periods in Stan's life neither you, the kids, or Soos knew anything about. And you had little to nothing with which to trigger his memories of those times. Some of them were, hmm, important, you could say. Not in how the actual impact of those events but in what they meant to Stan. We basically . . ." America's voice trailed off for a moment, uncertain how to find the words. Talking about this to Stan earlier had been easier. Abstract concepts flowed better in the mindscape.
"Even without knowing what the memories were," America finally continued, "Stan's mind knew where the holes were and he was able to guide us to the gaps. I was able to slip the memories back into place. He- he had to relieve them, basically, so we had to take extra time so he could process each one and start integrating them back into his mind. Some were bad, some good, some, well, just happened. Beyond that, there wasn't much else to do.
"Well, I say that. I will admit, I did a thorough look through the entire mindscape. Maybe more than Stan realized," America added. His lips pursed briefly. "Let's just say that what I can see and what you or Stan can see are different. I see, well, more. Deeper. But I had to in order to confirm Bill really is gone. So you can take that comfort, at least. There are no Bill fragments lurking anywhere in your brother's mind." He would have known, would have recognized the alien, non-linear, non-American mind if there had been even a flicker of it in Stan's mind.
Eyes bulging, Ford pressed a hand to his chest. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Bill- that Stan's sacrifice-
"Nothing? There's nothing of Bill left? You're sure?"
"Yes. Definitely. Absolutely."
Ford let his head fall to the table with a soft groan. He needed a moment. Just- just one moment. His nation let him be, setting himself to work demolishing the last the cheese as the coffee pot (finally!) finished dripping away and the stew began to fill the room with a mouth-watering scent.
There was a soft clink then a thud and Ford could suddenly feel heat radiating near his face. The smell of fresh brewed coffee filled his nose and he eagerly sat up just enough to grasp the mug and take a long sip.
America settled down into a chair next to him this time, cradling his own mug in his hands. "So how are you doing?" the nation asked in a soft, gentle voice.
Ford took his time considering the question. "I'm … I'm alright," he finally replied after sitting up straighter to take another sip. "Although, I will confess to feeling a bit adrift. I've been chasing for a way to defeat Bill once and for all for so long that now that he's gone, well, it feels like I have so many options now. I do want to check on the Arctic and happily, Stanley is quite eager to go with me. But after that…"
"What do you want to do?" Cocking his head to the side as he nursed his own drink, America gave him an inquiring look. "Beyond just researching a cryptid reporting here or an anomalous reading there. More, well, Big Picture, I suppose you could say."
"I want to keep Stan safe."
America smiled behind his mug.
"I want to keep the children safe, continue to teach them and be with them. I want…" Furrowing his brow for a moment, Ford continued, the words spilling out faster and faster, almost too fast to follow. "I do want to continue my research but- I have family I want to explore it with and share it with. I want to sail across the world with my brother and come back to Gravity Falls every summer when Dipper and Mabel are on vacation. I want to be able to visit them with Stan for the holidays and see them graduate and go to college if they want and grow into adults."
A look of surprise, then happiness overtook Ford's face. His eyes went wide and a grin appeared. "I suppose I already have everything," he realized. "Bill is defeated, I have family again, Stan again. I have a home here at the Shack or wherever Stan and I end up because … because Stan got me home. I'm home."
A mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, America set down his mug and rested his chin on his hand. "And what do you need to help you with all that?"
With a soft laugh, Ford shifted in his chair to dig into the pockets of his pants, fishing out the last envelope America had given him. "I suppose that question has to do with this?" he asked waving the thin envelope at the nation.
"Well, it did occur to me that you may need some assistance with some of the more day-to-day matters."
"Some assistance?"
"You haven't published in thirty-odd years. The lack of scholarly output would make getting another grant challenging."
"So you're, what, offering me full funding?"
"With some caveats." America gave the scientist a knowing look. "This would be coming out of my personal finances, so I would expect regular reports, that you track expenses, submit proposals before haring off on some new adventure. I do get some veto power, especially if your research would take you into another country. I'd also require regular medical checkups for you and Stan. I'm happy to provide you both with medical insurance which, in case you hadn't heard, has become a rather complicated issue."
"Yes, you did state as much in the proposal." Setting the envelope down onto the table, Ford tapped the paper sleeve. "What do you get out funding us? What happens to my research or any tools or techniques we develop?"
"They're your's, free and clear, to do with as you please. I would like to have input or at least a heads-up on publications and inventions," America added, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I trust you but I do also have a better overall picture of the current state of technology and what's being developed. The world is also much, much more globally connected than it was when you were sucked into the portal, so there are also a number of geopolitical concerns that I don't think anyone in the Pines family has any inkling of.
"I have no intention," America emphasized, "of slowing down or trying to hijack or disrupt your research. It's important, though, especially since you and Stan are planning on being fairly isolated far from my borders, that we make sure you aren't somehow putting a target on your back or kidnapped by a foreign power so they can try and get you to develop something for them."
Understanding seeping in, Ford nodded slowly. "You want to be able to apply the brakes so the Pines tendency towards impulsivity doesn't get us hurt or worse," he summarized.
"Exactly." America set his mug down on the table and folded his hands, his face falling still. "The Pines family has done more for me than anyone else on this Earth since my literal Founding Fathers. Whatever you, Stan, and the kids want to do, I will to move heaven and earth to try and make it possible. That may seem extreme but it's not. From my perspective, it doesn't even begin to repay the debt between us. Giving you those resources, however, does mean that I need to make damn sure that I'm taking full responsibility for the potential outcome of you having those resources.
"That's what the 'brakes' are for. That's why I included requirements about reporting, tracking expenses, and all the usual grant stuff in the proposal. Those things are annoying but they do serve a proven, important function. And I'm hoping that, by explaining all this to you, you're willing to go along with it. If not," and here America's beaming smile reappeared, "then please, please, please get a mobile phone and put my phone number in there as an emergency contact. And know that whatever you decide about this, my support for you and Stan or Dipper and Mabel throughout won't be affected in any way."
Ford didn't reply right away. Instead, he tugged the simple letter out of the envelope and unfolded it on the table, absently smoothing down the sharp creases. The letter, lacking any fancy letterhead, stated clearly and simply, the terms of the grant offer: the actual annual amount America was offering (surely the number of zeros there was an error), basic terms of employment and benefits, and the standard boilerplate regarding regular reports and publications that could be found in any grant offer. A summary of conditions regarding submitting publications and patents, again, not at all unusual.
As his eyes flowed over the paper, Ford weighed the offer against what he and Stan had already discussed about the upcoming expedition, considered the slight worry that had flashed briefly in his brother's eyes as they started drafting up the budget they'd need to actually set sail.
America's offer was ... stupidly generous, in all honesty. He had extended an offer of what amounted to unlimited funding for the rest of their natural lives and simply asked for the opportunity to offer caution or suggest an alternative course of action. He might put his foot down if their research took them to hostile countries but that was probably for the better in the long run.
"I'll need to go over this with Stan," Ford finally replied. "But, I feel confident that we'll be able to accept your most generous offer." It was a solemn moment, so the scientist did his best to maintain a calm, controlled expression. But inside, a little voice was squealing in excitement, jumping up and down as he imagined exactly what he and Stan would be able to accomplish with this kind of funding.
This grant was the one all scientists dreamed of.
America, evidently, did not feel any need to be restrained. The nation let out a loud (very loud) cheer, and drummed his hands on the table, sending the mugs and cheese knife rattling. "I'll call Nebraska tomorrow and have her draw up all the legal stuff. She handles all the, hmm, family lawyering stuff. You know," he wriggled his hand in a vague, all encompassing gesture, "the non-work related stuff." His brow furrowed as his mind began to trace out all the paperwork that this was going to require. "Her and Iowa should be able to handle getting all the accounts set-up, but New York will have to sign off on a lot of it …" His voice drifted off, eyes unfocusing as the web of phone calls and emails began to grow.
"Sounds like it's a good thing that we're not in too much of a hurry," Ford mused in quiet fascination. He'd dug his new journal 2 out again and had started mapping out the states and responsibilities as America mentioned them (all in code, of course. After a moment's thought, he added a note to teach Stan the cipher for this one.)
"Hmm? Oh, right." America chuckled. "It's complicated. But, having 50 states-slash-minions does help." Taking a sniff of the air, he pushed himself up from the table and hurried over to the stove, taking the lid off the large pot. Instantly, the enticing smell of the stew grew dramatically with the smell of carrots, onions, beef, and spices. Giving the mixture a quick stir, America nodded to himself and stepped to the side. "Stanford Pines, get over here and feed yourself," he ordered with a smile. "No one's going hungry on my watch."
As the sun slowly rose over the treeline the next day, America was back at the Shack, his luggage in the trunk of his car. In less than an hour, he planned to be back on the road, heading east to return to worried family and the heavy responsibilities of being a living nation. But first, he had a few good-byes to say.
"The paperwork should arrive anywhere between a week to a month from now," America explained to the two men standing on the back porch of the Mystery Shack. Around the corner, they could just make out the sound of Soos leading the mid-morning tour into the Shack as the tourists laughed at some joke or comment he'd made. "It'll all depends on just how mad the others are and how crazy everything was while I was out of commission. Times like that are a bit 'All hands on deck' so I'm not 100% certain what's going on right now. But hey! No new global wars got started, so that's a plus!"
Ford shook his head. "The scope of your day-to-day world frightens me," he stated in a wry voice.
"And vice-versa," America countered with a grin. "You deal with really cool non-humans and terrifying ghosts on a regular basis. And ghosts give me the heebee-jeebees, so I'll take worrying about nuclear proliferation any day."
"Normal people are scared of ghosts," Stan muttered, looking less amused. "Because ghosts." An elbow nudged his side. "Anyways," he continued, casting Ford a sidelong look. "Thanks for, well, everything. Sorting out the IDs, the IRS, my memories - that's a lot. Even in Gravity Falls, it would have been hard to get all the stuff fixed. So thanks. Again. And I know the kids will want to say the same when we tell them all about it later. They just started back up in school, so they won't be able to say that in person but, uh, we'll make sure they know we passed their appreciation along already."
"I'm just glad I could help," America replied. "You stopped Bill and forced back the Nightmare Dimension. That- what that was doing to me-" He stopped. Shrugged. Stan had an idea, now, what that had done to him. Perhaps he'd be able to better express to Ford what stopped Weirdmaggeddon meant to him. And judging by the small smirk now on the man's face, he had a fairly good idea what America was thinking.
He pushed on "Anyways, I'll emai- I'll text-" America stopped again, suddenly giving them both a hard look as he realized his usual methods of communication were useless with these two old men. "I'm going to send you a laptop and cell phones," he announced after a moment. "There will be written instructions in the box. Follow them so you can do email, video chats, and so on. Do not take these things apart. Do not try to improve them. Do not give them to McGucket. You are required to have a functioning laptop and at least one phone at all times. If McGucket gives you a replacement, that's fine but it needs to be able to do all the things as the devices I'm going to send you."
"Now, I'm sure we can manage just fine with letters and post-" started Ford.
"No, absolutely not." America looked rather peeved. "This is a requirement. I'm making it a requirement." He jabbed an accusatory finger at the twins. "You will have zero excuses to not communicate on, at least, a weekly basis with me or your family. If you go too long without messaging, I'm going to come and find you and you will not enjoy the conversation we have once I find you. And I will find you," America half promised, half threatened.
"Meh. I'll have Soos take a look and tell me what I need to know." It was clear Stan also thought America's determination to drag them into the 21st century unnecessary but … hell, it was hard for him to argue with the guy. Not when he knew so well the love and concern driving America.
The nation himself didn't look wholly convinced by Stan's statement but ultimately decided to just push on. "I left my personal cell number and the number of my burner phone on the fridge," he continued. "I'll be back to my regular cell in a few days but if you need anything before then, call the burner. I'll keep it on me for another week or so once I'm back home just in case."
"All right, already," Stan exclaimed throwing his hands up into the air. "Yeesh, you're hovering like Ma did the first time we drove to Atlantic City by ourselves the first time."
That made America laugh. Jumping up onto the deck, he wrapped first Stan, then Ford, up in a powerful hug that lifted them clear up off the wood planks. "All right, all right, I'll get going," he promised as he lowered Ford back down onto the deck. "You two stay safe. Or at least, promise me you'll at least try not to get into trouble."
"We will make every effort," Ford promised, quickly extracting himself from the embrace. His cheeks bore a hint of red at the unbridled affection. "I hope your own journey is swift and uneventful."
"Ah, that sounds boring." Chucking again, America leapt back down onto the ground and reluctantly headed for his car.
The twins waved back as America pulled out of the grass lot, waving frantically at them through the back window. As car drove out of sight and the sound of the engine faded, an air of quiet fell on the Shack once more. Even the sound of the tourists around the front of the house seemed muted. Unlike after Dipper and Mabel's departure, this stillness didn't feel heavy and oppressive. America's presence lingered in the air, as the did the memory of his laughter and rapid fire, excited way of speaking. The stew he'd made the day before was warming up in the kitchen and still held enough for the brothers to feast on for days and days if they wanted.
This time when Stan and Ford walked back into the Shack, there was no sadness, no lingering concerns about the fragility of Stan's mind or the challenges they would face simply preparing for their voyage to the Arctic. The brothers knew there were still many, many issues they would need to talk, and fight, about. That there were hidden hot topics that would inevitably explode in either rage or grief. But this time, they were determined to see these incident through. They'd been an unprecedented opportunity to reconnect and finally fulfill all their dreams at the same time.
The door to the Shack swung closed and the twins picked back up the books and magazines they'd gathered to help plan for their expedition. It just a short month or two, they would finally leave Gravity Falls behind for the ocean.
They couldn't wait.
And that ends my wacky little story! I have a few deleted scenes I may post and I'm working on a continuation of this story that I hope you'll enjoy. Thanks for reading!
