Neither Ford nor Fiddleford got any sleep that night. As the evening drew later they did make one token effort to settle down, though honestly Ford hesitated to even call it that much. They had put their campfire out and climbed into their sleeping bags, but at what must have been the instant Fiddleford had closed his eyes, he had sat bolt upright again and said he was going to stay up a little longer. Of course Ford had insisted on staying up with him – he'd been avoiding them lately, but he was no stranger to all-nighters and he felt somewhat responsible for Fiddleford's current state, given that the incident likely could have been avoided if he hadn't insisted on stopping to sketch the gremloblin. They spent the night talking instead, Ford doing his best to keep Fiddleford distracted, and he thought succeeding at it. At the very least he succeeded in not making the conversation about himself and his insecurities again when he was supposed to be the one helping Fiddleford, so that was something.

Finally the first glimmering of dawn began to seep its way through the trees. As soon as it was light enough for them to reliably see where they were going and not trip over any forest debris, the two of them headed out. It took them roughly forty-five minutes before they hit the road, and after another half an hour of walking along that they were lucky enough to have a Good Samaritan pass by and stop to offer them a ride. Though, it was maybe not that surprising that someone might stop to lend assistance given Fiddleford's sling and the assortment of bandages they were both sporting. In any case, the end result was they arrived at the hospital shortly before 9am on Saturday morning, putting them well ahead of schedule even with the unplanned trip to the emergency room.

Honestly, Ford's natural inclination would have been to skip the emergency room trip altogether and just tend to Fiddleford at home. Sure, none of his degrees technically made Ford that kind of doctor, but it was a broken bone, not a wasting illness or acute heart failure or anything of that nature; he was sure he could figure it out. The problem was if he did that, then the children would see him bringing Fiddleford home with a broken arm and tending to it. He had already had enough difficulty with getting them to the doctor for their required immunizations before they started kindergarten – Ford had no medical records for Dipper and Mabel beyond their birth certificates and therefore no clue what shots Steph had already seen to it that they had received, but none of them felt like a reasonable guess. Ford didn't want to set the precedent that they could count on him to be their medical doctor. No, much better to let them see Fiddleford being taken to the doctor to get his injuries tended to. In fact, Ford probably ought to let the doctors look him over as well. He liked that idea as much as he liked having to shower every day, but he managed to do the one to set a good example, so he could do the other as well.

Luckily, the emergency room wasn't too busy that morning. Fiddleford and Ford were both called back in fairly short order, and Ford was taken care of equally as quickly. The doctor cleaned up and bandaged all his scrapes, but ultimately confirmed Ford's assessment that the worst damage done to him was the possibly irreparable tear in his coat. Even on that front Ford had been lucky, as in deference to the cold he had been wearing a thicker down jacket and not his favorite long brown coat.

Fiddleford wasn't in the waiting room when Ford returned, but that was to be expected. Fiddleford had been hurt much worse that Ford had, so it naturally would take longer to treat him. The end result of that, however, was that for the first time since their conversation last night Ford was left alone with his thoughts.

Fiddleford thought he was a good dad. More than that, Fiddleford had even used the word great to describe his assessment of Ford's parenting abilities. That was so far beyond anything Ford had ever thought of himself it was dizzying. He didn't always think of himself as a terrible parent, even if he had been doing it more so after his back-to-back failures lately, but the best he could think to describe himself as at his most optimistic was acceptable, decent, okay. His kids deserved better than that, as far as Ford was concerned Dipper and Mabel deserved the greatest parent ever, but even if Ford could find it in himself to give them away for their own good, there was no way he could guarantee that whoever they ended up with would be better than Ford was. So as long as Ford could manage acceptable, then that would be… acceptable.

But Fiddleford thought he was great at it. Ford couldn't fathom how that was possible. He didn't know how to be a parent, and his attempts at research on the subject had been less than illuminating. How could someone do a good job at anything if they didn't know how to do it? He would allow that a person might manage a passable performance despite a lack of knowledge with a combination of luck and natural talent – the latter of which Stanford was certain he was woefully lacking in – but to be good or even great? It didn't seem possible.

That was what had made it so easy to brush off the comments by other people calling him a good dad. What they were suggesting wasn't possible, so clearly there was some flaw in their reasoning. It was easy to see how it might happen – the people of Gravity Falls were good people, the kind that would want to believe in happy families and happily ever afters. They were also a bit dim and gullible. The combination of those two things, as well as the fact that the evidence they gathered as casual friends and acquaintances or as total strangers, was inherently limited, made it unsurprising that they might draw the conclusion that Ford was a good father merely because that was the conclusion they wanted to draw. It wasn't that Ford didn't appreciate the sentiment, he just couldn't lend much credence to it.

Fiddleford was another matter altogether. For one thing, Ford knew that Fiddleford actually had the experience necessary to make him qualified to judge in this matter. Fiddleford's childhood had been a happy and loving one from what he'd told Ford – growing up on a hog farm notwithstanding, which Fiddleford insisted had been perfectly enjoyable, but Ford remained dubious. Fiddleford was also a parent himself, had been for over four years now, and Ford had faith in Fiddleford's ability to be a good parent at least. Finally Fiddleford had been half living with Ford and his family for the past three months, which gave him plenty opportunity to get an accurate picture of Ford's parenting abilities. And with all that, Fiddleford had come to the conclusion that Ford was doing a great job. And maybe, just maybe, Ford could take his word for it, because he certainly didn't trust his own judgement in the matter. In fact the only people whose judgement he felt he could trust were Fiddleford, maybe Stan, and…

Ford began picking at the bandage wrapped around his arm. Not trying to pull it off, just picking at it. The only other person's judgement who Ford felt he could trust, whose judgement he had been trusting was Bill. But Bill's opinion was the exact opposite, everything he had said serving to reinforce Stanford's conviction that he wasn't a good parent. If what Bill and Fiddleford were saying were in exact contradiction with each other, then one of them must be wrong. Ford had just enumerated the reasons that Fiddleford couldn't be wrong, but it didn't make sense for Bill to be wrong either. He was an otherworldly creature with an all-seeing eye who regularly spent time literally inside of Ford's head; he had to know what he was talking about.

All the thoughts buzzing around in his brain were becoming too much to take, and Ford found himself getting out of his chair and pacing about the waiting room, still picking at his wrist. There was another possibility. Neither of them would have to be mistaken if one of them was lying to him. Ford had initially assumed that was the case, that Fiddleford was lying to him to help make him feel better. Except Fiddleford had made a good point, a couple of them in fact. Fiddleford was certainly a kind person, but he rarely if ever stood idly by when he thought Ford was making bad decisions. Even if he were willing to do that in a normal situation, he certainly wouldn't if it meant Dipper and Mabel were suffering for it. He might not love the children as much as Ford did, but he still cared about their well-being.

So if neither Bill nor Fiddleford could have possibly gotten it wrong, and Fiddleford wasn't lying, what did that leave? Bill couldn't be lying to Ford, he couldn't. Bill was Ford's muse, his friend, and while he wasn't Ford's only friend in Gravity Falls anymore, he had still been his first friend, and Ford treasured that connection. Stanford trusted Bill; Bill couldn't be lying to him. It had to be a misunderstanding or a miscommunication or…

Ford forced himself to stop and smooth his wrist bandages flat. If he kept picking at them like this, they really would come off.

Miscommunication, that was it. It was all a miscommunication where all three of them were a little bit wrong. After all, neither Fiddleford nor Bill had explicitly described Ford as being a great or terrible parent. Fiddleford had used the word great, but ultimately come down on the descriptor "good," and Bill hadn't said anything specific at all, just said that comparatively Stanford was a better scientist than parent and Stan was better at caring for children than Stanford was. Perhaps in his desire to see the best in his friend, Fiddleford had come away with a slightly rose-colored view of the situation, while Bill's comparative analysis had resulted in a slightly over-critical assessment. Then Ford had compounded the issue by unintentionally exaggerating both opinions in his interpretation, resulting in him creating two opposing viewpoints where none such existed. Yes, that was a reasonable explanation.

Besides, Ford thought as his feet began moving again, why would Bill lie to him about that? He could see why Fiddleford might hypothetically have lied to him, but what reasons would Bill have to do so? What could Bill possibly have to gain by making Stanford think he was a terrible parent? Logically, if-

"Okay you two gremlins, there's your surprise right over there."

"Daddy!" screamed two voices in concert, Mabel's shout in particular reaching registers that Ford was fairly certain only dogs could hear. Ford turned and crouched down to catch Dipper and Mabel, but he significantly underestimated the rate at which they were hurtling toward him and ended up falling backwards when they hit him with the force of a pair of cannonballs.

"Oof," Ford said as his butt hit the tile floor. Despite feeling a little like he'd just had the wind knocked out of him, he wrapped his arms around his kids and hugged them as tight as he could. How was it possible to miss anyone this much when he'd seen them barely seventy-two hours ago? He couldn't comprehend it, he only knew it was true and knew that he had been right before – there was no way he could ever give these two up, even for their own good. And you know, maybe he didn't have to.

"Daddy, you're back," Mabel said, her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"I told you I would be," Ford replied.

"Yeah, but now you are." Well, he could hardly argue with that logic.

"Daddy, I missed you," Dipper added.

"I missed you too. Both of you, so much." He squeezed them both again. "But maybe we could continue this in one of the chairs – I'm not certain the floor here is entirely sanitary."

He managed to get himself settled in a chair with the pair of them on his lap – a more difficult feat than it usually might have been given neither of them were willing to lose contact with him for as much as a second. Once they were seated, Stan came and took the chair next to them, placing the bag he was carrying in the chair next to that. "I believe someone owes me a ka-zillion dollars," Stan said, holding his hand out.

"What?" Ford asked.

"Dipper and Mabel here didn't want to come to the hospital for their surprise because they were worried you might come home while we were gone. So I bet them a ka-zillion dollars you wouldn't get back to the house before we did. Since you're going to be coming back with us that means I win the bet, and these two gotta pay up," Stan explained.

"That hardly seems fair. You knew for a fact that I was here and wasn't going to beat you back, because I called you and asked you to pick Fiddleford and me up," Ford objected, though he was really more amused than anything. Stan never seemed to promise the kids anything, instead making guarantees by betting them ridiculous and usually imaginary sums of money that what he was saying was true. It was such a Stan thing to do.

"Hey, way I see it these two should know better than to bet against their Uncle Stan by now. Besides, I only bet a million dollars, Mabel's the one who raised the stakes to a ka-zillion."

"That still sounds like cheating to me, but I suppose you two best pay him; Stan will be insufferable otherwise," Ford told the kids

"Oi," Stan objected. Even as he did, Dipper and Mabel took turns slapping on Stan's open palm.

"It's imaginary money," Dipper explained helpfully.

"Imaginary money? What, I don't even rate Monopoly money?" Stan said. "No respect from any of ya, I'm telling ya."

"I can make you some Mabel money when we go home. It's worth 'zactly a ka-zillion dollars," Mabel said.

"Exactly that much huh? That's convenient. How much is a Dipper dollar worth?" Stan asked.

"Infinity dollars," Dipper answered.

"Then a Mabel money is worth infinity plus one dollars."

"Infinity plus two."

"Infinity plus infinity."

"Infinity times infinity infinity times."

"Alright, alright," Ford said, interjecting before things could get too out of hand. "How about we agree that Mabel money and Dipper dollars are worth equally large infinities?"

"Either way, they're both worth way more than a Stan buck. I'm not going to be able to make change for an infinity dollar," Stan said.

"Keep the change!" Mabel replied.

"Now that that's settled, why you two tell me about what I missed while I was gone," Ford suggested.

"Hold up before you do that," Stan said. He reached into his bag and pulled out Dipper's journal and handed to him. Presumably Dipper had been taking notes in it like he said he would, and Stan had brought it with them so Dipper could share them right away; that was thoughtful of Stan. Somewhat less explicable was the shoe box with the rubber band around it Stan got out of the bag next. He pulled off the rubber band and handed the box to Mabel, the lid almost bursting off when he did so. Mabel wasted no time in finishing the job, then tossed the lid back at Stan so she could began sorting through the all the pictures held within.

"You certainly took a lot of photos," Ford observed.

"Uh-huh. My new camera is the best present ever, thank you Daddy."

Oh. "You're welcome." Ford had thought he had misstepped somehow with the camera, as Mabel hadn't even been interested in looking at it when he left. Apparently not, given how much use she'd gotten out of it in the time he'd been gone. Although… "I don't remember leaving you that much film for it."

"Yeah, we had to go to the store twice to get more," Stan said. "It was the only thing these two were willing to leave the house for while you were gone." That raised a very pertinent question, but not an especially urgent one. Certainly not more urgent than Dipper trying to get Ford's attention to show him an entry in his journal. Ford could ask it later.

The four of them sat in the hospital waiting room talking for a long time. Longer than Ford realized at first, too caught up in Dipper and Mabel's stories, and in telling them all his own stories about what he and Fiddleford had done and seen in the past few days. He only caught on to how much time had passed when Fiddleford finally returned.

"Gang's all here, huh? Good, I just got a little more paperwork they're pulling together for me afore we can head out," Fiddleford said.

"They're all done with you?" Ford asked, then frowned when he saw the splint Fiddleford was wearing. "No cast?" Not that Ford especially wanted him to be wearing a cast; the things were cumbersome and unwieldy, and if Ford had given into his inclination to treat Fiddleford at home they likely would have found a way to do without. But he was surprised that the hospital hadn't insisted on one.

"As it turns out my arm isn't broken, Dr. Pines," Fiddleford said with the faintest edge of sarcasm, but it wasn't as though Ford had ever claimed to be a medical doctor. "They think it's a hairline fracture. It ought to heal on its own, but they gave me this splint to wear to remind me to take it easy for the next month or so."

"That's good. That it isn't anything more serious, I mean. And how are you doing otherwise?" Ford asked with a significant look to make it clear he wasn't talking about Fiddleford's assorted bruises. He had underplayed the impact the visions had had on Fiddleford when he had related the story to the kids to avoid scaring them, so he didn't want to ask about it explicitly now. Ford was still worried about it though; Fiddleford seemed much better than yesterday, but at various points yesterday Fiddleford had been babbling in terror and in a near catatonic fugue state, so better than that didn't mean much.

"I'm doing fine," Fiddleford said. Ford glanced over at Stan to see if that had sounded as unconvincing to him as it had to Ford and caught Stan glancing back. Fiddleford glared at the pair of them. "I'm fine. I don't need you both mother-henning me."

Stan snorted in disbelief. Dipper and Mabel had bought into Ford's minimized version of Fiddleford's trauma, but Stan had obviously been able to read between the lines. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you'll just think your way to being better. Because that always works." This time the sarcasm laid thick and heavy over the words, but honestly Ford thought Stan had a genuine point.

"We're scientists; we use our creativity to solve any problem that comes our way," Ford said. "And until then, Stan and I will be here to mother-hen you."

Fiddleford made an annoyed sound, but seemed disinclined to argue further. Luckily just then Mabel interrupted with, "Mr. Fiddleford I wanna sign your cast."

"Me too," Dipper said.

"This isn't really the kind of cast you can sign," Fiddleford said. "Suppose when I fill out that paperwork we could ask the woman at the desk for some scratch paper you can sign and we can tape it on here."

"'Kay!" Mabel said. The two of them slid off of Ford's lap and grabbed ahold of Fiddleford on their way past to the desk.

Ford felt proud, relieved, and a little disappointed. Dipper and Mabel were such resilient children. It hadn't been too much earlier that they hadn't been willing to be separated more than an inch from him, but now they were perfectly comfortable running off with Fiddleford. Granted, they weren't going that far, still well within earshot and eyeshot, but it was an accomplishment regardless. He was glad for them, glad that they felt so secure and that he now had some solid evidence his trip might really have been good for their abandonment issues. He just hadn't been entirely done cuddling with them yet.

It did mean he had a good opportunity to ask Stan the question that had occurred to him earlier at least. "Did the kids not go to school while I was gone?"

"Yeah, about that," Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "On Wednesday when came time to take them they got really upset, said they didn't want to leave in case you came back while they were gone. I tried reminding them you'd only just left and weren't supposed to be back until Saturday, but they weren't having it. Actually, I kinda got the impression they weren't too crazy about the idea of me leaving them somewhere without me right after you just left, ya know?"

"Ah," Ford said.

"I thought about making 'em go anyway, but I know you're not too big on forcing them into too much too fast, so I figured I'd call 'em in sick and let them play hooky. Just this once," Stan assured him.

"No, that makes sense. I'm sure they can afford to miss just a few days of school."

"Chalk that one up under 'things I never thought I'd hear Ford say,'" Stan said with a little laugh. Ford flashed him a grin at the good-natured teasing. "Okay, now I got a question I wanna ask you. You said when you knocked out that gremgoblin-"

"Gremloblin," Ford corrected.

"Whatever," Stan said. "When you knocked him out, you fell into a hayloft in a barn, right?"

"Right."

"So why didn't you just go to the farm house and ask to borrow their phone? We could have picked you up and taken you to the hospital from there."

"That…" Ford trailed off. "Huh."

"Never even occurred to you did it?" Stan asked.

"No, it did not," Ford admitted.

"Thought so. For such a genius, you sure are an idiot." Stan gave him a playful punch to the arm.

"Yeah, well you… I missed you while I was gone."

Stan gaped at him like a fish for a few seconds. "I… That's not a very good comeback."

"Maybe," Ford allowed, though with how off-kilter it had thrown Stan one could argue it was a very good comeback. "It's true regardless."

"I… you…" Stan suddenly shifted in his chair, and Ford expected to receive another friendly punch or a headlock or something of that sort. Instead, Stan caught him in an embrace. "You really are going to turn into a tree one of these days, you sap."

"Look who's talking," Ford said, giving Stan a hug back.

"Hey, I'm entitled. You called me up to say you were in the hospital, scared the crap-ckers, you scared the crackers out of me," Stan said.

"Nice save," Ford remarked dryly. Stan had mostly managed to excise casual swearing from his vocabulary, but not entirely.

"I'm being serious here, Sixer," Stan said. "No pulling any stunts like this again, got it?"

"I'll try my best," Ford promised.

"Good. I'm glad you and Fidds are alright." Stan looked over at Fiddleford, who still had a certain tenseness in the line of his shoulders even as he chatted amicably with the kids and the woman at the desk. "More or less."

"More or less," Ford agreed. Physically he was sure they would both be fine. Psychologically… only time would tell.