Chapter 29: Snow Falls

The first few snowflakes of the season gently fluttered down, hitting the solid ground, the air having a deep chill to it.

Frost was spider-webbed across the glass windows of the house, making it resemble cracked glass. Inside the home it was becoming noticeable that the temperature was dropping, but to Stan it was still pretty warm.

It was the end of November, the snowfall beginning to pick up and accumulate on the earthy floor. As Stan stared out the window, his breath fogging the windows, the earth soon became covered with a thin dust of white.

It's been almost a year… just a couple of months away…

Stan shivers, but it wasn't from the cold.

He moves away from the window, heading toward the thermostat to turn the heat up to a more comfortable temperature. For once after over ten years Stan was spending winter in a house instead of his car. His car during the winter was like sleeping in a freezer, Stan recalling how a few times he had almost lost his fingers to frostbite. He never kept his car running for the heat, the big scare going around about carbon monoxide being produced from car exhaust, and during the winter with the snow the tailpipe could get clogged up and the carbon monoxide would have no choice but to recirculate back into the vehicle.

With a sigh, Stan puts on his dirty red coat, the one that he hadn't worn since last winter, and his boots to go out for a walk on the snowy path. His breaths were small clouds as his hands were stuffed into his coat pockets, the hood drawn over his head. As he walked it felt like he was coming to Gravity Falls, Oregon for the first time…

Another shiver that wasn't from the cold.

I need a new coat…

The memory of his twin's face looking horrified as he was being pulled into the portal flashed in Stan's min. Subconsciously he puts a hand to the poorly sewn patch that was on the coat, where underneath was a red, fleshy looking burn scar. They both made mistakes that night.

But Stan was the one who made the worse one.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. However, it kept haunting him, gnawing at his very fiber of being.

It's my fault… he could be horribly hurt… he could be dead… it's all my fault.

The dark gray skies overhead seemed to get darker, almost feeling like the sky was entrapping Stan in his guilt. Snowflakes fell faster, the winding picking up and blowing a deep, icy chill into Stan's bones.

His footsteps halter, him trying to keep balance. He felt like he couldn't breathe, the guilt squeezing his lungs. When he took deep breaths, the icy air only hurt him, making his gasp painfully. The edges of his vision blurred, his breathing becoming ragged, the blood roaring in his ears as his heart pounded a million miles an hour. A numbing sensation went over the tips of his finger and toes, a tingle as if they had fallen asleep.

He was going through a panic attack.

Stan tries to take a step forward, but stumbled terrible, his legs buckling beneath him.

It's all my fault… I can't even get him back… I should just die here in the cold… it's been long overdue.

He fully collapses into the snow, the cold no longer bothering him as his body was already numb. His eyes flutter shut and all he sees in darkness as his consciousness slowly drifts out…


His eyes flutter open, feeling his body being dragged against the cold ground, leaving a trail.

Stan gasps, realizing that he was being dragged. As if by reflex he starts moving body to get out of the tight grip that held onto the hood of his coat, a surprised grunt from whoever was dragging him.

"What are you doing?" a deep voice bellowed, causing Stan to flinch slightly. "Will you stop moving? You're making this difficult…"

Stan clenches his jaw and closes his eyes tightly as he was slowed to stop, his body no longer being dragged. He sat there, waiting, just like any other time he had found his body being dragged when he was unconscious. Stan was expecting a cold barrel of a gun to be at his temple as his life was threatened before he made his move to escape.

But that feeling never came.

He opens one eye to see a young man that was as big as a small house with red hair standing over him. The young man had a slight beard growing, him wearing a brown lumberjack hat with the front having faux –or was it real?- tan fur, him wearing a thick red and black flannel coat with thick black pants and high leather boots.

"Dan… Corduroy?" Stan asked in shock, bewilderment in his voice. "What… what are you doing?" he then asks, him actually a little frightened. Even though Dan was in his late teens, early twenties, he was at least three times bigger than Stan, vertically and horizontally. Stan could probably never beat him in a fight if given a chance, despite Stan's way too many past experiences. Maybe he knows that Stan isn't really Stanford… faking your own death and stealing your twin brother's identity must be a huge lawbreaker.

"I'm getting you back to your house, Mr. Pines," Dan huffed as if it were obvious, his giving his green eyes a roll of irritation.

Stan looks around curiously, as if expecting another person or two to suddenly show up and beat him into a pulp. "My… house?" Stan repeats with perplexity.

Dan gives him an odd look. "Yeah…" Dan drew the word out long and slow. "You're house, Mr. Pines, you know, the one I helped build with my dad and grandpa under Northwest Realities?" he then elaborated, his words still slow.

Stan narrows his eyes. "Okay, cut that bullshit, I'm not an idiot," he growls. He then stands out, brushing the snow off himself. He looked to the sky to see that it was nightfall, the stars dazzling the dark navy sky, a half-moon glowing a brilliant silver.

Dan huffs, "Coulda fooled me, you walking around in the beginning of a blizzard."

Stan looks around, seeing how much deeper the snow was then when he had first started his walk. His facial expression turns into panic. How long was he outside? The coldness hit him like the one time he got hit by a car in New York trying to run from a gang that he owed money to. Immediately he began shivering, his teeth chattering painfully. In a form of desperation he began to rub his arms to create friction for warmth.

"Let's get ya back to the house," Dan ordered, pulled the older man gently by the sleeve of his raggedy coat.

They weren't too far from the house to begin with, Dan had dragged Stan a pretty good distance. Once they were inside Stan went to the thermostat and cranked it up, Dan going into the kitchen and making a pot of coffee.

"Alright, Mr. Pines," the young redhead called out as he exited the kitchen, seeing Stan wrapping a blanket around himself. "I got a pot of coffee brewin' for ya,"

"Thank you," Stan thanked, his voice distorted sounding from his chattering.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dan rolled his eyes again. "Maybe I should talk to my pop about putting more insulation in the house… when we built it originally you basically said you wanted a big basement," he comments, him looking around at the support beams and rafters to make sure they were holding up.

"Did I now?" Stan inquired. Of course Stanford wanted a big basement… it had that lab and the damn portal.

"I'm assuming it's to store your merchandise," Dan shrugged.

Stan looked at the redhead with confusion. "Um… yeah…" Stan followed up, him raising a brown brow.

Dan suddenly looked at the clock that was on the wall. "Oh, look at the time… I actually gotta head home," he exclaimed, his face going into panic. "Mom will kill me if I am late for dinner again…" he muttered to himself as he shook a fist. "Ya gonna be okay, Mr. Pines?" Dan then asked, and when Stan nodded the redhead gave a thumbs up and quipped that Stan should get a better coat the next time he wanted to take a walk.

Once he left Stan just looked absently out the window, seeing the redhead head back into the woods. How did that boy not realize that Stan wasn't Stanford? Obviously he had met with his twin multiple times to discuss the building of the house, surly Dan could've recognized the noticeable facial difference the brothers shared.

Stanford's nose, much like Stan's, was inherited from their father. Stan's was slightly bigger than Ford's, much to Stan's annoyance. Stan also didn't have a cleft chin like his twin did, something that few people overlook. And the one major difference between the twins…

Stanford had six fingers on each hand.

"That's… odd…" Stan murmured to himself, wrapping the blanket around him slightly tighter. "I wonder… if it has something to do with those guys in the robes…" he gives shudder, thinking about Old Man McGucket and how insane he was.

The coffee machine beeped, signaling that the coffee was finished. Stan takes a deep inhale, the scent seemingly warm him from the inside. The deep, aroma of the smell of coffee reminded Stan when he would see his mother down cup after cup in the kitchen. Stan himself wasn't much of a coffee drinker, one or two in the morning was enough for him, but it seemed that his mother and Stanford had to practically inject themselves with the dark liquid to get the caffeinated benefits.

Stan poured himself a cup and sat at the kitchen table, staring at his reflection in the steaming liquid. His mournful expression mirrored him though the coffee, which only gave him a pang in his chest, the face too similar to his brother's…

You look like Mom on her tenth cup of coffee…

That night… almost a year ago. Stan had come to the house because after slightly over ten years Stanford was reaching out to him. Stan had thought that the two brothers would finally reconcile, but alas it was not the case.

Stanford aimed a crossbow to Stan's face as soon as he had opened the door, his brown eyes wide with panic and fear. Thick bags were under his eyes, making him look so sickly, as if hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. Stanford's five-o'clock shadow was thick and patchy from not shaving and his brown hair was disheveled from almost ripping his hair out. He had been so on edge that every creak in the wooden floorboards as the two walked made the man jump and look around wildly, him mumbling nonsense under his breath.

You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever, you ruined my life!

You ruined your own life!

Stan's left hand goes to his right shoulder, remembering the blistering pain of the metal branding his skin. He remembered Stanford's face, looking so guilty for hurting him. But Stan was having none of that, he punched his twin brother in the face.

Some brother you turned out to be! You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family? Well then… YOU CAN HAVE 'EM!

All that anger, harnessed over the years had boiled over. Stan had always defended Stanford from the world when they made of him, whether it was from his polydactyl to his obsession with the supernatural, Stan defended him from bullies. He was always jealous that his brother was so much more intelligent than him, but he never dare let that show. Stan deemed himself as the screw-up, the unplanned son, the unplanned nuisance to his family, he put himself into that role. Stan did it to protect his brother from when he did do something wrong… He knew that his brother was destined for greatness, destined to make the world different, but not him…

All you ever do is lie and cheat right on your brother's coattails!

A loud crash echoed in the room. Stan had thrown his coffee mug against the wall, the shards scattering to the floor just as the snow scattered to the ground outside. He would never forget those words his father uttered to him, it hit the nail on the head that he was truly unwanted by his own father.

"It's my fault…" Stan softly mumbled, feeling his eyes sting. He stubbornly held back the tears, his pride burning in his chest. "It's been my fault since the beginning… but I'm going to fix it!"

He then gets up from the table and walks out of the kitchen, ignoring the mess on the floor from his mug, and he heads straight to his brother's lab. The elevator whirred as it descended, Stan tearing his ragged coat off of him and throwing it to the ground. Once the elevator arrived to his destination, the view of the portal from behind the safety glass seemed to mock him.

"It's been almost a year… but I'm going to fix it!"