...There's no way that's natural.
Not all of it, anyway; the anger, as misplaced and disproportionate as it is, I can at least accept, if not completely understand. But the rest, that level of unhappiness...makes no logical sense, unless Stanley is under some kind of enchantment or curse or something.
Ford finally managed to straighten up, and blinked some of the moisture from his eyes. And then he registered that Dipper and Mabel were both standing in front of him, staring up at him worriedly.
"What's wrong, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel asked. She grabbed one of his hands in both her own and squeezed, looking up at him with soulful brown eyes.
"Is something wrong with Grunkle Stan? Do you...sense something?" Dipper asked hesitantly, glancing in the direction his uncle had gone; a new surge of worry spiked from him, sharp and strong.
Ford cleared his throat, and used the heel of his hand to wipe his face, pulling himself together for their sakes. "...Possibly."
He glanced at Wendy, who looked back in a blend of confusion and slight concern that seemed directed towards Stan, and then down at the children. "Do any of you know if Stanley has done anything to...antagonize anyone, lately?" Then, thinking about who that statement was referring to, he amended, "Anyone of a supernatural nature?"
The others considered.
"...Well, he kinda upset a hand witch once so she stole his hands and we had to go redecorate her cave so she'd give them back-but I think that might've been just a weird dream I had," Mabel admitted. She looked at Dipper for confirmation; he just shrugged.
"I haven't heard about anything," Wendy put in her two cents' worth. She pulled out her phone, typed for a moment, and then when it buzzed, added, "Neither has Soos."
They all looked back at Ford. "Why?"
"...We're going to have to look over some of my old journal entries."
Part of him was aware that they didn't have time for this. He should be focusing on figuring out what to do about the rift, and if any further precautions needed to be taken to stop Weirdmageddon before it had a chance to start...but then again, maybe this was part of a plan by Bill to take them down from the inside, maybe Stan had been foolish enough to make a deal with him (one that somehow imbibed him with strong negative emotions? That didn't seem like Bill's typical modus operandi, but maybe he was changing things up a bit so they wouldn't suspect him). Or maybe Stan had fallen under the thrall of some other eldritch horror, or demon or ghost or something else that was affecting him so strongly.
Either way, despite...everything, it just wouldn't be right to leave him to that kind of fate. Nobody deserved that.
But he'd figure it out and take care of it, like he always did.
...Six hours later, they had looked at every type of cryptid, demon, monster and curse listed in his journals, as well as several Wendy had looked up on her phone, and so far none of them seemed to fit the right criteria-not least because anything that was able to keep possessing Stan through the barrier surrounding the house would have to be on a whole new level of power that Ford wasn't even sure existed.
And all his attempts to fix the problem via conventional means had been fruitless. Having Wendy shoot Stan with a pistol filled with anointed water just irritated him and made him threaten to cut her pay; Dipper chanting several types of exorcisms in Stan's presence just made him ask if he was having a seizure or something, before he got a thermometer and checked the boy's temperature; burning special herbs in different parts of the shack just made him complain about the smell and demand if they were trying to burn the place down.
And throughout all of it, the thick, unhappy cloud continued to surround Stan, seeming to grow stronger every time he and Ford were in the same proximity for some strange reason.
By nightfall, Ford still had no answers for what was wrong with his brother, and that irritated him to no end.
He shooed the children back upstairs at dinnertime, promising to follow them in a moment, and paced around the basement as he considered his options.
There was only one left that he could see as a potential solution: he would have to pay a visit to Stan's mindscape and see if he could find the source there.
He's really not going to like that, a little voice in the back of Ford's head commented.
...Well, it's for his own good. And if I just wait until he's asleep and perform the ritual then, if his sleeping habits are as deep as they were when he was a teenager he'll most likely never even realize I'm there.
Yes, this is a good plan.
With a decisive nod to himself, Ford headed for the elevator, and from there the stairs to the main part of the house.
He was almost to the kitchen when, to his surprise, he felt a change in Stan's emotions.
The dark cloud wasn't...gone, per se, but it was lighter than before. Ford could even feel a few trickles of happiness running through his brother, matching perfectly with the sound of his booming laughter.
Ford peered through the doorway, wondering what had happened-had one of the rituals finally worked?-but all he saw was Stan and the children talking animatedly away about something that had apparently happened with that day's customers that required him to stand up and gesture his arms around like a windmill. Mabel was squealing with laughter, and Dipper's laugh was a little more subdued but he was evidently enjoying the story just as much as his sister. Somehow, the sound of their laughter seemed to be enhancing the amount that the darkness was being driven away from his brother.
Before Ford could process this for long, Stan noticed his presence.
Immediately the mirth died away from his face, and he sat back down with a thud; as he did, the cloud returned with a vengeance.
Ford cringed inside as he felt it settling back around Stan, and hesitantly entered the kitchen.
"...What were you talking about?"
"Nuthin' that'd interest you," Stan muttered, stabbing his fork into the piece of chicken on his plate with far more vehemence than really seemed necessary.
Both children flinched, and looked at Ford apologetically as he sat down.
He decided that he needed to do that search of the mindscape, tonight.
...Feel like the chapter title says it all, really.
Also, happy Glorious 25th of May to any of you familiar with Discworld.