When the children, along with Wendy and Soos, came down the basement stairs the next morning, it was to find Ford sitting at the table with a massive mug of coffee (which had gone stale hours ago), staring vacantly at the wall in front of him. The potion was still working, allowing him to feel varying levels of concern emanating from all of them.

"...Um, Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked after a few seconds, when their presence continued to go unacknowledged.

Ford glanced over his shoulder long enough to say, "Good morning, children," before turning away again. His stomach twisted in shame at their seeing him like this, and even worse shame at his being ashamed to look at them. It barely registered that apparently they were including the large, hairless gopher (Ford still hadn't ruled out the possibility that he had at least some geomyidae in his ancestry) in this; perhaps this was due to his ridic-his unusual level of devotion towards his employer.

After a moment he heard the tap-tap-tap of their feet hesitantly crossing the room towards him, before Dipper cleared his throat.

"...Is everything okay?"

Ford sighed, and reluctantly turned around in his chair until he was facing them head-on. "I figured out what's wrong with Stanley."

Instantly he was almost knocked over by a wave of Mabel's excitement and worry as she lunged to grab the arm of the chair.

"What happened? How'd you figure it out? Do we need to go on an epic quest and fight a monster so we can save him?!" She brandished her grappling hook, ready to fire it at whatever might have dared harm her grunkle.

"No, nothing like that." Ford braced himself. "I...paid a visit to his mindscape last night."

Dipper and Soos both flinched; Wendy blinked, and muttered, "His what now?"; Mabel asked, "Did you see him feeding his tummy crackers?"

Ford couldn't help jolting a little in surprise. "He still feeds Mr. Tummy?"

He jolted again, this time from Dipper and Mabel's collective shock rebounding onto him. "You know about that?!"

"Yes, it was a game our mother used to play with him when we were very young. And mine was named Mr. Yummy, though I didn't enjoy the game quite as much as-but that's not the point!" Ford felt his face reddening of its own accord. "I did it because I was under the misimpression that Stanley was under some kind of spell or powerful outside influence because he was experiencing unprecedented levels of unhappiness-" That seemed like a safe enough description for now, one that didn't have to delve too deeply into Stan's privacy (again)- "and wanted to find and deal with it. Instead, it was revealed to me that...the reason why he's like that is...mostly because of me."

This revelation had less of an impact than he'd expected: Mabel and Dipper both looked away uncomfortably, Soos hugged himself with one arm and became very interested in his shoes, and Wendy gave a small nod and muttered, "...Yeah, that checks out."

None of them were all that surprised.

Ford felt his shoulders hunch, and one hand lifted to rub the back of his neck.

What exactly does it say about me that children were apparently able to figure this out before I did?

His thoughts were interrupted by Wendy asking at last, "So, what're you gonna do about it?"

"That's what I have been trying to figure out," Ford admitted. "Because while I want to make some kind of reparation, I'm not sure how to start."

"That's easy-go upstairs and hug it out!"

"Yes! Fulfill the prophecy of my fanfiction, dude!"

The strength of Mabel and Soos's combined enthusiasm for the idea was almost enough to send him flying upstairs to do just that; he had to anchor himself with Dipper's fond exasperation to avoid doing so. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mabel." He winced at the disappointment that immediately rose to replace it, and continued quickly, "I doubt Stan would be willing to accept one in his current mindset towards me, and despite your constant enthusiasm for the idea, I'm afraid that not everything can be solved by hugging." Especially not after forty years.

"You never know if you don't try," Mabel muttered rebelliously.

"You guys have the right idea," Wendy cut in, "but he might wanna start with something smaller and work his way up."

Soos brightened. "You mean like taming a feral kitten! I watched these videos about how you do it on the Internet. You gotta wrap 'em in a blanket so they can't bite you, and then you feed and pet 'em into submission!"

Wendy gave him a flat stare, which slowly turned into one of realization. "That's...actually a pretty decent analogy, Soos."

"And we'll all help!" Mabel chirped, grabbing onto the chair again. "We'll do whatever it takes to help Grunkle Stan feel better and both of you to stop being stupid to each other, right Dipper?"

Dipper nodded, more subdued but just as on board as his sister. "Right."

Ford felt a tightness growing in his throat that had nothing to do with anyone else's emotions, and decided he needed to go make some fresh coffee.

He reminded himself, as he filled the pot, that he still needed to figure out what he was going to do about Bill and the rift and keeping Weirdmageddon from happening. If he lost sight of that, the world was doomed.

...On the other hand, it would probably be easier to focus on it if he wasn't distracted by worrying about Stanley and his emotional health, so maybe it would be best to get that dealt with as soon as possible.

Yes, this was an even better plan than his last one.

Then, without needing to turn around, Ford felt Stan entering the kitchen, his irritation at seeing Ford there (mixed with an undercurrent of sharp, lingering pain) was like a knife driving itself into his shoulder blades.

I sincerely hope this has not been his constant emotional state since he le-got kicked out.

...There has to have been some happiness in his life besides when he was with the children, right?

...Right?

Ford swallowed, and then came to an executive decision: grabbing a second mug, he quickly filled it and then turned to face Stan, holding it out.

Stan, who had been in the act of heading for the fridge, blinked and stared at him with a bemused frown. The confusion was a welcome reprieve from his other feelings, and Ford kept going before it could change to hostility.

"I'm sorry that I entered your mindscape without permission, Stanley. It was wrong of me, and it won't happen again." He held the mug out more insistently, and felt a small flicker of relief when Stan took it, even if the gesture mostly seemed automatic.

Stan stared at the mug of coffee, then back at Ford. "...Okay, I think I'm either still asleep or in The Twilight Zone."

Ford winced, but he knew he deserved that. "No, not this time." Then he scooped up his own mug, and left the kitchen.

Stan stared suspiciously at the coffee, wondering if Ford had put something in it, like his stupid mind-control tie. It looked like the normal black stuff, and he seemed to be drinking it too, but you couldn't be too careful.

He sniffed at it; it smelled pretty normal. Grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers, he stirred it, watching for any weird color changes. Nothing happened.

Then Waddles came trotting into the kitchen, looking for a handout, and Stan saw the perfect opportunity. He lifted a spoonful, blew on it so it wouldn't burn the pig's tongue, then knelt down and offered it to him.

"Here, pig. Try some o' this."

Waddles sniffed, and then happily licked the coffee right out of the spoon.

After watching him for a minute and seeing no signs of turning blue or exploding or whatever, Stan added cream and sugar and took a small sip. He couldn't help giving a small grunt of satisfaction at how nice and strong Ford had made the stuff.

From over in the living room, Ford could feel Stan's dark mood lift, just a bit. Still confused and suspicious, but it was definitely a start.

I have no idea if it's safe for pigs to drink coffee, but don't worry, I think Waddles is kind of indestructible; he'll be fine.