"Stanley's feeling well enough to eat!"
The group of young people in the kitchen stared at Ford in comical bemusement as he made the announcement, before he grabbed two slices of bread and popped them into the toaster. It might have had something to do with him practically singing the words, or the almost giddy smile on his face as he turned and began making himself coffee. Or possibly the wet stains all over the front of his coat and sweater. Or, heck, all of the above.
Dipper snapped out of it first.
"Um-so, is he all better?"
"Mostly. The fever at least appears to be gone, but he says his stomach isn't quite back to normal." Ford smiled at him reassuringly. "All the same, he has made excellent progress, and I believe he is out of danger. Thank goodness."
Mabel could no longer contain herself: with a joyful squeal she practically leaped across the kitchen and tackled Ford, ecstatically oblivious to the fact that she would have pitched him face-first into the coffeemaker if not for his well-honed reflexes. "You DO still love Grunkle Stan!" she exalted, while attempting to crush his ribs. "And now you guys can talk and fix all your problems and live happily ever after!"
Ford, who even before their feud had not been accustomed to using the L-word in conjunction with his brother, was a little overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, even when the potion had at last worn off...but unlike at the beginning of this whole situation he found it endearing rather than irritating, and patted her head for a moment before gently extricating himself. "We can at least try."
Dipper had grabbed a plate, and made it to the counter just in time to grab the newly finished toast out of the toaster before putting it on said plate.
"Thank you, my boy." Ford accepted the plate, and headed for the stairs. He wasn't too surprised when the children followed him, and even Soos he could recognize, if not completely understand yet; Wendy, on the other hand, threw him off a little.
"What?" Wendy asked at his expression. "If I come check on Mr. Pines with you guys, it means I don't have to get started setting up the gift shop yet."
The cheeky smirk that accompanied her words had Ford fighting not to smile back before giving her a stern look. "Didn't your father teach you anything about the importance of a steady work ethic?"
She stared back at him flatly. "Fifty thousand times."
"...Ah."
When they found Stan, he was in his room (thankfully wearing fresh underclothes), digging his suit out of the closet.
"No." Ford handed the toast to Dipper, then marched forward and caught Stan's arm, steering him away from the closet.
"What the heck-I've missed enough work as it is!" Stan tried ineffectively to squirm away.
"You can rest for one more day so we can make sure the last of the illness is out of your system." Ford was about to steer him back to bed...but then thought it might be a good idea to have the sheets washed, so he pushed him into a chair instead.
Stan sent an indignant glare towards the others. "You've let this jerk go mad with power-he's a freakin' tyrant now!"
Ford's grin was just a bit too thrilled by his new title. "Yes, I am."
Dipper came forward and handed Stan the toast. "Great Uncle Ford has a point, you don't want whatever that was to come back."
"Whose side are you on?!"
Mabel joined her brother. "Please take another day off, Grunkle Stan! You can stay in the living room and watch violent television if you want, since your fever's gone!" She nudged Dipper in the ribs, and they both looked up at their uncle with the kind of expressions you usually see reserved for adorable kittens, with big shiny eyes and hands clasped together under their chins.
Stan rolled his eyes, and began grumpily eating his toast; Ford knew they'd won.
Finally he looked over at Ford as he wiped crumbs off his chin. "That okay with you, if I just sit in the living room?"
He rubbed his chin for a moment, and then nodded. "The tyrant grants your request."
"Thanks." Stan got up, slowly, and allowed himself to be half-herded out of the room. Despite the grumpiness of his demeanor, Ford could see, as he stripped the bed and tried to remember where the laundry room was, that his brother's shoulders looked less heavy, and despite the amount of grumbling, even without the potion Ford could tell he was secretly enjoying being fussed over like this by everyone.
It wasn't a perfect fix...but it felt like a good start.
"...So is everything okay now?" Fantasy asked uncertainly.
They'd peeked outside, seen that all the guys who'd been holding their room under siege were gone, and had tentatively crept outside. Stubbornness was covered in injuries from head to foot, but Hope had touched his arm and the worst of them cleared up right away, allowing him to get up and follow them.
Hope shook his head as they wandered towards the front door. "Not really. There's still a lot we need to talk about...and apologize for." He still leaned a little heavily on his cane as he pushed the door open. "And things'll never go back ta how they used ta be."
Fantasy frowned. "Then why are you out?"
Hope gave him a small smile. "Cuz things are good enough for me to at least do this." He snapped his fingers, and in one tiny part of the mindscape, things...changed.
The swingset slowly straightened up, and the broken seat pulled itself back together. The vines which had been curled around it unraveled themselves and sank back into the ground, until it looked, if not good as new, at least as good as they remembered it.
Best of all, a touch of color returned to the swings, and the immediate area surrounding them-not as vibrant as it had been back in Glass Shard Beach, but still an improvement compared to how it had been.
Fantasy brightened up himself-and then, with a mischievous grin, raced off towards it. "Last one there's a rotten egg!"
"Hey, no fair!" Hope laughed and began half-running after him. "I'm not strong enough to run yet!"
"That's why you gotta practice, ya knucklehead!" Fantasy shot back.
Stubbornness rolled his eyes, and scooped Hope up onto his shoulder before chasing the scamp down.
When the little group finally reached the swings, the boys each claimed one, and enjoyed being able to use them for the first time in years. As they did, the gargoyle gave an exhausted yawn, and curled up on the ground next to them, so that if needed, he could grab them and take them back to safety. But for now, he felt safe finally resting.
Off in the shadow of the trees, a familiar figure watched the happy group with far less hostility or cynicism than he had in a long time.
Despair tried to tell himself that this was too good to last, that sooner or later he would regain power...but as the boys swung higher and higher, and their joyful laughter carried across the mindscape...he let out a small sigh, and shuffled, before changing.
His form did a little shiver, and slowly melted down into two smaller figures-not in terms of height, but in terms of presence. One of them was like Stan as he was now, old and gray and wearing the Mr. Mystery suit, but with an old red journal clutched in his hands. The other looked a lot like Betrayal, except instead of the duffle bag he carried a bag of toffee peanuts.
As they finished pulling apart, Sadness and Shame let out equal sighs of relief.
Stubbornness and Hope were not the only ones who were tired.
Since the truth has been coming out anyway, Ford ends up telling Stan, Soos and Wendy about the rift too, and asking everyone in the group for suggestions about how to take care of it.
Soos's suggestion to just chuck it into the bottomless pit is, needless to say, vetoed on the grounds of being too risky. He does, however, consider Mabel's idea about seeing if any of the other potions they got could be useful for such things, and begins experimenting with them. The others help when needed, and it develops into a bit of a contest to see who can figure it out first.
And whenever they get a chance, Stan and Ford will just sit and talk. About anything and everything.
Needless to say, there are lots of apologies on both sides-but there are also stories, both good and bad. And now that he's developed a better appreciation for Stan's job, Ford offers suggestions for different exhibits, and how to include some real stuff that won't be TOO traumatizing for visitors.
Stan, of course, is a little too gleeful in ribbing Ford about actually LIKING playing Dr. Mystery, despite multiple warnings and threats from his brother to "shut up."
The potions also come in handy for when Ford finally learns about what happened to his old friend Fiddleford McGucket and begins trying to reconcile with him; that, however, is another story.