Misguided Nepotism
(fanfiction of Dad.z's anti-Stanford au)
Stanford let out a hiss of a breath, his eyes lowered to the scene before him.
Mason 'Dipper' Pines was prone on the floor of the Fearamid, his body all the more pale against the obsidian stone that surrounded him. It had increasingly become a common occurrence for one of the denizens of the complex to come across the young teen in such a manner. His eyes were muddy, a confused haze of uncertainty to the world around him, half hidden behind his messy chocolate locks. The child had been in Stanford's 'care' for the better part of several months, if Stanford had correctly kept track of his sleep cycle and hours of work and if he did adhere to dimension 46'/'s Earth's orbit around its sun.
As it was, time was not a concept Stanford had particularly kept track of, not with the gifts bestowed upon him, nor the time manipulation power of Bill Cipher; it was remarkable how days, weeks, months and even years blurred together. Stanford on occasion was reminded of the oddity of time whenever he encountered a dimensional variant of himself that was decades younger, either due to timeline discrepancies, difference of time or they were also enthralled to a Bill Cipher or other being with similar powers.
Clearing his throat, Stanford exhaled, "Mason, would you like to have a meal with me today?" he inquired, as he did every day, believing that perhaps routine would help the boy acclimatize to his new life.
Silence was his reply.
Frowning, Stanford crouched beside Mason, and reached out, brushing his fingers against Mason's fringe, his fingers grazing his forehead, "Come now, you need to eat," Stanford smiled, "I have gotten better at pancakes, I know you like them." Mason did not move an inch, nor did he respond to Stanford's touch. Cupping Mason's jaw, Stanford raised the teen's head to check him over. Stanford's brows knitted together in confusion, the boy's eyes were more than despondent, more than hazed, they were the eyes of someone who had experienced absolute horror.
"Mason, I need you to eat," Stanford said firmly, moving his hand to Mason's shoulder, to move him into a sitting position, "you do not have the ability to exist on magical power alone, nor the endurance to survive on the amount of sustenance you have been intaking."
"Why do you keep doing it?" Mason asked, his voice a rasp, a scratchy ache from uncountable hours of frustration and tears.
Stanford blinked, "Keep doing what?" he asked, "You have to be clear with your questions Mason, you would be a poor scientist or researcher with that ethic." Stanford chided, as he moved the boy into a sitting position, "You would do well to remember that, it is impertinent towards your mentor and the principles of scientific effort to do so otherwise." he paused, "And journalism I suppose, though I do not care for the literary arts, confusing as they are."
Mason sat silently for a moment, his head bowed forward, his wavy curls covering his eyes, "Why do you keep taking me?" he whispered, his voice cracked, "W-what purpose could that- d-does that serve?"
"Mason, what do you mean?" confused, Stanford tilted his head, "You are my apprentice, I greatly desire to share what I have with you. The opportunity to be more than simply a scholar restricted by Earth's limitations." He thought it was rather obvious to Mason, what greater purpose was there than to bring greatness to all dimensions possible? The boy should consider himself fortunate to be even considered for such an opportunity, instead of mewling on the floor like some newborn welp looking for its mother. Stanford had encountered numerous men and women, beings on his journey to apotheosis, who greatly desired to assist him in some manner.
Granted, Stanford was somewhat concerned with the absolute dedication some of them held for him, almost zealous worship of him of an unnerving sense, to some who desired nothing more than to bask in his brilliance. Not that he objected to the latter, he was a genius with many fine qualities after all. To those that did desire to join him, it was Bill's decision whether or not to let such people into his fold of chaos and demonic conquest.
The damned triangle had taken a shine to some of the fanatics like an exuberant child to an inquisitive puppy, amused and ecstatic that some meatsuits found Stanford the life of the party. Such dedication was easily manipulatable and Bill had more than once capitalized on the flippy-dippy feelings of them and expanded his menagerie of maniacs and minions. Stanford was certain he did not want to know what Bill did with such people, it might be better to never know.
Mason raised his head, his eyes stared into Stanford's own, agonised and clear as a freshwater stream, "I am not the first Mason you took, am I?"
Stanford swallowed thickly, his fingers curled around Mason's shoulder, "Mason, that is neither here nor there, you have an opportunity to be better than the others-"
Mason's face twisted into a snarl, his dull eyes shifting brighter in rage, "I saw them Grunkle-" he caught himself, cursing under his breath, this man was NOT his Grunkle Ford, "Stanford," Mason seethed, "I saw THEM."
In a moment, Stanford's eyes darkened, the sky-like blue darkened to shards of stormy sky, "You saw them." he reiterated, his tone even and slow, "And pray tell what did you see?"
Exhaling sharply, Mason defyingly stared up into Stanford's eyes, "I saw them. The other me's," his voice wavered, "the other Mason's."
"...all of them?" Stanford asked in a low voice, it had never been his intention for Mason to ever see his dopplegangers, especially with what had been done with some of them after their single minded rejection or incompatibility with the life that Stanford offered them.
With a jerky nod, Mason inhaled sharply, "How could you do that?" he accused, "How could you do that to them?" his voice grew small, pitiful.
To reassure his great-nephew, Stanford squeezed Mason's shoulder, "Dipper-"
Mason clenched his jaw, slapping Stanford's hand away, "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" the boy spat, pushing his hands against the floor, scrabeling back away from Stanford, "you aren't my Grunkle Ford! You aren't my family!" he screamed, tears glazed over his eyes. "He would NEVER have done this! Never leave his family like THIS!" he flung his arm out, motioning to the dark stone walls, the high ceilings, the numerous Bill artifacts and decor, the almost drunken scrawls of the Bill fanatics.
Stanford swallowed, his throat thick and dry, "You are right… Mason, he would not have left you." he stood tall, his arms folding behind his back, a familiar, old stance, "I am not your Stanford, for he is dead." It was not clear to him when his affection for his great-nephew had turned to disgust, revulsion ...pity. Perhaps it was to this Mason, one who was not outrightly screaming in fear, with the desire to run away and return to his Mabel, his Stanley, ...his Stanford. As if that was possible any longer. Stanford had fallen into a routine; whenever he came across a Dimension with a similar Stanford, or one that was easy to mimic, he would do away with the man and take his place. It was not unsurprising that he was usually found out in time, not everything was the same in every dimension, some were entirely the same down to habits. Others were minute differences; in one dimension he had been found out because of all things that version of him took absurd amounts of sugar in his coffee.
Mason stared up at Stanford, his eyes widened to an almost comical size, tears spilling down his cheeks. He shook, and let out a feral scream as he jolted forward off the floor, scrambling up Stanford's front, taking hold of his jacket's lapels. It was a sad sight indeed, a child fighting a man such as him, to better say attempting to fight him as his meek strength and stature was truly nothing in comparison. Stanford merely held the back of Mason's vest, pulling him away with ease, leaning back from the boy's flailing limbs, his screams turning into maddened screechs.
"Mason, get a hold of yourself." The young teen's rage twisted and burned not unlike the fires that had swallowed and burned Rome to its foundations, his rage growing hotter with every passing second. Stanford frowned, "Dipper Pines, ENOUGH!" Stanford roared, stifling Mason's yells and fury, making him flinch away and wrap his shaking arms around himself. "Good lad, calm yourself. You are a scientist, an academic, you have a future before you. One that anyone would gladly take."
Without a sound, Mason started to shake even harder, "I j-just want to go h-home." he sobbed, biting his lower lip as the rage he felt had dulled into grief and loneliness, he would have to tell Mabel and Grunkle Stan about Ford, that it had not been there Stanford who had betrayed them, hurt them. Lied to them.
Exhaling sharply, Stanford let go of Mason's vest, and leaned back, taking his glasses off. Pinching his brow between his thumb and pointer finger, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Another abject failure! Why couldn't he find a Mason who would follow him without objection? Granted there were those Stanley's, Mabel's, and Mason's who did follow him, his family. But... they were always so unsettling. As if there was something wrong with them.
This Mason, though suited, was most certainly not one who would follow Stanford willingly. The boy had suffered too much trauma already, especially in such a time frame. Stanford could find books or a professional to assist Mason in coping with how things were now, yet there was a high chance he would turn on Stanford at a later time. The boy had little to no subterfuge, and was clear as crystal. Though, Mason was an avid Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons player and had shown his cunning nature time and time again with the oddities and foes he had bested during the summer of his stay in Gravity Falls. No, Stanford could not risk THIS Mason, better to return him to his family and find another candidate worthy of being Stanford Pines apprentice, his protégé.
"Mason," Stanford said as he returned his glasses to his face, "I believe it is time for you to leave." he waved his hand, a spark of blue fire coursed over his hand, Mason flinched backwards, pressing himself against the wall. Of course, the fire was the same hue as Bill's, so why wouldn't the boy be wary of him. With a flash of cyan light, Mason disappeared, returned to his home dimension, to the fraught remains of his family.
Stanford felt the flames around his hand dissipate, fading away as if they had not existed at all. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh before he reached into his pocket and drew out a worn leather bound journal. Opening the journal, Stanford leafed through the pages, the first third of the book filled with his neat penmanship. Stanford propped the book open on one hand, and looked at the topmost line on the left page; 'Mason 'Dipper' Pines, Dimension 64^'. Raising his hand, the tip of Stanford's index finger ignited. Sliding his finger over the foremost line, Stanford watched the murky ink flash and glow, fading to a burgundy hue, a line striking through the text.
Stanford's eyes lowered, his calculating gaze sliding over the names after Mason's. There were more out there, many more Mason's across the infinite dimensions to test and acquire, to share his grand designs with. Stanford would do what he must, not because he could or because he had the capacity to do so. No, he would find a Mason that would appreciate what he could offer, a Mason of a similar mind and drive, one who could see the bigger picture. A future that was more than just a backwater world in a lackluster dimension that still relied on the incineration of fossil fuels and unstable nuclear fission to power it.
As he closed the journal, Stanford smiled, his vision would come to fruition, the true pinnacle of his magnificent research. For his daring and unfathomable ideas, Stanford knew that he could shake the very fabric of reality and restructure it in a manner that none would ever challenge! His brilliance was unmeasured, unrivaled, unparalleled! He would never have to be challenged by another intellectual being! There was no doubt in Stanford's mind, his name would be known throughout the multiverse, remembered for all of time and space.
No one would forget the name Stanford Filbrick Pines.