1981, Palo Alto, California
The phone started to ring. Fiddleford looked up from his banjo and picked it up, secretly hoping it wasn't another customer. He was by no means swamped with orders, but these things were hard to make, so the few orders he had were enough to keep him busy.
"Hello?" he said. "Fiddleford Computermajigs?"
He heard a familiar voice on the phone. Stanford Pines, from Backupsmore! Wasn't a voice he expected to hear again. He listened to the proposition with his eyebrows raised. Well, that was a tall order.
"You say you're tryin' to build a trans-universal poly-dimensional meta vortex?" He paused for a minute and heard an affirmative. "Well, that's mathematically feasible, I reckon." He slammed his fist down on the table.
Then he spit in his little spit tray. Old habits die hard, and he didn't much like spitting on his floor.
"Many nights were spent perfecting the machine," Ford continued. "It would be the crowning achievement of my studies, an answer to the source of this town's anomalies. The time had come to test it."
1982, Gravity Falls, Oregon
The two scientists held the test dummy, walking up to the portal. Ford gazed up at it in pride. It was wonderful! Nothing he had studied before even compared to this! And now . . . to see if it actually worked.
They stepped up in front of it, the test dummy between them, but Fidds accidently stepped past the caution line. Not that Ford noticed. He was too focused on the test to notice something as trivial as that. "Ready? And . . ." They let go of the dummy, and it surged forwards . . .
With Fiddleford attached.
He yelped as the rope attached to his ankle pulled him towards the portal. Ford watched in horror as his best friend and his associate was pulled into the air. The dummy went through, and he was about to follow! His thoughts running a mile a minute, he did the only thing he could think of and grabbed the rope, holding it as steadfastly as possible.
The rope on his ankle kept his friend in this dimension, though his head was through the portal. "I got you, buddy!" he shouted, tugging with all his might and trying to avoid the blue lightning emanating from the portal. He grunted, pulling even harder, and he managed to wiggle his friend out, sending both him and the test dummy right back.
All three of them collapsed on the floor. His mind, however, stayed on the test. He sat up with a gasp. "What is it? Is it working? What did you see?" He scrambled over to his friend, whose eyes had dilated until they were huge.
His only response was gibberish. It sounded like he was talking backwards, somehow.
". . . Fiddleford?" Ford asked hesitantly.
The other scientist sat up, looking away from him. "When Gravity Falls and earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye."
He couldn't be talking about . . . no, he was on their side. "Fiddleford, get a hold of yourself," Ford ordered. "You're not making any sense." He reached out to touch his friend's shoulder, but he shied away.
"This machine is dangerous," he insisted, moving away from Ford. "You'll bring about the end of the world with this. Destroy it before it destroys us all!"
His eyes looked fearful. But what did he have to fear?
"I can't destroy this," he said, affronted. "It's my life's work."
Fidds backed up. "I fear we've unleashed a grave danger on the world. One I'd just as soon forget. I quit." He got to his feet and walked away. Ford looked after him, his eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock. However, it quickly turned to anger. He was a coward! He didn't need him!
"Fine!" he shouted to his friend's retreating back. "I'll do it without you! I don't need you, I don't need anyone!"
However, as soon as his friend was gone, he heard whispering around him. He looked around, a little bit afraid, not that he'd admit it to anyone. "What? Who said that?" He couldn't figure it out, though, so he backed up against the wall.
The whispering didn't stop.
He clutched his head in fear. How to make it stop? Help. He needed help, and with Fiddleford gone . . . he looked at the shiny wall behind him, at his reflection. I must be crazy for thinking this, he thought, but . . . was there any other way?
1982, ?, New Mexico
Stan sat on a bed in a cheap motel, since that was basically all he could afford. He felt awful. He needed a shave, he was overweight, he was basically broke. The Stan Co. stuff hadn't worked, and to make matters worse, now someone was banging at his door. He was jolted awake, and he backed up, grabbing his baseball bat.
"Just give me a few more days, Rico. I'll pay your goons back, I swear," he pleaded. He was nowhere near close enough, but maybe he'd get lucky and win the jackpot over the next couple of days? He had a couple tickets in there . . .
However, something slid through the mail slot. Curiously, but cautiously, he crept towards it. It was a postcard. When he looked through the peek hole, it was just the mail man. He mentally sighed in relief.
Then he looked back down at the postcard. It was for someplace called Gravity Falls. He snorted quietly at the name, despite himself. Well, duh. When he turned it over, it was a simple message.
Please come! —Ford
He thought about it. Well, Ford was the reason he got kicked out and was now banned from most states and was living in New Mexico, fearing the mafia . . . but Stan had cost him basically his entire future, so maybe he did owe him. Plus, he'd probably have food, and free food was always a plus.
So . . . off to Oregon he was. Not like he had anything better to do, though the trip would definitely be expensive. Still, Ford was family.
(Plus, Rico couldn't get him if he wasn't there.)
1982, Gravity Falls, Oregon
It was snowing. Of course it was snowing. Stan hated snow. It was cold and miserable. That was why he'd been living in New Mexico, instead of one of the other few states he was still allowed in. He wondered if he could get a pardon from the President, simply so he could live somewhere.
Still. Ford was lucky he still cared. And that Stan was allowed in Oregon.
He walked up to the house, with a really steep roof and science-y stuff all over the place, with blinking lights and stuff. Also barbed wire, boarded up windows and doors, and a sign saying STAY OUT. Well, by the looks of things, Poindexter's people skills had improved.
He walked up to the door (which had a lovely sign saying NO TRESPASSING!) His hand paused halfway to the doorknob. "You haven't seen your brother in over ten years," he told himself. "It's okay. He's family. He won't bite."
Somewhat comforted, he knocked on the door. It opened, and a very ragged-looking Stanford answered, his eyes wide and unstable-looking. He looked even worse off than Stan felt. "Who is it?" his brother demanded. "Have you come to steal my eyes?!" He pulled out a crossbow and aimed at him.
Stan froze, backed up away from Ford, who aimed a crossbow at his face. Maybe this was a bad idea. Still, to break the silence, he deadpanned, "Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome."
Ford relaxed slightly and put his crossbow down. "Stanley, did anyone follow you, anyone at all?"
"Eh, hello to you, too, pal," Stan replied, unimpressed. What was up with Ford? What had happened these past ten years? Why—
His train of thought was interrupted by Ford pulling him forward by the collar of his neck and holding up a flashlight to his eyes. He immediately felt them begin to water, and he pulled back. "Ah! Hey, what is this?" he asked, pushing his brother away.
"Sorry," Ford apologized, though it didn't sound super sincere. "I just had to make sure you weren't . . ." He trailed off, looking around. Stan wondered if he was mentally stable. He doubted it. "Uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in." Ford walked away, and Stan hesitantly followed, looking around at all the nerd stuff around him. It was really cool looking, even if it didn't reinforce his faith in his brother's sanity.
There was a super-cool dinosaur skull sitting in a fish tank. Something was shooting blue lightning. Finally, he couldn't take it any more and asked, "Look, are you gonna explain what's going on here? You're acting like Mom after her tenth cup of coffee." He then hated himself for remembering her again. Don't think about that.
He found him messing with some papers. "Listen, there isn't much time. I've made huge mistakes, and I don't know who I can trust anymore." He turned away the head of the skeleton next to him.
"Hey, easy there," Stan said, holding up his hands and remembering what he used to do when he was a kid. "Let's talk this through, okay?"
"I have something to show you," Ford said, turning around to look at him. "Something you won't believe."
Stan felt like he could be a little cocky. "Look, I've been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I'll understand."
He found himself looking up at a metal triangle of doom.
"There is nothing about this I understand," he admitted.
"It's a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension," Ford explained. It was a good thing he did, too, since this made literally zero sense. "I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction." He pulled a book with a hand on it out from his coat. "That's why I shut it down and hid my Journals, which explain how to operate it."
He walked up to him. "There's only one Journal left. And you are the only person I can trust to take it." Stan looked down at the red book now in his hands, a little shocked that Ford trusted him. He was still the same guy who cost him his future, though that seemed to be water under the bridge at this point.
"I have something to ask of you," Ford continued. "Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?"
Stan smiled at the thought. Was he offering—
"Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can. To the edge of the earth. Bury it where no one can find it!"
His smile very quickly vanished, replaced by shock, and then anger. "That's it?" he demanded. "You finally wanna see me after ten years, and it's to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?"
Ford whirled around. "Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against. What I've been through." He walked past him, totally missing the glare Stan was giving him.
"No, no," he interrupted angrily. "You don't understand what I've been through. I've been to prison in three different countries. I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car. You think you've got problems? I've got a mullet, Stanford! Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods, selfishly hoarding your college money because you only care about yourself."
Ford looked furious. "I'm selfish? I'm selfish? Stanley, how can you say that after costing me my dream school?" So, not water under the bridge. "I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won't even listen!"
"Well, listen to this," Stan spat. "You want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I'll get rid of it right now." He pulled out his lighter and moved it towards the dumb Journal. Serves it right.
Ford jumped towards him and grabbed it. "No! You don't understand."
"You said you wanted me to have it, so I'll do what I want with it." He pulled it away and over the lighter.
"My research!" He slammed into him, sending both twins flying and grappling. The Journal fell on the ground, and Ford tried to go for it, but Stan stopped him. He managed to get a hand on the book, but he got tackled again. They went through a door into another room, where he was thrown up against a wall with blinky lights that weren't on.
He looked down at his brother and said, "You want it back, you're gonna have to try harder than that." They fell to the ground, and the metal triangle of doom lit up a pale blue. "You left me behind, you jerk. It was supposed to be us forever. You ruined my life!"
"You ruined your own life!" Ford kicked him a way, onto a glowing icon on the side of a panel. He screamed a bloodcurdling scream as he felt the searing pain in his shoulder, smelt smoke and the smell of his own flesh cooking. He fell to the floor in pain. "Stanley!" Ford yelped, panicked. "Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry. Are you—ow!" That was from Stan punching him in the face.
Ford stumbled backwards, tripping over some lever and a bit of caution tape. Stan walked towards him, glaring and trying to ignore the still-smoking burn on his shoulder. The metal triangle of doom activated, going white and shooting out lightning. "Some brother you turned out to be," Stan said, his voice cracking slightly with pain. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family. Well, then you can have 'em!"
He shoved the Journal into Ford, sending him backwards. Instead of falling on the floor, like he expected, his brother floated. Slowly, and then faster, he was pulled towards the doom triangle. "Stanley!" he yelled. "Stanley, help me!"
"Oh, no! What do I do?" he asked frantically, horrified.
Ford's coat was getting sucked in. "Stanley! Stanley, do something!" Just before he got sucked in completely, he tossed the Journal towards him. Then, in a massive flash of white light, Ford was gone.
When Stan sat back up, his first thought was for his brother. "Stanford?" Silence, save for the sound of his glasses falling on the floor. He stared at them in disbelief. He ran up to the doom triangle, portal, whatever. "Stanford, come back! I didn't mean it!" He banged on the metal, though he doubted that would do anything. There was the sound of machines deactivating, and he looked back. "I just got him back. I can't lose him again."
He tried to pull the lever thing that had activated the portal in the first place, but it wouldn't budge. "Ah! Come on!" With tears threatening his eyes, he screamed, "STANFORD!"
"I lost him," Stan said, looking away. "I didn't know if he was dead or alive or in some distant galaxy, but I knew his Journal must have the answer to getting him back . . . somehow." He paused. "I didn't get much sleep that night. Or the night after that. I tried for weeks to turn that dumb machine back on. But without the other two Journals, it was hopeless. Finally, I ran out of food. I had no choice but to go into town."
Stan walked up to he Dusk 2 Dawn sullenly. There were some teens with hip-hop music outside it, but he paid them no mind. Food and supplies. That was all he was there for, and then he'd go back up to the house. His hood felt heavy on his head, and his shoulder still ached whenever he shifted.
It felt like it always would.
He found the cheapest loaf of bread he could, and he brought it up to the counter. "Just the bread, then, there, stranger?" the cashier lady asked. "That'll be 99 cents."
He reached into his pocket, but he didn't have any money. Not even a single dollar? Man, he really was broke.
He was cut off from his (rather depressing) thoughts by a lady's voice. "Hey, that's no stranger!" she said. "That must be the mysterious science guy that lives in the woods." All around him, people started gasping and looking over.
"Uh, no, no, you got the wrong guy," he insisted, pulling his hood tighter around his head.
Some short guy with a nasally voice and a really bad haircut said, "I've heard strange stories about that old shack."
A police trainee agreed, "Yeah, mysterious lights and spooky experiments."
"Gosh, I'd pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up to in there," said some old guy, walking over next to the cashier lady. Stan assumed they were married.
"Oh, me, too," said the lady from before. She had cat earrings. "Do you ever give tours?"
He felt himself going on the defensive. If anyone went up to the house, they might see Ford's stuff. "No, really, I—" A thought occurred to him. They wanted to see Ford's stuff. What harm could it do? He'd just tell him when he got him back that it was to raise money to help out. He sighed. "Yes, I do give tours," he declared, spinning around. "Ten—no, no, 15 bucks a person."
Everyone started cheering and holding up their money. He felt his eyes dilate at the sight of so much cash. "So, what did you say your name was, you man of mystery?" the lady asked.
He turned towards her. "Oh, Stan . . . ford." He didn't like this, not one bit, but Stanley Pines was a name they might remember from Stan Co., so Ford's name was a lot safer than his. Still, he didn't like it. "Stanford Pines."
Before he knew it, he had his door swung open, and the light turned on. It was a mess in here, though hopefully they'd think that was intentional, or something. "Step right up, folks, to a world of enchantment or whatever," he said, walking in. The people—no, the tourists looked around, underwhelmed. "Behold the nerdy science box," he added, picking up some random thing.
The lady, whose name was Susan, kneeled down to look at it. Electricity reached out and zapped her in the eye. "Ah! My eye!" she yelled. The eyelid flopped closed.
"Uh, I can assure you, that is in no way permanent," he hastily said, though he had zero clue if it would be.
She was still furious. "I payed $15 for this?" Everyone else started grumbling, too, and he felt himself start to lose his cool. There was nothing to show! Nothing but the portal, and there was no way he was showing them that!
So, he came up with the next best thing. Improvisation! "Uh, you're lucky you weren't part of the last tour group, um . . ." He quickly grabbed a skeleton and a tourist-y shirt with pineapples, showing it to them. "They never made it out alive," he said in a spooky tone. Then he chuckled nervously. He had no clue what he was doing. "Right?"
Everyone laughed at that, and he smiled in a strained way, glad it worked out.
"So I came up with a plan. I couldn't leave my brother's house until I figured out how to save him. But I needed to pay his mortgage somehow. For once in my life, people were actually buying what I was selling. And so, the Murder Hut was born. Later renamed the Mystery Shack." Camo grinned at that. She knew about that! "Finally, I'd found something I was good at. For once, being a liar and a cheat paid off. The old me was dead. And I faked a car crash to prove it."
She didn't miss Mabel making an "ohhhhh" shape with her mouth. That explained the newspaper article.
"By day, I was Stanford Pines, Mr. Mystery. But by night, I was down in the basement, trying to bring the real Stanford back. I couldn't risk anyone learning the truth and sabotaging my mission." Except her, because she was awesome. "So I lied to everyone. The town, my family, your parents. Even you kids."
"So all this time, you were just trying to save your brother," Dipper said, sounding . . . actually, she couldn't quite figure that out. "Grunkle Stan, I'm so sorry I didn't believe you."
Stan just said, "That's okay, kid. I probably wouldn't have believed me either."
Camo burst in. "Well, I believed you, because I'm awesome. Well, partially because I knew half of the truth already, but mostly because I'm awesome."
Basically everybody rolled their eyes.
"I heard talking," came a muffled voice from upstairs. "It was coming from downstairs."
"Oh, no. We're too late. The agents are coming for us."
"What do we do?" Mabel asked.
Camo, meanwhile, was searching for a weapon. Rocks were no good. Either they were too heavy to lift of too small to do any damage. And . . . she didn't trust herself to hold that shard of metal without cutting herself open. She was bloody enough as it was.
"Aw, man, I was so spellbound by your dramatic tale, I forgot all about those dudes," Soos said.
"Ditto," Camo agreed.
Dipper looked like he'd just had a brilliant idea. "Wait, forget. That's it. I think I know a way we might be able to defeat those agents." He pulled out the memory gun, and Ford gaped at it.
"Of course!" the scientist said, holding it like it was the most incredible thing in the world. "I don't know how you got a hold of one of these, but this is perfect." He started to hook it up to something, and a frown spread across Camo's face. How did Ford know about the memory gun? McGucket quit and then made it, or maybe her timeline was screwed. She wouldn't be surprised. "I can just amplify the signal to a radio headset frequency . . ."
He peered through some eyehole. Camo just watched, bored. "There," he said. "Now everyone, plug your ears! Get down now!" They did so, and she swore, just beyond her hearing, there was some kind of sonic boom.
Ford glanced at them frantically. "I need a cover-up story!"
"Um, meteor shower or some other natural cause?" Camo suggested, and Dipper made a face like he was just about to say that. Ford nodded and walked out. They snuck out of the vending machine similarly, and they watched as the cars and helicopters all left. Then Ford fed the USB to the goat and everything was fine.
Ish. Everything was fine-ish.
"Great Uncle Stanford, that was amazing!" Mabel said excitedly, running outside to where the scientist was kneeling. Dipper was right beside her, and Camo leaned against the wall in what she hoped was a cool way. She might not like him personality-wise, but that was pretty cool.
Stan leaned against the door frame similarly to her. She realized just how funny it must look. "Let's not go crazy. It was serviceable."
The scientist laughed as if his brother never said anything. "Thank you, kids. But please, call me Ford."
"Sure. Thanks, Great Uncle Ford," Dipper said, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. Aww! He was fanboying again! "So, uh, would you mind if I asked you a couple billion questions about Gravity Falls?" He pulled out a pen and pad of paper and started clicking it so fast that she was sure that was the sound equivalent of a strobe light.
"Um, well, I, uh . . ."
Stan walked up with an unimpressed expression. "All right, kids, it's been a long day, and me and my brother have a lot to talk about. So why don't you hit the hay, huh?"
"But it's the Author. I've been waiting so long to ask questions about—"
"Not as long as Stan, buddy. Come on," Camo said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and dragging the twins in. She made for her room . . . but as soon as Stan stopped paying attention to her, she crept right back to eavesdrop.
They were quiet for a while, and night fell. She had to be extra sneaky to avoid getting spotted as they headed indoors.
"Look at us," Stan said. "When did we become old men?" She guessed they were looking at a mirror or something.
"You look like Dad."
"Ugh! Don't say that." They both laughed a little bit, and Camo smiled from her spot around the corner.
She heard a sigh that sounded vaguely Ford-y. "Okay, Stanley, here's the deal. You can stay here for the summer to watch the kids. I'll stay down in the basement and try to contain any remaining damage. But when the summer's over, you give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever. You got it?"
"But what about Camo?" Stan asked, and her eyebrows jumped up her forehead. She hadn't expected to hear her own name in this conversation. "She lives here, Poindexter, and I don't think she's got any family. What're we gonna do about her?"
A pause. "We'll figure something out. Maybe she can go with the twins, or get adopted by somebody. But she can't stay here. You know that."
Now was Stan's turn to sigh. "You really aren't gonna thank me, are you?" he asked. Another pause. She suspected they were glaring at each other. "Fine. On one condition. You stay away from the kids. I don't want them in danger. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned, they're the only family I have left."
"Even the blond one?"
Camo went dead quiet, as did Stan. Even amidst the silence, though, she barely caught him saying, "Yeah, her too, I guess. Stay away from 'em."
She smiled and went to bed. The smile stayed on her face until she fell asleep.
Sometimes, I wonder how much more popular this fic would've been if it had been posted when Gravity Falls was still airing, or recently stopped. Still, that would remove the power of the time travel part, so . . . it could never have been.
It's worth it to know that all you reading it like it, though. :)