- Ten years later -

The barest amount of sunlight filtered through half-open eyelids. Ford found himself mumbling, as if he was still a kid asking his mom for more precious seconds in bed. Still, the voice that replied to his mutters was far from motherly.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" a gravelly male voice said. "We're nearly home!"

Ford rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, before glancing at his left. Stanley had one hand on the wheel, his grey hair blowing from the wind coming from the open car window. Stan greeted his twin with a grin.

"How long have I been sleeping?" Ford said, fighting off a yawn. Outside, the sun was already high in the sky. It had been barely daybreak when they had left their hotel this morning.

"I dunno. Four hours, maybe?"

Four hours? Ford was almost amused. Not even a year ago, he had barely been able to sleep two hours in a row in a comfortable bed. "I could take it from here if you're tired."

"Nah. I'm good."

Ford hid a smile; Stan wouldn't admit it, but he had missed his sorry wreck of a car. They had been on the road for several days now, but Stan had never let Ford behind the wheel. Then again, Ford technically didn't have a driving licence since Stan had stolen his name and identity; the last thing they needed was for them to get arrested before they could get back home and see the kids again.

The kids. Ford found himself smiling wider. They had kept in touch over the last few months, exchanging letters and chatting over the Internet. Still, Ford missed them terribly. He had been excited to learn that Dipper was doing a study of the paranormal phenomena of Piedmont. The boy had noted that his sleepy hometown was certainly more boring in that regard than Gravity Falls. Mabel, for her part, had apparently made so many scarves and socks for her uncles that she couldn't send them all by the mail. In their last video call, she had promised she would bring them a suitcase full of Mabelmade accessories, whatever that meant.

"We must be getting nearer the bus stop," Ford mused.

"Give or take half an hour, at the most," Stan said.

"It'll be nice to see them without a computer screen getting in the way."

"Yep." For a moment, Stan's smile weakened. "You think… you think they missed us as much as we missed them? I mean, it's been months, and they're teenagers now—"

"Stanley," Ford said firmly. "I know for a fact that these kids adore you. You have nothing to fear."

"Okay," Stan said in a slightly squeaky way. "Same, uh, goes for you, y'know? I'm sure they can't wait to see your ugly mug. Kids think you're the coolest thing since sliced bread."

Ford chuckled. "Since sliced bread? We didn't have this one back in the days. What a strange idiom." Still, he felt his cheeks heating up a little. It was nice to be reminded that there were people in the world who gave a damn about him, after thirty years spent jumping at every shadow.

They finally approached the bus stop. Next to the sign, there were two small figures surrounded by an impressive amount of luggage. By their feet, a pink creature was snoring in the dirt.

Dipper had grown one or two inches taller than his sister, his messy brown hair sticking out from under Wendy's ushanka. He seemed to have taken other cues from her sense of style since he was also wearing a red plaid jacket over his shirt. Mabel, as always, was a symphony of garish colours; she had tied back her hair with a magenta ribbon, which complemented a purple sweater and short blue overalls, not to mention mismatched knee-high socks.

Stan kicked the door open, calling their names in a booming voice. Ford left the car as well, just as the younger twins were turning toward their uncles.

Ford's heart nearly burst from love and joy at the sight of their faces.

The twins cried out in glee, and they dropped all of their luggage to run into Stan's open arms. For a moment, Ford felt a stab of disappointment. Of course, the kids would go to Stan first, of course he'd been wrong to think that—

Both Stan and Mabel reached to grab him, pulling him into their three-way embrace. Ford yelped in shock as he toppled over instead, and the hug became a pile of Pines.

He did not know how long they remained there, lying in the dirt and in the grass without a care in the world. Eventually, Stan grumbled, complaining that Ford was elbowing him in the ribs. Mabel's foot had somehow ended up in Ford's right eye, while Dipper wheezed, crushed under his twin's weight.

They shared the same sheepish laugh as they stood up. Stan had barely gotten the time to wipe the dust off his pants when Mabel grabbed him again, shaking at the lapels of his coat.

"June 15th is your birthday and you never told us?!" she cried. "We could have thrown you a birthday party last year, old man! I am betrayed, sir, betrayed!"

"Sheesh, kiddo!" Stan said. "Laying on the melodrama thick, are ya?"

She pointed at him in a show of outrage, but Ford could see that she actually seemed on the verge of laughter. "From now on, I'll plan all of your birthdays and you'll like it. You two, Grunkle Ford!"

"Cut it out, Mabel," Dipper said, shaking his head. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Yeah! Happy birthday, you two!" Mabel seemed barely able to contain her excitement. "And it's like, your first birthday together since forever!" With lightning fast reflexes, she grabbed her cellphone from her bag, and said solemnly, "I'm ready to document the occasion in scrapbook form. With tons of pictures."

"And stickers," Stan completed, eyes a bit glazed over.

"And stickers! You know me too well!" She whirled toward Ford, her grin almost blindingly bright. "Grunkle Ford! I love your sweater! Such a nice colour!"

Ford pulled at the grey-blue wool, smiling slightly. "We bought it when we landed in Iceland."

"Aw, so it's a souvenir sweater!" Her gaze grew critical. "But you gotta ditch the trenchcoat! I thought we'd talked about this already, Grunkle Ford!"

"Um…" Ford threw a desperate look at Stan. His brother only shrugged. "It's not a good look, then?" He was under the impression that trenchcoats were supposed to be cool. Was he wrong?

"At least it's not beige. Blue's a better colour for you, anyway."

"I'm sure we all want to hear Mabel's fashion advice and all," Dipper interrupted her rant, "but shouldn't we go going, you guys? I mean, at least before Waddles manages to eat all of my stuff."

Indeed, Mabel's pet pig was chewing on Dipper's discarded backpack.

"Oh, oh, oh, Mr. Piggy-Wiggy, what did I say about eating things you're not supposed to?" Mabel said as she sauntered over to her pig. "You know Dipper's stuff is gross anyway, it's all sweaty."

"Mabel!" Dipper protested weakly.

"Kid's right, we ain't getting' younger here," said Stan. "C'mon, Poindexter, help me carry all that junk." He gave the kids' luggage a critical eye. "Are you two movin' in or what?"

"Wouldn't that be fun!" Mabel said; she didn't see the goopy smile Stan threw her way as she climbed into the car.

Still, he scowled when Mabel's four-legged friend hopped into the Stanleymobile. "And jus' when I'd managed to get the piggy smell out," he muttered. "How d'you get him onboard the bus, anyway?"

"It was the same bus driver as last year," Mabel said. She flashed a crazed grin. "I showed him a picture of you guys. He understood my point easily."

"Hah!" Stan said loudly, while Ford briefly wondered what kind of monster he and his brother had unleashed upon this world.

"Wait," said Dipper, "what am I sitting on? Is that… who left a half-eaten sandwich on my seat?!"

"Last time someone used the backseat was…" Ford thought about it. "Well, it must have been you kids, actually."

"Aw man, gross!"

"Wow!" said Mabel. "Look at all those fungus! Is it me or are they glowing?"

"Fungi, my dear, fungi," corrected Ford.

"No! Mr. Piggly-Poo, don't eat it, you'll get sick!" Mabel opened the car window, throwing the disgusting (and potentially radioactive) object outside. "There! Be free! Oops. I think it landed on a gnome!"

Dipper made a face. "Ugh… still got its smell stuck in my nose…"

"D'you think that mutant fungi will give him superpowers, Grunkle Ford?"

"Perhaps!" Ford said, tongue in cheek. "The only way to make sure would be to turn the car around and get some samples—"

Stan groaned. "Oh my god. Shut up. All of you." Still, he could not hide his smile when Ford and the twins laughed instead.

Ford had never been the social type, and yet it was baffling how easy it was, talking to those kids. It was like putting on new socks after spending the day walking in the rain, or even like cracking open a beloved book after a long and tiring day. By the end of the care ride, it felt like they had never spent several months apart.

Soon, they could spy a familiar peaked roof. The children stuck their faces in the car window, basic safety measures forgotten and ignored as they caught sight of their summer home.

Stan parked the car near the totem pole. He stretched as they got out of the Stanmobile, his joints making popping sounds.

"Goddammit, never thought I would miss that place!" Stan said. "Adventuring is great an' all, but living in a cramped space with some nerd who keeps obsessin' over the weirdest shit is—"

"Stanley," Ford said sternly, "language."

Stan winced as he looked at the younger set of twins. "Dammit, totally forgot!" He grimaced again. "Ah, shit…"

"We hear worse every day at school," Dipper said, one eyebrow raised.

"Hell yeah!" Mabel added.

"Stop it, pumpkin!" Stan said. "Else your parents will think I'm a bad influence!"

There was a sizable silence. Then, the four of them burst into laughter.

Stan crushed both twins with another hug. Mabel squealed, while Dipper tried to escape, his laughter turning to wheezes.

"I missed you two nuisances!" Stan boomed. "I bet your life is more boring when I'm not around, huh?"

"You could say that," Dipper said. "Fewer opportunities to die a grisly death in Piedmont, that's for sure."

Ford emptied the car trunk while his brother grabbed poor Dipper into a headlock. There were already quite a number of people busying themselves outside his old home. One of them was a heavyset young man who had been talking with a young lady with pale brown hair. He was wearing a dark suit over a green waistcoat, a familiar red fez sitting crooked on his head.

"GUYS!" Soos shouted, running as fast as he could. "You're here! You're finally here!"

"Soos!" the twins cried out, jumping into his arms. The new owner of the Mystery Shack easily managed to lift them off the ground.

"Put… put us…" Dipper eventually managed. He tapped Soos' arm.

"Oh, sorry, dudes!" Soos said cheerfully, putting down both twins. "Don't know my own strength, heh."

Then, he turned toward Stan.

Ford's brother froze in his tracks, like prey in sight of a predator. "Oh boy," he muttered. "Oh boy, here it comes."

"MR. PINES!"

Ford didn't know how his brother managed to stay on his feet while the young man all but launched himself toward him.

"I'm so glad that you're back, Mr. Pines!"

"Geftome," replied Stan. His face was turning a bit purple; the fact that Soos was crushing his midsection definitely wasn't helping.

"Did you miss me, Mr. Pines?!"

"Pumedown," was Stan's only response.

Mercifully, Soos let him go. Stan took a deep breath, panting as if he'd just run a marathon.

Ford extended a hand toward Soos. "Hello, Jesús, it's good to—"

"The other Mr. Pines!" Soos grabbed Ford into yet another bear hug. "I'm so glad to see you too!"

Ford's eyes popped a bit from their sockets. "Sure," he wheezed.

When Soos finally ended the hug, the young woman came forward, looking a bit bemused. "Hello… you're one of the Pines, aren't you?" she said. "I'm Melody. I'm Soos'—"

"Girlfriend!" Soos completed, almost like he couldn't quite believe it himself. "Melody, this is Mr. Pines—well, the other Mr. Pines! Ford Pines! Stan's secret twin bro!"

"Secret twin?" she said with a little laugh. "Like, in a bad soap-opera way?"

"You don't know half of it, dude," Soos said, suddenly serious. "Like, you remember when I told about this portal thingamajig in the basement? Well, one day—"

Ford tuned out Soos' story, unwilling to hear a bad retelling of the most traumatic period of his life. He noticed that a certain teenage girl was talking with the twins. Wendy eventually came their way, thankfully showing none of Soos' boundless enthusiasm. She still wore Dipper's blue cap over her long red hair, and her jeans and hoodie seemed to have seen better days.

"What up, Stan, Stan Two?" Wendy said. "Glad to see you guys haven't been eaten by a sea monster yet."

"Yet?" Stan said with a scowl. "It almost sounds like you're disappointed!"

Wendy shrugged. "What can I say? I need that inheritance money." She paused, grinning lazily at Stan. "I'm in your will, yeah?"

"Not after today, you ingrate!"

Ford rolled his eyes as his brother argued with his ex-employee (or rather, stomped and cursed while Wendy looked sufficiently smug.) Looking around, he saw an elderly lady with a striking resemblance to Soos knitting on the porch. Waddles the pig was peacefully grazing alongside his goat friend (Stomper? Gromper?). Two girls about Mabel's age were carrying party decorations across the yard, while another girl with blonde hair fiddled on her phone, giving them the occasional glance.

The girls eventually passed next to Ford. The smallest of the two had glasses and long black hair. The other was chubbier, with a grin that matched Stan's own in terms of manic energy.

"Oh, hello, Dr. Pines!" the black-haired girl said. She was one of Mabel's friends, if Ford remembered correctly. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah!" the other said. "Mabel keeps telling us about your adventures sailing around the world!"

Ford felt sheepish. "Really? I wasn't aware that we had an audience."

"GIRLS!" a familiar voice screamed. Mabel was rushing toward them. She collided with her friends, who readily crushed her into a hug.

What followed was a flurry of squeals and screeches. Ford could barely keep up with their high-pitched, rapid-fire exchange of 'omigosh' and 'lookit you!' and 'missed you so much!'

After a while, the girls stopped hugging, and Mabel exclaimed, "Candy! Grenda! My people!"

The girl named Candy adjusted her glasses. "It's so good to have you back! There's a ton of things we need to talk about!"

"Like the fact that we started to take boxing lessons!" Grenda added, proudly showing off her bicep. "I mean, look at these guns!"

"Ah-muh-zing!" Mabel said, stars in her eyes.

"We took a liking to it while piloting the Shacktron," Candy added. "Punching giant monsters from the Apocalypse was sure a lot of fun!"

Ford threw her a bewildered look. The girl was so caught up in happy reminiscences that she didn't seem to notice.

"Candy!" Grenda said in a conspiratorial tone. "You know you can't say the A-word!"

"I'll let you girls have your reunion," Ford said. "I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do."

Mabel gave him a quick hug. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford! See you at the party!"

Ford waved at her gingerly as he turned to leave. Soos and Wendy had finally managed to put a banner over the entrance of the Shack, one that read, "Welcome back!" Smaller letters underneath wrote out the words, "Happy birthday Stans!"

Ford inspected the banner as he walked, somehow amused. It was shoddily made, yes, but a lot of love had obviously been put in its creation. He was so focused on this crude, but heartfelt display of craftsmanship that he backed into someone by accident. An old man with a long white beard turned to face Ford. He was thin as a stick, his bony hands fiddling with some controller.

Ford froze, forcing his lips into a nervous smile as he met the eyes of his old college roommate.

Or, more precisely, of the man whose life he had all but destroyed, thirty years ago.

"Oh! Um, hello Fiddleford," Ford said, clearing his throat. "How are you?"

To his surprise, Fiddleford seemed genuinely pleased to see him. "Ah'm fine, of course, of course! What 'bout you, Stanferd?"

Ford was equally bewildered to reply, in all honesty, "I'm good. Never been better, in fact."

His old friend took a piece of paper from his front pocket, grasping it tightly. Fiddleford shoved it in Ford's face. It was a picture, depicting a wrinkly-faced newborn. "Look 'ere! Mah Tate had a mini Tater of 'is own!"

"Wha—you're a grandfather?" Ford finally mirrored his friend's dopey smile. "Congratulations, Fidds!"

"Heheh! Ah didn't do nuthin', t'was all Tate!" His bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Or t'was Tate's missus. That means Tate didn't do a darn thing either!"

"You must be very proud," Ford said.

"Ah'm already buildin' her a mecha suit," Fiddleford said, a bit maniacally. He abruptly grew serious, moving closer to Ford to murmur, "Tate don't know nuthin'. Don't tell 'im, Stanferd."

"Your secret's safe with me," Ford took a closer look at his old friend's clothing. The woolen sweater had little robots embroidered in the fabric. "Is that…?"

"A Mabel original, yep," Fiddleford said, the way someone would announce they had won a million dollars. "Yer niece sent it by the mail, sayin' Ah'd get cold in livin' by mah lonesome in that big manor."

Ford snorted. "I'm not surprised. Give or take a few years, I think everybody in Gravity Falls will have a Mabelmade sweater in their collection."

"She should start a business," said a familiar voice beside Ford. Stan jutted his chin toward Fiddleford. "Hiya, McGucket. Still rolling in your money?"

Ford bristled at the question, but Fiddleford only cackled, saying, "Ah made a pool outta the stuff!"

"Hot damn! Ford, we gotta crash at your old roomie's place! Unless you charge for a dip…?"

"Ah could," Fiddleford answered shrewishly.

They were interrupted by a girlish scream. The blonde child was running toward them, arms flailing. "McGucket, one of your stupid robots nearly ran me over! It's doing it on purpose, I swear!"

Ford blinked, finally noticing that a few crablike robots were carrying a table toward the Shack. One of them had indeed broken from their midst, and it was stomping around, almost gleefully.

"Did it now?" Fiddleford said. "Maybe it's gainin' sentience. Maybe the robot apocalypse is at hand!"

"Whatever it is, get it to stop!" the girl griped. "Oh, look, now it's about to go haywire on the balloons! It took me one hour to—"

"A'ight, a'ight, Ah'm on it." Fiddleford rushed toward his rebellious creation. "Shoo, shoo, go the other way, the other way!"

"Wait," Stan said, "it's heading toward—HEY! Not toward my car, you dumbass!" And Ford's brother stomped toward Fiddleford and the misbehaving robot, hollering threats.

They left an uncomfortable silence in their wake. The blonde girl looked up and down at Ford, finally saying, "Oh. I guess you're Dipper and Mabel's other uncle. The one who isn't an ugly, smelly old man."

"I heard that, Northwest!" Stan shouted from wherever he was at the moment.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Ugh. Why did I let Mabel talk me into this…?"

"Pacifica!" Mabel sauntered over. "There you are! I need your help."

"You're not making me put up party decorations, are you?"

Mabel began to push her away from Ford. "C'mon! Less talking, more working!"

She pointedly ignored Pacifica's protests, and the two girls went to help Wendy set up more streamers.

"Gosh," said a voice next to Ford. Dipper was scratching his head, looking rather dumbfounded. "She actually managed to get Pacifica to come? And to help with preparations?"

"Mabel holds surprising sway over people," Ford commented. "She's a lot like Stan in that regard."

Dipper snorted. "Yeah… while the two of us are more like…" He left the sentence unfinished, his expression growing sheepish.

Ford smiled, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Like two weirdly shaped jellybeans." He was amused to see his nephew lighting up with pride at the metaphor.

"Mabel wanted to invite like, the whole town, but I convinced her not to," Dipper continued. "I said you'd like a smaller party better anyway."

"That's certainly true." Ford snorted. "But I do enjoy a bit of chaos too, once in a while."

With the same contented smile, they watched Stan chasing the robot, screaming obscenities. On the porch, Abuelita Ramirez was glaring at him, no doubt indignant about his use of unclean language around little ears. Fiddleford laughed madly as he shot confetti at his wayward creation with some sort of large-barrelled shotgun; he grinned even more fiercely when he changed course and started to chase Ford with said 'weapon' instead. Ford retaliated in earnest when he found a purple bazooka that shot glitter.

Eventually, the sun started to dip over the horizon, and Mabel announced that everything was now perfect according to her grand design. She and her twin dragged Stan and Ford to a large table filled with a mountain of delicious-looking food. The feast lasted well into the evening; Mabel fed half of her plate to her pig, while Stan recounted their exploits at sea, to the kids' delight. Ford, for his part, stayed mostly silent as he ate. A part of him was still itching to find a quiet spot where he could read or tinker on some contraption. Still, listening to Stan's (mostly exaggerated) tales was entertaining enough.

Eventually, not a speck of food was left on the table. Barely a second after Soos had taken Stan and Ford's plates, Mabel and Dipper rushed over to their uncles, holding several boxes wrapped in colourful paper.

"Open your gift, open your gift!" Mabel was hopping up and down. "C'mon, c'mon!"

Ford rolled his eyes in a good-natured manner. Inside the box was a neatly folded woolen sweater. A golden twenty-sided dice was stitched at the front.

"Dipper told me you wanted to play more of your… what was it again? Your tabletop RPG? It can be, like, your official Dungeon Master's sweater or whatever the name is," she finished excitedly.

Ford patted her head, and she giggled. "Thank you, my dear. It's perfect! You'll join our campaign, I hope?"

It was her time to roll her eyes heavenward. "Well, Dipper might have bribed me with stickers and tons of ice cream…"

"I'll be glad to have you aboard!" Ford draped one arm around her shoulders. "Now, we just need to convince Stan…"

They threw an unsubtle glance toward a certain shyster. Stan narrowed his eyes at them.

"Seriously? You think I want in your nerd game?"

"It's gotten very popular as of late," Ford said loftily. "Nerd things, as you call them, are very much in fashion right now." He quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, if you really want me to steal the coolest uncle title from under your feet, then…"

"Okay, okay, jee-zus! No need to exert your superiority over me, IQ!"

Ford winced at the nickname. Stan couldn't know, of course, that someone else had called Ford by that epithet…

"Alright!" Mabel said. "It's Stan's turn! C'mon, don't let us hanging!"

Stan made a big show of being surprised at his gift (another handmade sweater, this time with little boats embroidered in the white and blue fabric). Then, it was Dipper's turn to come forward with his presents. To Ford, he gave a set of second-hand VHS tapes, saying it was the sequel to a sci-fi series that had been popular in the sixties. The boy grimaced as he handed his gift over to Stan. Stan snorted when he saw the title of his new joke book ('The Idiot's Guide to Being a Funcle') and he playfully (and unsuccessfully) tried to whack Dipper with it.

"Time for the cake!" Mabel then announced. "Soos' Abuelita made it just for you! Lucky boys, you!"

Indeed, Soos was coming toward the older set of twins, holding the biggest cake Ford had ever seen. Letters made in sloppy frosting read, 'Happy 60th birthday, Stan and Ford!'

To Ford's great embarrassment, everyone started to sing. It was probably the worst rendition he had ever heard; some were out of tune, others didn't follow the rhythm. Fiddleford jumped on his chair and played the wrong song on his banjo. Yet, by the end of it, Stan was removing his glasses and wiping his eyes.

"Aw, shucks," he said, sniffing. "Aw, man…"

Mabel's smile dissipated. "Huh? What's wrong…?"

"I think that's the first birthday cake I've had since…" Ford began.

"…our seventeenth birthday," Stan completed, with a sigh. "Dammit, didn't mean to put on the waterworks."

To Ford's great horror, tears filled Soos' eyes. "T-That's so s-sad, Mr. P-Pines!"

Stan winced. "Don't cry, you dumbass! 'm fine. We're both fine. Right, Sixer? We're crusty old bastards, we're made of stern stuff."

"Indeed," Ford replied.

"Then, what are we waiting for?" said Dipper.

"Cut the cake, cut the cake!" added his sister.

Everyone cheered when Stan took the knife in hand, flashing a rather manic grin. He didn't seem to hear the strange tearing noise coming from above their heads.

But to Ford's ears, it sounded eerily familiar.

He frowned, barely registering the others' voices as he looked upward. Ford's breath caught in his throat. The empty space above was being ripped apart by a dimensional hole.

And it was right over Stanley.

Everything happened in a blur. Stan blinked, guilelessly, as an invisible force began to pull him upward. Ford screamed his brother's name, and he jumped out of his chair to grab at Stan. He managed to hang onto Stan's torso, and his heart gave a painful skip as he realized he was being dragged toward the dimensional tear as well.

More panic jolted through him when he noticed two smaller weights pulling on his legs. Blood pounding in his ears, Ford looked downward; both Dipper and Mabel were hanging onto him in a desperate attempt to save their uncles. Ford screamed again when he saw their feet leaving the ground.

"Let go!" he cried out, fear making his voice pitch higher. "Let go!"

His words were lost in the cacophony of screams flaring around them.

A few seconds later, and the four of them were gone.