A/N: Just a head's up, but trigger warning for some suicidal ideation in this chapter.

Grunkle Ford looked like he was simply sleeping.

Mabel had propped him on a mountain of cushions, saying she didn't want him to end up with 'old man back problems' like Grunkle Stan. He seemed comfortable enough, which was a small relief. Still, worry gnawed at Dipper. In the dim lighting of the library, his uncle's skin seemed deathly pale.

"Is it me or is his breathing getting shallow?" Dipper said. "It's not just me, right?"

Mabel inspected their uncle, brushing a bit of grey hair from his forehead. "He seems fine to me. You worry too much, Dipper. Have a little faith in him!"

"Right," Dipper said, still scowling. "Everything's gonna be sunshine and rainbows, and we're totally not going to lose both of them."

He felt a twinge of shame as Mabel's smile vacillated and disappeared. Her lower lip wobbled, and she cast her eyes downward.

"It's just been one hour," Kyan said. "I think Mabel is right, we should give him more time."

"If you say so," Dipper said, not entirely convinced.

A tense silence followed, and Dipper continued drawing magical sigils in his journal. He knew it was pointless to keep practising, but he had to keep his mind occupied; otherwise, he knew he was going to turn crazy.

Mabel observed Dipper as he worked on his sketches. "Do these things only work if you draw them in the air?" she asked. "Like, what if you have a bunch of them already drawn on bits of paper? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"I guess so," Kyan said. "I've never thought about it, to be honest."

"Oh!" Mabel snapped her fingers. "What if you stitch them on fabric? Like in that anime Melody likes so much? The one with the hot guy that makes fire with his gloves?"

Dipper blinked. "Huh. Mabel, you're brilliant."

She wiggled her eyebrows, twisting a strand of hair around one finger. "Why the surprised tone, brobro?"

"There's no harm in trying," Kyan said with a shrug. "I'm not one for stitching, though,"

"Thank goodness you've been blessed by my presence, then," Mabel said.

"Once Grunkle Ford wakes up, we'll give it a try." Dipper frowned. "If Grunkle Ford wakes up."

"Stop that!" Mabel said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "We won't help Grunkle Ford or Grunkle Stan by being such Debbies Downers! We need to focus on how to make things better!"

"Yeah." Dipper felt his shoulders slumping forward. "Guess you're—"

Dipper's response was cut off when Zuri irrupted in the library, panting and scowling.

"Sis?" Kyan said. "What's going on?"

Both he and Dipper startled when they heard voices, even laughter, coming from the distance. They exchanged worried glances.

Zuri reached for one of their energy spears, letting out something that sounded like a curse. "Some people are coming! I think it's those looters your uncle scared off!"

"Oh man," said Dipper. "That's not good… we have to keep them away from here!"

"We can't let them hurt Grunkle Ford!" Mabel added, draping her arms protectively around their uncle's sleeping form.

"I vote we kick them out," Zuri snarled. "Who wanna join me?"

"I'll do it!" Mabel said, grabbing Grunkle Ford's laser gun and jumping to her feet. "No one messes with my family!"

"Mabel—" Dipper began.

"You stay here with Kyan to protect him!" Mabel ordered. "Us girls, we'll take care of everything!"

"I like your attitude, kid," Zuri said with a lazy grin that reminded Dipper of Wendy. "We won't take long, don't worry."

"Wait!" said Dipper, but she and Mabel were already bolting out of the library, weapons in hand. Kyan rushed after them, closing the door and putting up a makeshift barricade with a couch. Dipper remained by Grunkle Ford's side, feeling more useless than ever.

As if on cue, a low groan filtered through the man's mouth. Ford's brow furrowed, and his limbs went unnaturally stiff. He thrashed on his spot, clenching his jaw.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Dipper said in a horrified mutter. "W-What's happening? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" Kyan replied, equally panicked. From far away came a series of shouts, and even the sound of a gunshot. "I told you, I never did that kind of ritual spell before!"

"Grunkle Ford?" Dipper said. Of course the man did not respond, only making the same pained sounds as before. "Oh man, this isn't good, this isn't good at all…"

"What should we do?" Kyan said.

"Do the ritual on me," Dipper said in a rush. "Send me to where his mind went. Wherever that is."

"What? Dipper, this is crazy, we don't know—"

"Please, Kyan." Dipper hoped his voice seemed steady enough. "I'll be fine, trust me."

Kyan sent a frightened glance toward the door, before locking eyes with Dipper. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay. But be careful, a-alright?"

Dipper could only offer him a wobbly smile in return.

Stanford Pines rarely cried.

He had learned that lesson early. "You really want to give people more reason to laugh at you?" his father had once told him, after a schoolyard brawl that had ended with a bully breaking Stan's glasses and two of Ford's baby teeth. "You can't do a thing about those hands of yours, but you can hold on to your dignity. Otherwise, you'll make all of us look bad."

Eight-year-old Stanford had taken his father's teachings to heart. Over sixty years of living, he could count the number of times he'd cried on the fingers of both hands.

No tears left his eyes as he hugged his knees. His body hovered in the air, swayed by an otherworldly wind, making him feel like a boat on a peaceful sea. If he strained his ears enough, he could almost hear the sound of the surf lapping on the shore. He easily imagined the familiar stench of seaweed and salt clogging his nostrils.

In here, he could almost forget where he was, who he was.

What he had just learned.

Ford grit his teeth, bringing his knees closer to his chest. No, no, no. He should—would—could not dwell on that terrible revelation, he could not think about that childish voice saying those horrible words—

Wait. The Axolotl. When had he last heard the Axolotl's voice?

Ford's eyes snapped open.

Where the Axolotl had been, Ford found only void. Gone were the pink mist and the starry blue sky.

Only blackness surrounded him.

Ford gasped, heart racing. "No!" he whispered, in a child's voice. "No, no, no…"

He was alone in the darkness.

Ford rushed forward, finding solid ground beneath his feet. He ran until he was out of breath, desperate to find signs of someone, anyone.

"Help!" he called, in his high, boyish voice. "Please!"

A noise echoed in the emptiness, startling him. Footsteps. And a pair of voices shouting his name.

Ford whirled on his feet, recognizing two familiar figures running toward him. Mabel jumped into his arms, shoulders shaking. It was strange, being only a few inches taller than her. Dipper followed after his sister, relief flooding his face as he caught sight of Ford.

"We found you," he said. "Thank goodness!"

"Why are you here?" Ford said, hoarsely. He didn't know whether or not he was grateful for their presence or frightened out of his mind. "That's not what we agreed! You shouldn't have come!"

"You just wouldn't wake up!" Mabel said. "We were so scared! Did something happen?"

Ford extricated himself from her embrace, suddenly feeling very cold. Somewhere in his mind came the Axolotl's words, heavy with the weight of betrayal.

A newborn child cries, and he's never known
Why he is weighed by a burden not his own

"Did you find something, Grunkle Ford?" Dipper said, grabbing one of Ford's arms.

Ford nearly swatted his nephew's hand away, feeling sick to his stomach. "I… I don't…"

Destined to pay for another's crime
In another world, another time.

"Grunkle Ford?" Mabel said. "What's wrong?"

Ford fought the urge to retch, simply uttering, "T-That's not important right now! You shouldn't be here! We need to go, now!"

"Wait!" Dipper said. "What about Grunkle Stan? Did you learn how we can save him?"

"Save him?" Ford spat out; it almost felt like the words were burning his tongue. "Why?"

The children stepped back as if he had struck them.

"What?" Mabel said. "Why are you saying that, Grunkle Ford…?"

"Are you still mad at him? Even after everything he's done for us?" A hint of anger showed in Dipper's voice.

"W-What did I do to deserve this?" Ford remembered screaming at the Axolotl. "And D-Dipper and Mabel! They love him so much! How dare you do that to them?!"

"I'm not mad, I just…" A noise of irritation escaped Ford's mouth. "Never mind that. He's not what you think he is, you know. What if he pulled this con on us? What if you find out that all those years he's been faking who he is, what he is? What would you do, then?"

"It's easy to know when he's faking," Mabel said. "He smiles, but his eyes stay sad. That's how he always acted when I asked him if it hurt that you wouldn't speak to him after you came back!"

"He did lie to us," Dipper admitted. "About the portal. But he felt guilty about it. And he did it because he was trying to save you!"

"And he faked being you to trick Bill," Mabel said. "He was so scared, but he did it anyway!"

"To save the world!" said her brother.

"To save you!" Mabel added.

"NO!" Ford shouted. "Don't you see, DON'T YOU SEE? It's all fake, all of it!"

The children cowered, but Ford didn't care. He held his face in his hands and screamed, "He's a fake, he's always been!"

There was no answer from the twins. Ford looked up, and his stomach sunk to his heels.

The kids were gone.

"What?" he said hoarsely, whirling around to find any hint of them in this oppressive darkness. "Dipper? Mabel!"

More silence greeted his ears. Ford let out a scream of frustration. "I'm getting tired of all of this! What are you playing at, Axolotl?!"

It took him a while to realize that the voice that had come out of his mouth was deeper, coarser. He'd grown to his full adult height, and he was wearing his ratty old trench coat over a shirt stained with sweat and bits of dried blood.

Cursing through grit teeth, he set out in the darkness to search for his niece and nephew. His heart thumped loudly in his ears. Was that a hint of Mabel's colourful sweater he spied out of the corner of his eye? Had he just caught sight of Dipper's telltale hat? Ford did not know; he only kept walking, dragging his feet along the way.

Finally, he came upon a rather strange sight.

Ford's mouth hung open in confusion. What greeted his eyes resembled a set from a TV show. He recognized the yellowed fridge and the crooked cabinets immediately. This was the Mystery Shack's kitchen. Stan was busying himself over the stove, clad in that ugly red bathrobe of his. Ford tensed, muttering a curse, when another version of him walked inside. Stan glanced over his shoulder, and his expression turned stormy.

"Oh," he said. "It's you. Whaddya want?"

Ford's other self scowled at Stan. "I'm hungry. And in sore need of a cup of coffee."

Stan glanced at the pot of freshly made coffee still steaming next to the stove. He let out a bark of mirthless laughter. "Wait, so you expect me to feed you? As if paying your mortgage and, yeah, your goddamned student debt wasn't enough!"

"If you hadn't sent me through the portal thirty years ago—" Ford's other self said heatedly.

"Save it," Stan snapped. "Go to the diner, or something. I don't care. I'm not your maid, I won't make lunch for you."

"I don't have any money, Stanley."

"Oh, gee, go and find a job maybe? Be a productive member of society or whatever. Don't be a leech, you know." Stan flashed a nasty grin. "See? I took Pa's lessons to heart. Then again, so did you, considering what you said yesterday. I'm not the only one who grew up to be jus' like him, huh?"

Ford's other self let out a growl. "Stanley…"

"C'mon. Aren't you glad I'll be soon out of your hair?"

"Wait," Ford found himself saying. "That's not what I meant back—"

They were interrupted when a tiny purple whirlwind irrupted into the kitchen. Mabel was grinning, holding a piece of paper in her hands.

"Hey, you guys!" she said. "Wait, am I interrupting something?"

"Nahhh," Stan said. "Fordsie and I were just havin', uh, a conversation, is all. Something wrong, kitten?"

"I just wanted to show you guys something." Her grin faltered. "Were you guys arguing?"

"Nope," Stan lied, while Ford's other self simply uttered, "Not at all."

"Okay," Mabel said, "so I was having trouble writing this letter to Mom and Dad. I just couldn't find the right words, you know? Finding out you have a secret uncle who's journeyed through the multiverse is not something that happens every day!"

Stan rolled his eyes, but Ford's past self smiled a little.

"So I decided to add a picture of you guys to help!"

Mabel unfolded her piece of paper. Next to the letter she had penned for her parents was a crayon drawing of Stan and Ford. The two of them were holding hands.

One of Stan's eyes twitched. Still, he was soon giving their niece a forced smile. "Uh. That's nice, peanut."

Ford's past self said nothing. Ford was seized with the sudden urge to throttle him.

"I knew you'd approve," Mabel added. "Don't worry, I'll let you make a copy so you can put it in the secret collection you're making of all my drawings."

Stan lifted a brow. "Secret collection? There's no secret collection."

"You liiie!" Mabel exclaimed, poking him in the belly. "Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

"What can I say?" Stan replied. "Might be worth quite a penny when you'll become a world-famous artist." His lips quirked into a smile when she punched him playfully.

"You're terrible!" she told him. "Alright, I'll let you hold on to it for now!" And with that, she skipped out of the kitchen.

Stan's past self looked at the drawing with a strange expression, full of self-loathing. Ford's heart twisted when he remembered what his brother was about to do.

Stan ripped the drawing to shreds, throwing all the pieces to the garbage bin.

"Stanley!" Ford's past self hissed. "What are you doing?"

"You really want the kids' dad to start wonderin' why 'Uncle Stanford's' dead twin is suddenly back from the dead? Yeah, well, I ain't dealing with this crap."

"But Mabel—"

"Listen," Stan said gruffly, "if she asks about it, just tell her you spilled coffee on it or something."

"What?! I'm not the one who just—"

"You owe me that, at least," Stan cut him off. He poured a cup of coffee, and handed it to Ford. "Now go back to your basement or whatever. You hate my guts for ruining your life, remember?"

Ford opened and closed his mouth in quick succession, not knowing what to make of such words. His other self, however, only scowled and said, "Why are you always so difficult?"

"Dunno. Guess I was born to be a torn in your side."

With a huff, Ford's past self turned on his heel, leaving Stan alone in the bleary shadows of the kitchen.

Ford stared at him, a sour mouth invading his mouth. The words of the Axolotl kept looping in his mind.

(I thought you looked lonely, I thought you looked lonely, I thought you looked lonely—)

Ford fought an urge to scream.

(I wanted to give you a friend.)

The kitchen disappeared from view, leaving Ford in darkness once more.

Ford stumbled onto more of these scenes as he wandered this strange void.

All of them seemed to centre on Stan's life. Ford saw moments he'd shared with his brother in childhood, but also the less savoury parts of his brother's existence. Living in squalor and sleeping with a baseball bat next to his bed. Laughing and crying and screaming at the accursed hunk of metal hidden under the Mystery Shack. Trying to sweet-talk his way out of trouble in prison and getting a beating for all of his efforts.

All of these scenes only served as a poignant reminder. Ford didn't know the man who was supposedly his brother. He never had; he had only fooled himself into believing such a thing.

Exhaustion slowed each of Ford's steps, but he kept going, mainly out of spite. Still, his hopes of getting out of here—of finding Dipper and Mabel and getting them home—were burning up into ashes. Of course he'd been naïve to think it would be so easy. The game had been rigged from the start—from the moment he'd been born as the target of the multiverse's cruellest joke.

Eventually, Ford stopped, in an effort to ease his legs and catch his breath. Next to him was a familiar scenery: the boardwalk back home in Jersey, with all of its second-rate attractions. A teenage version of Stan was ambling down the pier, arm wrapped around a girl with long, dark hair. Ford racked his brains trying to remember her name. She had been Stan's high school girlfriend, hadn't she? Carla something or other?

Stan was wearing a leather jacket, and Ford felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight of the stupid thing. Beside his car, it had been Stan's most prized possession. He had spent weeks helping in the kitchens of the diner next door to buy it (saving up for his car had taken the whole of the summer after their sixteenth birthday, in comparison).

Carla was complaining about her mother. Stan didn't seem to pay her much mind; he kept looking at her with the dopiest grin imaginable.

"And now she wants me to babysit again this Saturday," Carla said, pouting. "She knew I had something planned with the girls, she knew!"

"What if I come over to help?" Stan suggested. "Your brothers like having me around, yeah?"

"They love you," Carla said with a giggle. "They think you're the coolest guy on the block."

"'Course they do," Stan said. "My Ma didn't raise no charming boy."

Carla patted his chest. "You'll make such a good daddy one of these days, Stanley."

Stan goggled at her, letting out only stutters. Carla laughed again, squeezing his arm.

Ford watched them go in total silence. It was lucky that Stan never had kids, in the end.

Bile rose in Ford's mouth as soon as the thought passed through his mind. What would Dipper and Mabel have said—what would that boy Soos have said—if they learned Ford believed such a thing?

Ford shook his head, gritting his teeth. He pictured their sweet, innocent faces in his mind, and anger surged in his chest. None of them knew that their love was being wasted on a fabrication. On a meat sack inhabited by a demon who had repeatedly tried to murder them.

"There you are!" a familiar voice shouted, startling Ford out of his dark thoughts. A teenage version of him was stomping toward Stan and his girlfriend. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Oh, hey, Sixer!" Stan said. "Whoa, what's up? I can almost see the steam coming out of your ears, heh."

"I've been waiting for almost an hour!" Ford's teenage self yelled. "You said we'd be working on the boat after you finished your shift at the diner tonight!"

"I did?" Stan said, scratching at his chin. "Huh. Guess I forgot." He gave his girlfriend a smarmy grin. "Well, what can I say? Time flies by when you're in good company."

"Stanley!" Ford's teenage self tightened his hands into fists, showing just what he thought of that excuse.

Carla was not smiling, however. "Maybe I should just go. It's starting to get late, anyway." She gave Stan a peck on the check. "See you tomorrow, then. And, um… sorry, Ford. See you at school, too."

"Goodbye, Carla," Ford's teenage self replied, icily.

With one last wave of the hand, she was gone, leaving the two brothers and their silent observer on the boardwalk. Ford's past self was tapping his foot in an impatient manner.

"What are we waiting for?" Stan said. "There's still time before sunset, we can work on the boat a little."

"No, there isn't!" Ford's teenage self said. "I told you I wanted to go home early because I need to study for the math test!"

"It's in three days," Stan said with a snort. "'sides, s'not like you actually need to study, Poindexter."

"Yes, I do! And so do you!"

Stan laughed out loud. "As if that would make a difference! Why should I bother?"

Ford's teenage self mumbled something that Stan did not hear. Ford, however, remembered quite well the words that had left his mouth back then.

'Why should you bother indeed?' was what he'd meant to say.

"Aw, c'mon! Let's just ditch the studyin', you'll be fine!"

"No, I won't! Why are you always so unreliable, Stanley?!"

A muscle twitched at the corner of Stan's eye. "Stanford—"

Ford's teenage self abruptly turned on his heel. "Whatever. Work on the boat if you want, I'm going home."

The scene evaporated from view before Stan could place a word.

Ford walked on.

On and on and on and on—

His anger had dimmed down, leaving only an exhausted sort of resignation. He would never leave this place, he knew it now. His only regret was dragging Dipper and Mabel into this mess. His heart twisted at the thought of them. The children would have been better off never meeting him—

No. They would have been better off never meeting the one calling himself Stanley Pines.

A flurry of white swept by, making Ford stop in his tracks. Snow. He watched an errant snowflake melt on his bare hand with utter disinterest. The wind was coming from another scene, one lit in the flickering light of a dying lamppost.

A twenty-something Stan was squatting in an alleyway, smoking a cigarette. The rest of his surroundings was lost in the blizzard. Stan shivered, tightening his hood around his face. His skin was almost as pale as the snow, and stretched tautly against his cheekbones.

Stan let out a series of curses when his cigarette went out. With fumbling fingers, he tried to light it again, to no avail. Finally, Stan let himself slide to the cold ground, hugging his knees to keep warm. Ford hovered near his brother, throat tight with an emotion he could not name.

A four-legged creature came paddling from the other end of the way. It was the ugliest dog Ford had ever seen: completely bald, with its tongue sticking out in the most bizarre of grimaces. Stan stared at the dog with squinted eyes, looking wholly unimpressed.

"Huh," said Stan. "Lookit you. You're uglier than me, and that's sayin' somethin'."

The dog looked back at Stan with a cross-eyed stare. His tail began to wag.

"Wow," Stan said with a dry chuckle. "You're like, the first living being in a while who's happy to see me." He took something out of his coat. It was a squished, half-eaten sandwich. "You hungry? It's not much of a meal, but at least you'll have somethin' in your belly."

The mutt scarfed down the sandwich, mouldy bits and all. It looked at Stan again, mouth hanging open stupidly, eyes shining with hope.

"Sorry, pooch," Stan said. "That's all I had. The rest of my stuff's in my car. 'cept, you know, it's been impounded an' all." He let out a laugh. "I parked it in the wrong spot. I parked it in the wrong spot. You don't know half the shit I've pulled with my baby without getting caught. I mean, what a joke…"

The dog only continued to stare, tongue lolling out of his jaw.

"'course I don't have the money to get it out of there." A sad little smile played along the edge of Stan's mouth. "I guess that's that, huh? Maybe I should close my eyes and jus'… let things run their course. Seems peaceful, in a way. Less messy and painful than bein' shot at, I tell ya."

A terror as cold and grand as a tidal wave threatened to engulf Ford. "No!" he screamed at the younger version of his brother. "Don't you dare do that, Stanley Pines, don't you dare!"

The words had come out all of their own, and Ford clamped both hands over his mouth. At the same time, Stan abruptly sat up, eyes growing wide.

"Wha? The hell…?"

Ford froze. Stan had heard him, somehow. Stan had heard him. He walked over to his brother, pointing at his chest. "There are so, so many people who love you, Stanley Pines! Some of them aren't even born yet, but… you got to live, Stan! You got to live so you can meet them!"

Why was Ford telling him this? Stan Pines didn't exist, not really. Stan Pines was a construction. Why was Ford acting as if all of this mattered?

Stan shot the dog a confused look. "Uh… ya hear somethin'? Am I going crazy?"

"You will stand up this instant and find some shelter," Ford continued, unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth, "or so help me, I'll haunt you until I get you to listen to me!"

Stan jumped to his feet. "Shit. Oh-kay, place's got those spooky whispers or somethin'. Must be haunted. Either that, or I'm fit for the loony bin again."

"Again…?" Ford said, despondently. "You went to a psychiatric institute, Stanley…?"

"Better find someplace else, then." Stan jutted his chin at the dog. "Hey. Comin' with?"

The ugly mutt yelped, twirling on his spot in excitement.

Stan limped away from Ford, followed by the bald dog. Soon, the entire alleyway was gone from sight, leaving only darkness. Still, Ford's coat was covered by snowflakes. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest.

It was all fake. Stan was a fake. And yet—

A familiar giggle caught his attention.

Ford's gaze snapped upward. Not far away, another scene had sprung up. A procession of people wearing black stood with their heads hung down, while someone at their front—a rabbi?—droned on. A funeral, Ford supposed.

No, he realized with a pang, recognizing some familiar faces among the people present. His brother Shermie's funeral.

A couple in their thirties stood with two young children. The little girl had thick brown curls, and she seemed bored out of her mind. Behind her father stood an older man; Stan's grey hair was thicker than it was now, and it still bore a few darker streaks.

Five-year-old Mabel narrowed her eyes at him. For a moment, Ford's brother remained the perfect picture of aloofness. Then, in a very deliberate fashion, he stuck out his tongue at her.

Mabel gasped. "Mom! The weird old man made a funny face at me again!"

Mabel's mother glanced at Stan, who shrugged in a nonchalant manner. Still, the moment she had her back turned, he made another grimace at Mabel.

This time, the little girl laughed out loud. It was a delighted—and delightful—sound. "You made another face! I saw you, I did!"

Stan feigned shock. "Who, me?" he stage-whispered. "Surely you must mean someone else!"

"I saw you too!" the little boy next to her added in a mutter. Dipper, Ford realized. "Stop making fun of us!"

"Sheesh, you're a smart one, ain'tcha?" Stan told him. "I bet there's nothing that can get past you, kiddo."

Dipper puffed out his chest, and Ford let out a sound that was between a laugh and a sob at the sight of his proud little face.

"That's right!" Mabel said. Unlike Stan and her brother, she definitely wasn't whispering. Several funeral goers sent her dismayed looks. "My brother's super smart, everyone says so! He knows the names of all the planets, and of like, all the dinosaurs too! I bet you don't even know what a brashi—bratio –bratchizo—"

"Brachiosaurus," Dipper helpfully supplied.

Mabel snapped her fingers. "Yeah, that! I bet you don't know about the brachizozorus, old man!"

"Oh man, you got me!" Stan said, holding a hand to his heart dramatically. "I don't know anything about the brachizozorus!"

Dipper and Mabel's father let out a chuckle. He was smiling through his tears. His wife hid her mouth with her hand, looking equally amused.

"Brachiosaurus," Dipper whispered, sounding almost affronted.

His father burst into laughter, earning himself glares from the rest of the procession. Stan grinned, clearly pleased with this outcome.

A second later, and he was gone, along with the rest of the procession.

Ford stood alone, only now realizing how his hand was hovering in the air.

Almost as if he'd wanted to put it on his brother's shoulder.

Ford inspected his hand, not knowing what to think. Before he could ponder the implication of his action, Ford heard a high-pitched voice. Not far away he spied another scene: a boy was laughing as he attempted to climb a bed occupied by a dark-haired woman. Mute with shock, Ford advanced toward them.

Sunlight poured into a cramped hospital room.

The woman spoke with the boy sitting beside her with a thick Jersey accent. The child was a dead ringer for Dipper. He also closely resembled Ford and Stan when they had been children. As for the woman—well, Ford would have recognized her face anywhere. That sharp, aquiline nose, those heavily lidded eyes, that thick, dark hair… Ford felt something tugging at his heartstrings at the sight of her tired little smile.

"Ma?" he said, very quietly. "Shermie?"

Caryn Pines showed no sign that she could see or hear him. In her arms, there were two little bundles.

"Oh," was all Ford could say at the sight of the two babies. They were ugly, wrinkly things, yet his mother looked at them like they were the most precious treasures in the world.

A man in a three-piece suit stood by the bed, his expression stony as always. Ford approached him with careful, halting steps. He was taller than his father had been, with a broader chest to boot. The realization was startling. When Ford had been a boy, the man seemed a giant. So much of his childhood had been spent keeping his head low in an attempt to evade the rage ever brimming under that stern exterior. Yet, Filbrick Pines now appeared utterly unremarkable to his adult eyes.

"There's two of them," Filbrick told his wife, bluntly.

"Why are ya looking at me like that?" Caryn said, giving him a dry look. "Like it's my fault or somethin'? Last I checked, it takes two ta make—"

"Caryn," Filbrick said, and Ford saw him glancing toward Shermie.

Ford's mother laughed out loud in response, making Ford smile.

Filbrick only scoffed, shaking his head. "Twins. We haven't prepared for twins. That just threw a wrench in the family budget." He looked more closely at one of the babies—at Ford's infant self, in fact—and frowned. "What's wrong with his hands?"

Caryn gasped, looking like she was fighting an urge to slap her husband. "Filbrick Pines, ya old grouch, you stop this right now! There's nothin' wrong with my baby's hands! My uncle Lev, he had six fingers on one hand, you forgot that?"

Filbrick gave a noncommittal grunt.

"My uncle, he lived a normal life, jus' like anybody!" Caryn gave another bark of laughter. "Man was a genius at card tricks, maybe the extra finger helped?"

Filbrick only answered with a shrug.

Caryn threw him a peeved glance, but soon she was smiling at Shermie. "Here, baby. You wanna hold one of 'em?"

"'Course!" said Shermie. His little face lit up as Caryn handed one of the twins over to him. Stanley, actually, from the number of fingers on his hand. "Heh! I thought babies were s'posed ta be cute! He looks like a tiny old man or somethin'!"

"Sherman Pines, ya lil' rascal!" Caryn said. "D'you know how long yer ma suffered ta bring 'im into the world?"

"Which one of 'em is it, Ma?"

Caryn pointedly looked at her husband. "Wish I knew. Yer pa hasn't named 'em yet."

"What are you going to call 'em, Dad?" Shermie asked. "Ma, you're the one who named me, right?"

"Tha's right," Caryn said. "When I was pregnant with you, yer Zayde Isaak, he said to me, 'my girl, make sure you give yer first boy a good, all-American name'. So I did! An' now it's yer pa's turn ta choose." She turned to Filbrick. "You wanted ta name the baby Stanford, didn't ya, honey?"

Filbrick nodded. "Stan for short. A strong, no-nonsense name."

"What 'bout this lil' cutie?" Caryn pointed at the baby in Shermie's arms. "You found somethin' for 'im yet?"

"Can I name him?" Shermie asked excitedly. "What about Buck, like on TV? Or Duke!"

A hint of exasperation showed on Filbrick's face. "No-nonsense, I said." Again, his face twisted in frustration. "Stanley. Let's just go with Stanley."

"Stanford and Stanley?" Caryn said. "You'd give 'em almost the same name? Are you serious?"

"Yeah!" said Shermie. "Which one of them would be Stan, then? We can't go around callin' them by the same nickname!"

Filbrick made an irritated noise. "They'll be Stanford and Stanley, and that's final."

Ford almost expected his mother to protest, but she only pursed her mouth and remained silent. There was something resentful about her expression. Ford blinked, surprised… and more than a little angry. How many things had he missed about his parents' marriage because he had only watched them through a child's eyes?

Still, Caryn's natural exuberance was not long in returning. "Why, I got the feeling those two troublemakers will end up changing the world!"

"Can you see their futures, Ma?" asked Shermie.

Caryn wiggled her eyebrows, flashing a grin that was painfully Stan-like. "Let's see… this one's gonna be a famous actor, and the other… well, he'll play fer the Yankees jus' like DiMaggio! Or maybe he'll be the next—what's the name of that fancy-schmancy scientist? Einstein?" She chuckled, rocking baby Ford a little. "Who knows?"

"Oh, oh!" said Shermie. "They could be astronauts! They could be the first men on the moon!"

"Good one, baby!" Caryn said.

Ford let out something between a snort and a laugh. He hadn't known his mother and brother had nursed such lofty ambitions for him and Stanley.

Ford felt his eyes softening. He walked over to his mother, pressing down a kiss to her hair. Caryn closed her eyes and smiled. "Goodbye, Ma. I wish I'd been… well, thank you for everything."

He went to Shermie, ruffling his brother's hair. Sherman frowned as he glanced upward, almost as if he could feel the ghostly touch of Ford's hand. "Take care, Sherm. I'll keep your grandchildren out of trouble, don't you worry."

Then, Ford turned to his father. What was there to say to the man who had considered him an asset at best, a nuisance at worst? The man who had called Stan a worthless parasite while fully expecting to leech on Ford's successes?

The man who would look at his two sons and call them weaklings because they dared to cherish their strange little family?

There was nothing to say to such a man. Ford simply turned on his heel, continuing on his journey.

Soon, the smell of grass and pine cones came to Ford's nose. He felt the whisper of the breeze passing through the trees. Ford's throat tightened when he finally understood where—and when—he'd arrived.

Sunlight poured into a clearing in a forest.

An old man kneeled in the grass, the wind playing with his grey hair. Another man and two children came out of the forest. The girl in the pink sweater shot toward the man in the clearing, calling his name happily. She grabbed his hands, a smile as bright as dawn breaking on her face.

The man looked around, hesitating. Patting her hands, he said, "Uh, hey… kiddo. What's your name?"

Soon, the child was in tears, pointing at her chest and repeating, "It's me, it's me!" Her brother held her as she wept; soon, tears were streaking his cheeks as well.

Ford's past self kneeled in front of his brother. "He saved the world," he said, voice breaking. "He saved me. You're our hero, Stanley." And he brought his twin into a hug.

Ford watched the children and his past self bring Stanley back to his house—back to their home. Despite knowing the happy outcome of this moment, he felt the pall of grief weighing heavily on his shoulders. The clueless, but contented expression on his brother's face wiped away the last bit of Ford's anger, leaving only deep longing and sorrow in its wake.

Ford remained silent as Stan plopped down in his recliner with a sigh. He said nothing as Mabel sat next to her uncle, opening her scrapbook and babbling about the months they had lived together as a family. He kept quiet as Dipper climbed to the other side of Stan, desperately listing the moments they had shared together.

Ford opened his mouth, however, when Mabel's pig jumped in Stan's lap. The realization struck him with the force of a hurricane.

"Waddles," Ford muttered. "Stanley, the pig's name is Waddles!"

"Gah!" Stan said, his confusion replaced by a familiar grouchiness. "Quit it, Waddles, I'm tryin' to remember my life story!"

The children gasped. Mabel held her hands over her mouth.

"What did you say?" Dipper whispered.

"I said, get Waddles off of me!" Stan griped.

"It's… it's working!" Ford's past self cried. "Mabel, keep reading!"

"Skip to my page!" said Soos. "He needs to remember our boss-employee relationship!"

"Soos!" Ford told his brother. "You remember Soos, don't you?"

"Hey, jus' 'cause I have amnesia, don't go tryin' to give yourself a raise, Soos."

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped Ford's mouth. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his hand.

He didn't know how long he stood in the cluttered remains of the Shack's living room, listening to Dipper and Mabel and Soos and eventually Wendy as they filled Stan's broken mind with stories. Stan had stepped in when Soos was in need of a father figure who wouldn't abandon him. Stan had given Wendy a safe place where she could be away from her overbearing family.

Stan put up the best Halloween decorations in town and let the local kids use the Shack for their parties. Stan was a permanent fixture of Gravity Falls, a man as strange and endearing as the oddities found in the tourist trap serving as the town's lifeblood.

Stan had fought dinosaurs, zombies and demons for Dipper and Mabel's sakes.

Stan had devoted half of his life to bringing Ford back home.

Stan was an ordinary man who had risen to extraordinary heights through the strength of his devotion to the people he loved.

The scene dissipated in a shower of glittering dust.

And Ford found himself falling.

Hundreds of scenes—appearing like stills from a movie reel—surrounded him as he plummeted in the darkness. But his mind could focus on only two of them. Sunlight pouring into a hospital room. Sunlight pouring into a clearing in the forest. Ford had stood witness to two events happening in impossible synchronicity, one causing the other in a perfect loop.

Ford had stood witness to Stanley Pines' two births, coming to a realization.

One could not exist without the other.

As soon as the revelation crossed his mind, Ford came to a sudden stop.

In front of him was a mirror, as tall and wide as the entirety of existence.

Ford's reflection was not the older, grey-haired man he had expected, but a young boy, tense and fearful. The six-fingered child's lower lip wobbled as he tried to will the tears away.

The mirror cracked.

I thought you looked lonely.

The broken mirror now showed hundreds, thousands, millions versions of Fords. Each of them had their twin throwing an arm over their shoulders. Hundreds, thousands, millions of Fords grinned and laughed in response, wiping the tears from their eyes.

I thought you looked lonely.

Ford held his face between both hands, eyes wide, pupils dilating. His brain was processing information coming from infinite timelines and straining at the effort.

The mirror continued to split, each of its infinite facets displaying a happy pair of twins. Did they have any inkling of the heartache that would soon follow?

Did they know they would spend most of their lives apart?

Did they know they would grow to be almost strangers?

I thought you looked lonely.

I wanted to give you a friend.

And suddenly Ford was in a large, circular hall.

Bolts of magical energy crackled in the air, raising the air on his neck. Two women were shouting, their words lost in the chaos of battle. Spells bounced off the pillars surrounding them, exploding in showers of sparks. Three figures were huddled around a dark shape at the base of some stairs. An inverted golden triangle loomed on a platform above. The light of a thousand stars poured through its opening, distorting into a wide array of colours as it entered reality.

A familiar silhouette was floating near the open maw of the dimensional tear. Ford's brother was drained of all colours—no, he was see-through, like a ghost.

"STANLEY!" Ford screamed.

Ford's twin looked at him, one eye bloodied and shut tight, the other full of quiet resignation.

"Stanford?" he said, weakly. "Wait… where is your voice coming from…?"

Ford rushed up the stairs, reaching for his brother's hand. "Stanley! Hold on, I'm coming for you!"

"It's alright," Stan said, with a wistful smile. "It's better that way…"

"Hang in there, Stan!" Ford shouted, but he was already being yanked backward, away from the circular hall and the chaos raging within. "I'm coming to save you! I promise!"

Ford flew away from the portal, back into the staircase leading to the first floor of the Tempe of Dawn. He went deeper still, first through the floor and then through a great empty space filled with glowing cables. At the base of the great chasm, Ford saw people shackled to the strange apparatuses from which the cables sprouted. Those poor souls seemed barely conscious, with only moans filtering from their chapped lips.

One woman in particular raised her head to him. Her cheeks were hollow, and her seven-eyed gaze was cloudier than in his memory. Yet, she smiled at Ford and said, "You. I knew you would come for me."

"Jheselbraum," Ford breathed. "You're still alive!" He futilely reached for her hand. "Wait, is this the past or the future?"

She did not answer, and Ford's hand closed around empty air.

When he opened his eyes again, his eyes were greeted by a world of pink and blue.

"GRUNKLE FORD!" twin voices shouted, and Ford found himself knocked off his feet by a blubbering, sweater-clad girl. Mabel hugged his midsection tightly, looking up at him with tearful eyes.

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, you just disappeared and we were so scared and we searched everywhere but we couldn't find you—" the words came out of Mabel's mouth in a rush.

Ford stroked her hair. "It's alright, it's alright…"

Dipper stood a few feet away, looking like he was fighting an urge to cry. Ford motioned for him to come over as well, and the boy joined the family embrace.

You found your way back! a childlike voice sounded in the air.

Ford felt a familiar presence behind him. Dipper's face blanched, and he let out a word he'd probably picked up from his uncle Stan. Mabel, on the other hand, looked delighted.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "A giant pink lizard!"

The Axolotl tilted his head. A lizard? Where?

"Y-Y-You're that thing we saw on the tapestries!" Dipper sputtered. "Oh my god!"

Ford only smiled at the creature. "Might I presume you had something to do with the little odyssey I've just undertaken?"

The Axolotl's dopey expression did not change. Odyssey? You went somewhere?

Ford laughed. "It did not matter. I think I understand perfectly what you wanted to show me."

You've come to your truth. Axolotl looked almost mischievous with his little tongue sticking out. You'll be leaving, then?

"Well, my brother needs saving," Ford said. "My baby brother."

By fifteen minutes.

"Does it even matter?" Dipper said, sounding annoyed.

"Yes, it does!" Mabel answered. Pumping her fist in the air, she chanted, "Al-pha twins, al-pha twins!"

"I'm still the eldest," Ford said. "And yet he's protected me more than I protected him. What kind of big brother does that make me?" He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "It's time to step up and be the twin he deserves."

If you say so, the Axolotl said. His tone grew unusually sombre as he added, Goodbye, Stanford Pines. Until we meet again.

Dipper and Mabel held both of Ford's hands. It was a simple gesture, but he took comfort in it regardless.

"Goodbye, Axolotl." Ford offered the strange creature a wry grin. "See you in forty years or so."

Xolotl, Lord of Twins and Twilight—Lord of the Dead—burst into laughter as they left his abode, hand in hand.