A thanks to CrispyStar and shootingstarrod of tumblr, who helped/are helping me with details.
Remember: "Talking", 'Thinking', Emphasis/dreams/whispers/etc. 8888888= simultaneous scene page break, 8888888888888888888= long time apart/complete page break, cuz I feel awkward just changing the scenes with no cues at all.
Anyway, Enjoy!
Two- And things change.
Fiddleford looked around the interior of the cabin, he had never been properly inside since its change into the Mystery Shack. It was odd seeing the once cozy and smartly decorated front room now a tourist trap full of overpriced memorabilia and obviously fake creatures/ attractions.
He felt an odd bit of loneliness well up inside him, but quickly dismissed it.
He looked over when he heard Stan enter and clap his hands, his lips quirked up slightly into a grin.
"Okay. Let's get this party started."
They headed over to the old vending machine and soon were going down the old and familiar steps of the underground lab. Fiddleford could not hold in a gasp when he saw the reconstructed portal machine.
"She's a beaut isn't she? Took me a lot of years and trespassing to get all the parts!" Said Stan proudly.
He watched as Fiddleford gazed up at the portal and began inspecting it. Opening panels and walking around and behind to check all of the connections and cables. Obviously only half hearing him as his mind immediately began making calculations and the like.
Stan spoke anyway, puffing out his chest in pride as he went on.
"Yup. Spent some jail time for this stuff too. I can't go back to a lot of places. And this was even without the whole schematic for most of the time. I had to work off Stanley's first journal and a bunch of extra notes the two of you wrote and left around. I tell you-"
"MOTHER OF MERCY. STANFORD PINES WHAT IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID YOU DO TO THIS MACHINE?!"
It seemed that he was getting yelled at a lot lately.
Stan stopped his posturing and looked at a TREMBLING Fiddleford. The smaller man had dropped the tool box and was gazing at the machine in unfathomable horror, he ran his left hand through his hair and was practically squeezing his right/weak hand to his chest.
Stan was at his side in an instant, arms out to wrap protectively but unsure if he should or not. Fiddleford turned to him and Stan settled for letting them drop.
"STANFORD DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE HERE?!" Fiddleford asked, raising his hands in the air as he did so.
Stanford blinked and leaned back ward on his heels, his mouth a slight frown.
"Uh..?"
Fiddleford gipped the bridge of his nose and tried to take calming breaths. His losing it would not help matters. After taking a few moments Fiddleford looked up as the confused man.
"Stanford, you're telling me that the mechanism in its current state did in fact turn on?"
Stan tensed at the tightness in Fiddleford's voice but did not back away as he answered. "Yeah. But it's not very stable-"
"That is an understatement!" Interrupted FIddleford. The smaller man walked away and started to pace in front of the machine.
"Stanford do you realize that you are astronomically lucky?"
"I am?" Stan walked over, unsure.
Fiddleford stopped walking and looked over at him, still trying to control his breathing. He pointed dramatically at the portal.
"Stanford, not only is it terrifyingly incredible you managed to piece this monstrous thing together as you have but it is also mind-boggling that you even managed to turn it on in its current state and it not destroy itself!"
"What? Hey! I may not be a nerd like you or Stanley but I followed what I had and cross referenced it when I got the other journals." Stan defended himself, he didn't bungle anything!
"The schematic is only half of what you need Stanford! You also need to know what you are doing! Don't you realize the statistics you've been playing with?! It is a miracle that you didn't blow a Gravity Falls sized crater in the Earth with this machine! A good amount of the connections and adjustments are wrong in the back."
"What?!" That couldn't be right
"Yes. Come with me." Stan followed Fiddelford over to the machine and he showed him what he had gotten wrong. His eyebrows slowly rose to almost his hairline as he realized that the (cheap) courses he had taken really, really, really hadn't taught him shit. He stared at Fiddleford in his dawning horror and was even more horrified to realize he was listening less and less to what the smaller man was saying and was using his attention more on studying how he looked.
His one gold tooth would shine every so often in the light.
Watching Fiddleford explain his stuff reminded Stan of happier times. It reminded him of Stanley.
"…and not to mention had this particular apparatus been calibrated just 0.3 degrees more the combination of settings would have resulted in the creation of a black hole upon activation and- Stanford! Are you listening to me?!"
Fiddleford was giving him a you-did-not-just-drift-off-on-me-you-moron look and Stan quickly gave his mind a left hook to focus.
He put on a smile and said "Yeah, yeah. I totally could have killed everyone. But now you're here! And we can get this thing working! The Mystery Trio is back in business!"
Fiddleford ran a hand over his face and gave a sigh. He still did not think that nickname was very clever.
'Being a crazed hobo wasn't nearly as stressful' he thought ruefully.
"Right. Alright Stanford, you know what to do. Disconnect the main power feed to the machine and turn on the radio to something noteworthy."
He couldn't really work in silence.
Stanford blinked at Fiddleford's change in attitude, and was slightly aroused.
Hiding it he pretend groused "Hey! Who made you the boss?"
Fiddleford turned to him as he picked up the tool box and said "I did. I'm the only nerd left so that makes me the boss of the only moron left: you. Now hop to it."
Stan made a show of scoffing before going to do as bid; frankly he was just happy to have his old Fidds back. And soon he might have his brother back too.
Fiddleford grabbed a stool and set himself up to get to work. He paused a moment, he was missing something…
'I need a notebook.' He thought, he needed to write down the adjustments he made and write down his calculations. He could remember it all but it was convenient to have it all right in front of him. Not to mention he didn't know if his return to sanity was temporary or not, Fiddleford had yet to tell Stanford of his suspicions that Bill might once again have a hand in the shift in his mental state and wasn't sure if he should.
The less that was thought of the demonic Dorito chip the better.
Either way he wanted to leave behind proper notes for Stan to read and follow for the worst case scenarios: him dying or going back to a crazed mad scientist.
Fiddleford walked about the lab looking for a spare pen and stationary. He found the pen just as Stan turned off the power feed; he couldn't help a small chuckle at the other's rather whiny complaint of static shock.
He continued on looking for a note book or a note pad and eventually made it to the desk set up next to the machine. He recognized it as the one he had claimed many years ago. He looked over the items Stan had scattered across its surface and sucked in a breath when his eyes fell on one particular item.
He lightly ran his fingers over the scarf and quickly blinked back tears. He noted how it was placed with Stanley's glasses and a picture of Mabel and Dipper. He traced these items as well, determined to remember them.
He didn't notice Stan watching him do this.
It was time he stopped running. It was time he stopped regretting.
He could do this. He WOULD do this. For the twins. And himself.
With determination Fiddleford scouted through the drawers and soon found an old journal, a small black one with what appeared to be a llama on the front. It had been one of Stanley's rejected ideas for his own journals. He had to admit it was a pretty ridiculous design for a journal on paranormal phenomenon- but that's what happens when you go scouting for stationary at the local 4-H club.
What was it doing in his desk…?
Anyway,
It was good enough for his purposes. By the time Fiddleford had sat back on his stool Stan was shifting through music stations; for a few fleeting moments the old lab was filled with the sounds of opera, then static, then static-y mariachi music, followed by weather reports, country, new age music that sounded just ghastly, new age music that sounded somewhat alright, incoherent screaming, and then finally some music he knew.
Finally, with a triumphant "Aha!" Stan stopped at a station and set the volume level, the music filled the room.
Hello Darkness my old friend. I've come to speak with you again.
It was terribly apt. He could almost hear something laughing at him. Probably was.
Lord give him strength.
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Stan heaved a tired sigh as he gave his head a scratch. Pink Floyd was playing on the radio and Fiddleford was currently pounding his head on a counter, he had been working for hours and was stuck on a particular calculation. He had solved it before but the answer was lost in the murk of his still loading memory.
Fiddleford gave his head a final smack and just slumped himself on the desk. He had taken off his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves, if one were to look they could tell the difference between his two arms easily. His left hand looked relatively normal, if old and calloused; but his right was so much slimmer and paler, so pale that his rarely seen birthmark was vibrant in contrast. It was a small thing that reached from below the elbow to almost his wrist, the shape of the constellation Orion. Like some naturally made tattoo.
Stan traced the lines of the birthmark with his eyes and looked at the hand it was attached to, he had noticed FIddleford had trouble moving that hand and he could see now that the bony fingers were twitching. A sign of his anxious calculations or…?
Fiddleford looked up at Stan when he turned off the music, his slightly delirious train of thought broken off. You could practically see the silent question on his face. Stan gave a small smile to his friend.
"I think I've squeezed enough nerd out of you for today, the kids should be coming back soon. How about a late lunch?"
A slow smile crossed the smaller man's face. "Sounds good."
Fiddleford picked up his things and soon enough the two older men were out of the lab and made their way to the kitchen. Stan quickly sat Fiddleford in a seat and set about making some sandwiches for the two of them. Fiddleford didn't argue, sanity was a surprisingly tiring thing. He watched sedately as Stan puttered about the house and waved off his handy man for the day.
Soon enough both were two sandwiches and several beers in and trying not to choke as they laughed about the old days. They had moved to the living room, Fiddleford on the plush yellow chair and Stan on the giant skull. He hadn't let Fiddleford sit there.
Taking a swig from a brown bottle Stan said, "No. No. Remember when we ran into that swarm of giant blood drinking moths?! Oh man. Stanley went on and on about how 'wondrous' and 'fascinating' it was, at least until one landed on your shoulder and tried to stick a tube in your neck!"
Fiddlford shivered, "Oh, don't remind me of that! Stupid thing almost got my jugular!"
Stan continued to laugh as Fiddleford cringed. The smaller man scoffed and then suddenly grinned.
"You shouldn't laugh, remember the time we discovered those pixies? They loved the cologne you were wearing so much they just kept rubbing themselves on you and one got stuck up your nose! I still don't understand how that happened!"
Now Fiddleford was the one laughing. After a moment Stan joined him, still laughing he added
"Yeah, and when I finally yanked him out he took a couple nose hairs with him! Ugh, I could never wear it again after that!"
"(Chuckle) Good thing! It was an obnoxious smell and you used to drench yourself in it! I liked your natural smell much more."
"Really now?" Now Stan was grinning and raising a brow as he leaned over the armrest and Fiddleford felt his cheeks redden as he pressed back against the chair.
"Uh, yes." He hid his embarrassment by downing the rest of his beer.
"About time you told me nerd, would have stopped if I had known the ol' musk was enough."
"Wha-really?"
"Well…yeah."
The two stared at one another, surprised by their mutual honesty. The moment was broken by the sounds of slowly approaching teen music, decent teen music.
"The kids!" They said in unified realization. They couldn't know.
With great speed dishes and beer bottles were cleared and either thrown in the sink or under it to be thrown away later. For a moment Fiddleford didn't-quite-but-totally panicked, he couldn't leave for he'd be seen and he could hear Dipper and Mabel saying their goodbyes to Wendy and co. He started rushing through the maze of a house, feeling trapped, but then Stan was pulling him along back to the living room and shoving him into a closet.
Fiddleford couldn't help his deadpan expression once he was fitted inside. It was a broom closet to top it off.
"Really Stan, a closet? This is a little r-mph!"
A hand grasped his chin as Stan silenced Fiddleford with his lips, his tongue took quick advantage of the smaller man's open mouth and explored; Fiddleford couldn't stop the following whimper. All too soon it was over and Stan was winking and saying a soft "Sorry Fidds." And then the door closed.
And he was left speechless in the closet. The old curator felt his cheeks flame.
'Stanford I'm going to kill you.' He was too old for this.
Fiddleford listened as Stan greeted the kids cheerfully in the giftshop.
"Hey Grunkle Stan! How was your 'day off'?" Mabel's energetic voice sounded as if she were standing right next to him instead of Stanford.
"It was fine. Did boring, old man things. So! How was- uh- where'd you go again?"
Fiddleford leaned in closer to the door to listen but his elbow bumped into a broom which he then had to catch.
"-and then we did boring teenager things." Dipper answered.
"No paranormal?" Asked Stan.
The children's denials and the following conversation were drowned out by a mop that no longer had a broom to support it and its sudden decision to do a trust fall on to Fiddleford who had to catch that as well as a bottle of cleanser that he had knocked over from a high shelf during his quiet struggles.
Finally Fiddleford managed to settle everything in his arms, just in time to hear Dipper ask,
"Hey Grunkle Stan. Whose jacket is this?"
Mother of Mercy.
He'd left his coat on the counter and his notebook was in the pocket. His notebook with a ridiculous picture of an alpaca on it and filled with his calculations and some scattered thoughts.
He couldn't take it.
Stan felt sweat drip down the side of his face.
"Oh that! That's uh-"
BANG-SMASH-THUD
All three rushed toward the sounds and arrived just in time to watch the closet door suddenly smash open and a formerly crazed hobo fall out of it.
He really was too old for this.
Mabel was on him in an instant.
"Mr. McGucket!? Are you alright?"
Fiddleford groaned as the young girl lifted the cleaning implements off of him and gave her a weak smile.
"I've been better."
"Aw Fidds. Anything hurt?" Stan's voice held an unusual amount of concern and both twins watched as he carefully helped the smaller man up.
"No, no thanks to you mister." Came his slightly sour reply. Stan couldn't help an embarrassed grin.
Dipper flicked his eyes from the scene to his sister and saw her creepy "shipping" (as she had called it) smile again. He fought the urge to blush. Turning his attention back to the older men he asked, eyes narrowed,
"What were you doing in there? And what happened? You've…changed." He looked like how he did in in the video.
"Dipper's right. You have this professor/ librarian thing going on. I like it!"
As much as that comment embarrassed him her smile was too sweet to begrudge it.
"Thank you dear."
"And I know Grunkle Stan likes it too!"
Fiddleford saw Mabel's grin turn sly and despite himself felt a blush rise to his cheeks even as he tried to figure out what to tell children who were too perceptive. Stan just sputtered next to him, completely of no help at all.
A look of realization flashed across Dipper's face.
"Does this mean you have your memory back?"
Shit.
"Ah-no. Not all of it, anyway. I remember enough to be myself but-ah I'm still not all there. I came here to see Stanford because we used to be close and then I hid in the closet because uh- I panicked when I heard you come in. Still not used to seeing people as I am and all that. Stanford was just trying to play along."
He gave a smile and hoped that the inquisitive boy bought it. Dipper looked first at him and then at an agreeing Stan for a moment, then he smiled and said "Well, alright. Hey, maybe we can help you remember?"
His face just lit up with his idea.
"Yeah! We can help those brains of yours!" Mabel raised her arms in her own enthusiasm and Fiddleford couldn't help a smile at the two of them. Both of them looked genuinely excited about "helping" him.
His smile faltered a bit when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, it was Stan taking charge of the situation.
"That's actually not a bad idea. How about it Fidds? You come over whenever and we could have some nice, long chats." Stan gave a grin and the kids cheered and Fiddleford was not amazed at all that he managed to smooth over the moment.
"Yes! Yes! I'm going to make some Mabel Juice to celebrate!"
The young girl ran out of the room toward the kitchen.
"Mabel no!" Her brother ran after her, incensed she not make the concoction. Just as he turned the corner Mabel pinned him against the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shhhh. Just listen and look." She whispered, face oddly serious, as she directed him to discreetly look around the corner.
Stan was still laughing at their antics, "I love these kids!"
Fiddleford couldn't help a chuckle himself, "Yes. They're quite the treasure."
Stan turned to Fiddleford and realized he had yet to remove his arm, having instead just settled it around the smaller man. The two of them had literally been half cuddling in front of the kids.
And still were.
Fiddleford realized this as well and the two gave some awkward laughs, though didn't move away.
"I'm going to make some dinner. Keep an eye on them and don't let him leave." Was the next soft whisper in Dipper's ear; his sister was a mastermind.
With all the grace and enthusiasm of a sprite Mabel made her way to the kitchen, in full matchmaker mode. Dipper shook his head at her antics but he had to agree, this situation only had pros. He took a breath and then put on a smile, determined to play his part well.
He walked out and said, "Okay, I got her to not make it. But now she's planning on making dinner and I-well she can cook real food."
Stan nodded his head and then turned to Fiddleford, "Girl doesn't always cook but when she does, man. Makes a mean lasagna, can't even tell there's no meat in it."
Fiddleford shook his head in disbelief. "Is carbs all you eat?!"
"Hey, there's vegetables in it. Plus who cares about "healthy" eating? I'm old!"
Fiddleford huffed. "You're a terrible influence Stanford."
"You bet!"
The two turned to Dipper when they heard him laugh softly and he gave them an odd grin.
Stan's arm was still around FIddleford, who had settled more into the embrace and placed his hands on the other's chest.
Lord.
"Mr. McGucket would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Oh, well I-"
"Would you like to stay forever?!"
Mabel had popped her head into the room, a knife in one hand and a red splatter stain on her chin and on the chest of the apron covering her bright sweater.
Both Dipper and Stan slapped a hand to their faces.
"Dinner's fine." Came Fidleford's breathless reply.
With a giggle the girl disappeared back in the kitchen.
Dipper gave an awkward laugh.
Fiddleford ended up having a nice time with the Pines family that night. Mabel did indeed make a delicious lasagna and he didn't believe it was vegetarian. She was a bright if odd girl, both she and her brother made him feel very welcome.
He ended up having a moment with Dipper early on, he had forgotten to roll down his shirt sleeves and the boy had noticed his birthmark. His excited and innocent interest kept the older man from shying away and Fiddleford eventually learned of (and saw) Dipper's own birthmark. Small world.
Soon enough it was late and it was time FIddleford left. He still had one more person to visit. With a promise to see them all tomorrow he walked out of the Mystery Shack.
Stan stopped him on the porch, oddly awkward. "Your uh-you gonna go back to the-uh-"
"To the dump?" Fiddleford raised a brow and smiled at him.
"Maybe. We'll see. Don't worry about it."
"But-"
"Good night Stanford. Good night kids."
"Night Mr. McGucket."
"Night Grunkle Fiddleford!"
"Mabel!"
Yes, this would be fun.
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The night was quiet and calm, and Ranger Galen McGucket both appreciated and resented it. Complaints of suspicious activity near and at the lake in recent weeks had caused his superior to set up graveyard shifts, and he was in need of some extra cash. So here he was. Bored as balls.
He put down the book he had with him, momentarily done with it. After a pause he opened a drawer and pulled out an old, battered rubix cube. This particular version had the plastic squares painted, and it was chipping off in many places.
His father had given it to him when he was just a child, telling him an idle mind was a wasted mind.
Ranger McGucket turned the puzzle slowly, he had solved the thing many times and was doing it more for the action than with an actual goal.
"Oh Dad…"
"Yes?"
He hadn't even heard him come in. Rising so fast out of his seat he toppled it over Ranger McGucket looked over to see FIddleford McGucket. Tweed jacket, combed hair, shaven and sane. Sane.
Wordlessly the younger man walked over to the older, hardly believing. Equally silently the older man held out his hands in invitation. They embraced.
Unaware an all seeing eye watched from the cover of a book.