Two Hearts Chapter 3

The dream was a familiar one. A grey beach extended down along a grey ocean. A shipwreck stuck partially out of the slow, constant waves. Just ahead, the swing set from his childhood protruded from the sand, but rather than a decrepit, unusable ruin, the iron was intact and a small figure sat hunched over on the right hand swing, little arms wrapped around the ropes so that they bowed in toward him.

Stan approached slowly, oxford dress shoes dragging through the sand and grasses. He glanced down at the boy. "This seat taken?" he asked and motioned to the empty swing on the left. His brother glanced up, looked on him sadly for a moment then back down at his tiny feet and shook his head. He didn't swing, but his feet dangled, not quite touching the ground.

"Ya look like ya lost your best friend," Stan whispered and seated himself.

The boy nodded and sniffled but didn't look back up.

"Me too."

They sat in silence for a long time. Stan watched the colorless waves crash, over and over, the sound muffled as if heard through the body of a sea shell. The shipwreck bobbed slightly in the surf, its tattered sails flapping like ghosts. After a while it was too much to look at so he cast his eyes downward to his feet, just as the boy at his side did. But now the boy's feet touched the ground. His deck shoes dug into the sand.

"There's so much I never got to say to you," he said, voice deeper now. His unusual hands held the swing's ropes and he grimaced.

Stan shrugged. "Oh well."

"Like 'thank you'," the teen whispered.

"I used to wanna hear that. I don't anymore. You were right. Bringin' you back nearly destroyed the world and got me killed."

"That's right, but you brought me back because you wanted me back," Stanford said, turning to face him again. He was a grown man, now-broad shouldered and tall, but lacking the confidence that he exuded as an older man. "I never acknowledged that, and for that I'm sorry."

Stan's hands ached from gripping the ropes so tightly. This dream wasn't usually a nightmare. Usually, he sat alone in silence. This conversation was almost too much to bear. "You're sorry? For not saying thank you?" his voice cracked a little as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean…" Stanford sighed. "I'm sorry for how things turned out. How I could never get past how much you hurt me."

Stan scoffed and looked off at the grey ocean. "Over a fucking school?" he muttered.

"It wasn't about the school!" Stanford cried. "It was never about the school."

Stan's head snapped around and he stared at the man next to him as if his head were on fire "Oh yeah? Then what was it? What got me thrown outta the house if not that? What got your panties in such a bunch that you wouldn't speak to me for a decade?"

"You blew me off, Stan. In eighteen years you always had my back. I always depended on you for support, for…" Stanford shook his head. "That school was, at the time, the most important thing to happen to me. It was the thing that would lead to the future I'd always dreamed of, and you screwed it up for me and rather than apologize or try to fix it-you suggested we could go treasure hunting! It was the most insensitive, stupid fucking thing I'd ever heard and it was coming out of your mouth!" He shouted. Stan stared back at him, mouth and eyes wide in shock. Stanford rarely cursed and the f-word hit him almost harder than all the others he was spouting. "So when dad kicked you out, I didn't step in. My heart was broken, Stanley. By you. And it never healed." He looked away and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I spent a year or two pushing the hurt down until I forgot it even existed. And when it was down far enough, I sealed it away. Unfortunately, it took the love I had for you with it."

"Stanford…"

"So even though it's too late, even though I screwed this up so royally time and time again, I'm sorry. I miss you, I love you, and I'm sorry."

When Stanford looked up he was taken aback to see the old man next to him crying. He was trying to keep it together, but just barely containing his blubbering. "Jesus Christ, Stanford," he sobbed. "Why the fuck couldn't we have said this shit earlier? Now I'm dead, you're gone, and I don't know what I'm gonna do without you!"

Stanford raised a brow. "I'm not gone, you are."

Stan wiped his face on his sleeve and shook his head. "Nuh-uh. You botched that spell. You're gone and I'm back."

"No, I botched the spell and you're gone…" Stanford Pines leapt from the swing and grasped his brother by the shoulders. "Stan!"

"What?!"

"Are you a dream?"

"What? No!"

"You're not?!" Stanford released him and stood in front of him, patting his chest to prove his point. "Well, I'm not either!"

Stan squinted at him. "Sure you are. You're in my dream."

"No, you are in mine." Stanford frowned.

Stan cocked his head to one side. "I think I recognize this scene from, like, a million dreams I've had, Stanford."

"And you think I wouldn't dream the exact same thing?"

He had him there. "Oh. Good point. So wait, if you're not a dream, then…?"

Stanford's face beamed with joy. "It worked! Ha ha!" He clapped his hands together then held them out, encouraging his brother to take them. Stan gave him a puzzled look but slowly he took them and Stanford pulled him up out of the swing. The sky brightened into a brilliant blue and the ocean darkened to its earthly navy. A seagull cried overhead and the waves crashed crisp and clear. "I did it." He smiled on Stan and squeezed his hands.

"This may come as a shock, Poindexter, but, I don't get it."

Stanford laughed. The sound delighted Stan and he relaxed a little. His brother released his hands and put an arm through the crook of his elbow. They meandered down the beach together. "You see, when you asked if I could bind you to a living thing, I had an epiphany. I couldn't find something appropriate with time running out the way it was, but I did have one ready subject at hand. Myself."

"Holy Moses..."

"So, looks like we inhabit the same sub-conscious now. This is so fascinating!"

"Fascinating…" Stan repeated. "So you're not gone?"

"Nope."

Stan stopped walking and startled Stanford by pulling him into a tight hug. He buried his face in his neck and squeezed and squeezed and Stanford, in the freedom of his sub-conscious, returned the gesture with gusto. "Missed you, brother," he mumbled.

"Missed you, too," Stan said and released him, heartily patting him on the back several times. "Somethin's buggin' me, though. What the hell happened this morning?"

"This morning? Oh." Stanford frowned as he tried to recall the events of the last twenty four hours. "The last thing I remember was speaking to Dipper."

Stan made a face. "Yeah…"

.x.

"He's been sleeping all day," Mabel said, pressing her ear to the door. Her great uncle snored like a freight train on the other side. The action pushed the fez she'd worn since her Grunkle Stan died to one side and she quickly raised a hand to keep it from falling. It was nearly noon.

"Well, he's been awake for a long time. He needs it," Dipper shrugged and led her away from the bedroom. "Come on, let's go scrounge for food."

Mabel poured herself into the PVC chair at the little formica-top table in the kitchen and put her head in her hands. The tassel of Stan's fez fell forward and she ineffectively tried to blow it out of the way a few times before just letting it cover her face. Dipper found a couple packages of ramen and proceeded to make them lunch. Breakfast had been some pop-tarts and water. In two days they would make their way back to California. The idea of going back to school in a week or so made Dipper want to curl into the fetal position and transform into a large grub or beetle rather than have to go back to such mundane banality as gym class. He was lost in this thought as the ramen came to a boil and started to spill over the small pan.

"You ok, Bro-bro?" Mabel asked, sleepily.

"Yeah, just, spacing out. Oh man, I hate that smell." He waved his hand in front of his nose as he slopped the broth into two bowls and used a fork to serve out the noodles.

"Only you could burn Ramen." Mabel teased him quietly and took the bowl he brought to her. She smiled a little, but it was only temporary.

They ate their meager lunch in silence. The regulator clock in the living room ticked, the fridge hummed, but otherwise, the shack was quiet.

"I can't wait to go home," Mabel whispered, playing with her food.

Dipper didn't ask why. He didn't reply that he would rather go to Siberia than go home. He didn't tell her the one thing that would maybe make her happy, or, happier, anyway, and it ate him up inside. He put his fork down. "Mabel, there's something I gotta tell you. And, I shouldn't because someone asked me not to, but I don't want to keep secrets from you ever again, so here goes."

Mabel straightened up in her chair and gave him her full attention. She bit the inside of her lip. "Ok…"

"Grunkle Stan is…" Dipper made a face. "I'm not sure what. But he's still around."

"That's not funny, Dipper," Mabel said quietly and stared at him, hard.

"Ah, I'm messing this up! What I mean is, he's not a ghost, but Great Uncle Ford did something to his spirit and now he's back. Or he was never fully gone, but he's more here now that he was."

Mabel banged her fists on the table, making everything on it jump an inch or so. "Stop it! Stop it, Dipper! That's impossible! I watched him die!" She got to her feet and made to run from the room, but her brother grabbed her hand.

"No it's not! Mabel, how much weird stuff have we seen this summer, huh? Come on! I'm just not sure what's going on so I don't know how to explain it but this morning Ford just sort of swapped places with Stan, I saw it with my own eyes!"

"Why didn't you just tell me then?!"

"Because Stan told me not to tell you! He said he wanted to break it to you. He was really upset, Mabel. I think he thinks that he removed Ford-that Ford is gone now."

That quieted her. Mabel relaxed a little and pouted. "Is he?"

"I don't think so, but Stan did."

Fresh tears came to her eyes and without another word, Mabel ran from the room.