Chapter 6

Well, Stanley was right about one thing; Ford DID feel better after about five minutes of retching over the side of the cliff. Stan patted his back the whole time and handed him the rest of the canteen of water when he was done.

While Ford rinsed out his mouth, Stan checked the pack, finding everything still inside. "Well, I lost my gun and my knife, but I think heading home will be smooth sailing," he said, closing it and slinging it over his back and helping Ford upright.

Ford slipped the canteen back into his own bag, running a shaking hand through his hair. "Hopefully," he said, shifting around the side of the mountain until they both got back to the path, glad that they were close to the bottom. He stumbled over a rock. "Dammit—"

"Oh, right," Stan said, opening the bag again and fumbling around inside. "Here." He handed something over to Ford, who took it and squinted slightly to see what it was. It was a case. He opened it, finding a pair of glasses inside. "Stanley, I don't think your prescription is anything like mine," he said, taking them out anyway and putting them on, blinking in surprise when he found he could see better than he could with his own pair. "What the—"

"I don't know HOW you managed to see out of those old things," Stan said, climbing down and touching ground. "They were cracked and smudged and gross. I found one of your spares in the old den and kept 'em for you."

Ford smiled, climbing down after Stan. "Thank you," he said, looking up and seeing that it was getting late in the evening. "…We should hurry back to the Shack." He walked on, pausing when he heard an actual GIGGLE from Stan. "What?"

"Say it again," Stan said, grinning like a loon.

"…Say what? Thank you?" Stan shook his head. "…We should hurry back?"

"Back toooooooo…?" Stan egged on. Ford blinked, then blushed.

"It's habit, Stanley, that's what EVERYONE calls it—"

"And now YOU. It's the Shack, Sixer! YOU called it the Shack! No take-backs!"

Ford groaned, punching Stan's shoulder. "Oh grow up, you're such a child!" he huffed. Stan punched him back.

"And you're a stick-in-the-ass old man."

"You're older!"

"By eleven minutes!"

"Con man."

"Nerd."

The name-calling went on until they were back in familiar territory, about a half-mile from the Shack. By then, they'd run out of creative insults and just looked ready to lie down and take a nap for a week.

"This would have been SO much easier if we had JUST gotten to that crystal spring," Ford said, heaving a sigh. He heard no reply from Stan. "…Stanley?"

Stan twiddled his thumbs. "…Well…" he said, then paused when he heard shuffling in the bushes coming toward them. Ford was on instant-alert, but Stan held up his hand. "It's cool, it's cool, I know what it is."

"Wha—" Ford broke off when he saw a few gnomes come out of the bushes and walk up to Stan.

"Hey, Jeff, how'd it go?" Stan said, kneeling down to get closer to their level. Jeff shrugged.

"Eh, Shmebulock got stuck and Mort had to pry 'em out, but we got it." He turned around and took something from another gnome, holding it up. "Canteen of water from the crystal cavern. Now YOUR end of the deal."

Stan snorted, opening his bag and taking out the cinnamon and whiskey, handing him both. "If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me."

"As always, Stan, it's been a pleasure working with ya." Jeff turned to the rest of the group. "LOCK YOUR DOORS, BOYS, WE'RE GETTING CRUNK TONIGHT!" The group of gnomes whooped and cheered, hurrying off.

Stan stood up with the canteen of crystal water, turning to Ford, who was staring at him. "….Also, I'm considered the gnome equivalent of a drug lord. Don't tell the kids."

"…..STANLEY, WHAT THE FU—"

"We're back!" Stan said, rushing through the door, having run the rest of the way, mostly from the desire to get home quickly, but admittedly because he didn't want to know what would happen if Ford got his hands on him. He began unpacking the items they collected as Wendy stepped around the corner, gun raised.

"Prove it's really you!" she said, eyes narrowing. "Not trusting ANYTHING after that stupid Shapeshifter, and I'm not letting anything happen to Dipper and Mabel!"

"That's good, because if you did, I'd fire your ass so fast it'd be as red as your hair," Stan replied, thinking for a moment before adding, "You called me at one in the morning four months ago to pick you up at a party because some punk brought beer and you didn't want your dad to find out."

Wendy lowered the gun. "You kinda had me at 'firing my ass', but that works too." She raised her gun again when Ford stepped in. "What about him?"

Stan sighed, rubbing his back. "Ford, just say something to prove you're not the damn Shapeshifter so we can cure the kids and I can get an ice pack on my back," he said. Ford looked lost for a moment; he hadn't had much interaction with Wendy, but then recalled the Shapeshifter's inability to replicate bodily fluid color, and took off the bandage around his finger to show the cut was bleeding red.

Wendy nodded, setting the gun down. "Great. Now, before you guys freak out, IN MY DEFENSE, you forgot to take the walkie-talkies…"

"What?! What happened!?" Stan shouted, going pale as Ford shouted in tandem, "Did their condition worsen!? Did they stop breathing!?" The two kept shouting and freaking out, not noticing Mabel and Dipper come downstairs, hair still damp from showers.

"…What are they yelling about NOW?" Mabel said, huffing. Dipper shrugged.

"Don't know, but I'm starving."

Wendy sighed, rubbing her temples before using her patented whistle used to break up a fight-pile her brothers often had to shut them up. "They woke up," she finally managed to get in.

Stan and Ford gave her identical owlish looks. "…what," Stan said. Wendy pointed behind them, where Dipper and Mabel were standing. The Pines Twins the Younger gave them waves.

"…I was heating up some of that soup in the fridge for lunch, some fumes got everywhere, and they woke up puking about a half-hour ago," she said.

"Soup?" Stan said. "What soup, I don't have any soup."

Ford paled. "THAT WASN'T SOUP!" he shouted, rushing past everyone into the kitchen. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes until he came back, looking a bit ill. "…Stanley, remind me to invest in a fridge for the basement," he said. "That wasn't soup, if was a creature I found that liquefies in the cold and solidifies in the heat…but…it's not exactly liquid OR solid anymore…"

Wendy paled. "Oh EW," she said, pushing past Stan for the bathroom. Stan sighed, bending down to hug Dipper and Mabel tightly.

"I'm just glad you kids are alright," he said, smiling. Mabel hugged him back, smiling, then squeaked when Ford bent down to hug them too.

"Next time, don't go poking around weird-looking plants," Ford said. "Stanley and I should take you two out one day and show you what's safe and what's not."

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper said dubiously. Stan flicked his head.

"I told ya, kid, I'm not an idiot. I know my way around this joint well enough." He hugged them all again before flopping back on the floor. "Now I'm going to lie here for the next few days. Just step around me, because I wont be able to move." He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fine waste of a trip for that stuff…"

Ford glanced at the items before looking back at Stan. "…Not SO much of a waste," he said, sitting down next to his twin. "I wouldn't jump off a cliff blind on a griffon for anyone, Lee." He held up his hand. "High six?"

Stan grinned. "And I wouldn't tackle a gremloblin just for anyone." He smacked his hand to Ford's. "High six."

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, confused.

"What the heck happened while we were out?" Dipper said.