This is one of those stories that I probably should write all out and do a proper edit but meh. I'm just enjoying getting it all down.
It was a much quieter Shack when America drove up a few days later. Naturally, the older Pines hadn't called the Twin Bed Motel the same day Mabel and Dipper left Gravity Falls. And he wouldn't have come over, not when he knew the brothers would need time to adjust to a much emptier house.
The outside world continued on, unconcerned and unaware of how close everything had come to ending. Tourists continued to appear by the busload (complaining of a freak rockslide that had blocked off the town for a few days) and the weird and strange events that were a part of daily life in Gravity Falls continued on as well.
America had kept busy during the short break. He'd gotten some close friends at one of his alphabet soup agencies to dig up background information on the Pines family (there was a third brother, how interesting) and placed a few quick phone calls (Hey, Bossman, can I bend your ear for a moment?). Most importantly, he continued to successfully elude Virginia (no way his oldest state wasn't on a warpath by this point). He did send out a reassuring email promising her and the other states that he hadn't fallen off the face of the Earth.
He'd been relieved, though, when the battered, vaguely yellow phone in his small motel room finally rang. The only beings on the planet who knew that number were, theoretically, the Stans over at the Mystery Shack. It had occurred to him over the past few days that either Stanley or Stanford could have talked the other out of meeting with him again. He hadn't, after all, offered any substantive proof of his identity. No, that entire introductory conversation had run entirely on emotion and gut feelings.
Happily, though, he was back at the Shack, hoping for answers and bearing a few meager gifts he hoped would at least let him start repaying the Pines family for all they had done.
Leaving his bugout car next to Stan's gorgeous red vintage El Diablo, America followed the short trail leading to the Shack. The worn grass crunched slightly underfoot, the soft sound filling the quiet area that surrounded the battered wooden building.
Stepping up to the backdoor, the single step creaked underfoot, as did the planks that made up the porch. It was literally impossible for him to approach the building without making some sort of noise, America realized. A bemused smile floated across his face. He wasn't sure if this was an intentional security measure or not.
Inside the building, America could just make out the sound of movement. His approach had not gone unnoticed. With an internal shrug, he reached out and rapped on the door.
The door flung open immediately to reveal Stanford Pines standing on the other side, still clad in the red turtleneck sweater from the other day. "Come in, come in," the scientist welcomed, shifting to the side and gesturing for the nation to enter.
"Thanks." Stepping into the house, America shoved his hands into his pocket and made his way to the living room where two of the dining chairs had been moved away from the table to form a vague triangle with Stan's armchair.
The younger twin looked perfectly calm and relaxed, wearing plain shorts and a hawaiian shirt over a simple undershirt. He watched America with a carefully bland expression from his chair but the nation could sense the buzz of rapid fire thoughts spinning out the different directions this meeting could go. There was no reason to even try to bluff the professional conman.
"I appreciate that you were able to come by," Ford began as he followed America in the living room. He gestured towards one of the chairs. "I was going through some of my old notes from college and realized that I actually had heard of your kind before, albeit in a very, very roundabout fashion." Seeing the nation's curious look, he continued, sitting himself down in the remaining chair. "I did some work with for Ronald Reagan's presidential campaign while at Backupsmore. Looking back, I realized that some of the more, ah, colorful conversations I overheard from my contacts in the campaign were likely oblique references to either you or, I presume, the state of California."
"Interesting." America pursed his lips, mind flashing back to the previous president as he tossed his worn bomber jacket onto the back of the chair and sat down. "You and me are gunna run that down later," he promised after a few moments. "But for now, I'd really rather talk about Weir- ... the thing that makes me feel like my brain is trying to crawl out of my ears and commit suicide."
Ford and Stan exchanged glances. America had lost the happy and chipper persona that seemed to fit him like a glove. The moment he'd brought up Weirdmageddon, he'd rounded his shoulders, hands reaching around to hug his elbows while stress and strain crossed his face. He may not have been physically present during Bill's assault on their dimension but clearly it had deeply affected him.
"A great deal led up to the day I met Bill Cipher," Ford began. With a soft sigh, he continued, "It would not be inaccurate to say that our entire lives led us to this point." Slowly, Ford began to recount the story of his and Stan's childhood in Glass Shard Beach and everything that had come after. Stan jumped in at moments, adding his own impressions and thoughts but the story wasn't the same as when they'd told it to the younger Pines twins.
With America, Ford and Stan were willing to go into far more detail about the darker moments of their lives. Unfortunately, the holes in Stan's memory of the years and decades he'd been alone prevented him from describing all but a few events during that time.
The full retelling took well over an hour. Throughout, America sat quietly, never showing any sign of judgement or distaste when Stan vaguely recalled getting tangled up with drug smugglers in Columbia or Ford's brief mention of taking part in a violent uprising on one of the many worlds in the multiverse.
As the story meandered up to and through the recent summer, Stan took over the narrative, his eyes taking on a new light as he delved into the Pines family's summer adventures. These memories, at least, were rock solid in his mind.
But then, Bill returned to the story.
Stan successfully activated the portal and brought Ford back to their dimension.
The brothers fought and fought and then it all went horribly wrong.
The story of Weirdmageddon itself was painful for everyone present. The ache at the world shattering so completely, the pain of family forcibly separated, and the terror of trying to fight back and failing returned just as strongly as when it had happened barely a week earlier.
Stan and Ford exchanged guilty looks as they remembered their failures during Weirdmageddon. It was only because of Dipper and Mabel that they'd found a way to finally defeat the dream demon - a solution that had nearly destroyed their entire family.
"It almost seems like a miracle," Ford admitted as the story drew to a close, "that Stan was able to regain his memory. If Mabel had listened to me, if she hadn't been determined to find a way…" his voice trailed off.
Silence fell over the room.
"But not everything came back." America gave Stan a thoughtful look, his voice very matter-of-fact as the nation studied the older looking man. "There are significant gaps in your memory still, years that are missing and events that you have no context for."
Stan flinched slightly as piercing blue eyes peered at him. He could remember all sorts of eyes staring back at him: the wide-eyed wonder of children watching his slight-of-hand tricks; accusatory glares of co-conspirators as a deal started to go wrong; the bored, dull-eyed stare of teenagers. Sometimes those eyes were all he remembered. But he'd never, ever seen a gaze like this one. America's eyes almost seemed to glow as they pierced him all the way to his core.
Beside him, Ford inhaled softly and a look of worry flickered over his face. He'd known since before the kids left that Stan wasn't quite as recovered as they'd told the townsfolk. Heck, he and Stan had discussed exactly what to tell the others when it finally came time. But he hadn't known… if America was correct, then the holes in Stan's memory were far more extensive than he realized. And he didn't know if he could fix them.
"They'll either come back or they won't," Stan finally muttered. He crossed his arms, pressing them against his chest as his discomfort with America's gaze grew. "Not like I'm missing anything important."
"Stan, that's not-"
"And if you could get them back?"
Startled, the brothers turned to stare at America, whose blue eyes refused to flinch away at the sudden attention.
"Everything up here's still a little…" He didn't say 'broken, shaken, the world-my body-my land- twisted and wrong and weird your story made me remember-feel-be-that-again'. He'd maintained his sanity this time, clinging to it with the desperate grasp of a man determined not to fall again. He'd only regained his mind after Weirdmageddon because of the Pines family and their determination and selflessness. He wasn't going to let himself tumble off that cliff again. Taking a deep breath, America pushed on. "Well, I'm still a little messed up. But once I've had some time, I think I might be able to help you with your memory. If you want."
"Help me," Stan repeated in a breathless voice. Surely he'd heard him wrong. "How could you possibly help me with my memories?" Confusion was thick in his voice as he continued to stare.
Tilting his head to the side, America tapped his temple with a long finger. "I'm the United States of America. I'm the land, the creatures, the people. It's all here, underneath the surface." Dropping his hand back to his lap, he shrugged, broad shoulders jerking up and down. "This situation hasn't come up before but I think I can do it. Give you your memories back, I mean." He shrugged again, hands twitching.
Silence filled the Shack once more. Stanford's eyes were wide as he sat ramrod straight on his chair. A chance. There was a chance that the lingering damage he'd inflicted on Stanley could be repaired. Turning his head, he cast a hopeful look at his brother.
Stanley did not look as enthused with America's suggestion. His hands were tense and digging into the plush arms of his chair and his face was noticeably pale. "I don't-" He swallowed hard. "The things I'm still missing aren't worth bringing back," he finally continued. "I did a lot of wrong in my life. It'd be better for everyone if that stays buried."
America stood and took the few steps needed to move from his chair to Stan, kneeling once he'd reached the worn yellow seat. "Stan, I've been around longer than my own government. Longer than I've been a nation. I've fought in wars and in dark alleys and done things I'm not proud of to survive and to protect my people." He reached out and let his fingers rest lightly on Stan's bony knees. "I don't pick and choose who I represent. Who belongs to me. I'm everyone. The good, the bad and the very, very bad. And you, Stan, you are not one of the bad or one of the very, very bad."
He smiled, warm and gentle, "A little tarnished, maybe, but in a way that adds character and makes something unique. I'm not unaware of the many different paths you've walked or the things you've done. I can't not know. Your life, your brother's, the people of this town- it's all a part of me, good and bad. Your experiences, all of my citizens lives, they help define who I am and what I'm like. I like to think that I'm a decent guy who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty to protect the people I love. And I could only be that way because of people like you."
Feeling like a hand was squeezing his heart, Stan squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to block out the warm sincerity in America's eyes. He was wrong, he had to be. And yet … He knew the young looking man at his feet believed every word he'd said. He was the United States of America. Stan knew he was, could feel it in his bones that America was everything he'd claimed and more. And to be America, to be that kind of being meant …
"Anyways," America suddenly continued, pushing himself to his feet. "You don't have to decide right away. Like I said, I'll need a little time to pull myself back together. Which means … presents!" Clapping his hands together, America couldn't help but bounce from one foot to the other, practically dancing in excitement. "I admit, they're fairly meager offerings compared to what you guys did for me. It's gunna be awhile before I can properly thank you for not letting that demon rip me apart and twist me into some kind of hellish, mindless, shattered lump of useless flesh and earth but I gotta start somewhere."
Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, America dug into one of the inner pockets and pulled out a small bundle white envelopes. He flipped through them, separating the stack into several smaller groups. Two of the envelopes he thrust at Ford and another two at Stan.
"This- this is from the White House," Stan stuttered as he stared at the return address on one of his envelopes.
"And the Oregon Department of Motor Vehicles?" Ford added, sounding equally confused.
"Open open open!" America chanted in rapidfire. He threw himself back into his chair, clutching his jacket and the remaining envelopes to his chest. "Also, you have to call Dipper and Mabel and tell them about what's inside 'cause this is part of what they were blackmailing me about. And I really, really need to know how the hell they found out about Trembley. Even my brother doesn't know about Trembley."
With hesitant fingers, Stan ripped open the flap of the letter from the White House. The piece of paper inside, he discovered, felt thick and expensive under his fingers and as he unfolded the page, he could feel some kind of thick embossed seal.
"This- this can't be real," he whispered as he stared at the printed words.
EXECUTIVE GRANT OF CLEMENCY
Barack H. Obama
President of the United States of America
To all to whom these presents shall come, greeting:
Be it known, that this day the president has granted unto
STANLEY DELILAH PINES
A FULL AND UNCONDITIONAL PARDON
For any and all criminal and unlawful acts, convictions, and indictments he may have committed or received.
The President has designated, directed and empowered The United States of America, in the form known also as Alfred F. Jones, as his representative to sign this act of executive clemency.
In accordance with these instructions and authority, I have signed my name and caused the seal of the Department of Justice to be affixed hereto and affirm that this action is the act of the President being performed at his direction.
Done in the City of Gravity Falls, Oregon, on September 3, 2012.
BY DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT
ALFRED F. JONES
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
"Why would the President want to pardon me?" Stan demanded, still staring stunned and aghast at the letter. "How does he even know about me?"
"I call him," America replied cheerfully. "He is my boss, after all. And normally pardons take, like, forever to get done but I get to cut through all the red tape. And I don't ask for this kind of thing a lot, so I usually get my way."
While America explained, Ford ripped open his own presidential letter and discovered a matching pardon bearing his own name inside.
America leaned over and poked his leg. "That'll cover anything Stan may or may not have done while he was using your name as well as your own shenanigans." He looked very pleased with himself. "I also got the boss to agree to keep this on the down-low so your names don't start floating place you may not want them to. I do wanna warn you, though, this only applies to the stuff you've already done. It's not a Get Out of Jail Free card or something."
"Of course." Ford found it hard to tear his eyes away from the letter (Stan was still sitting in stunned silence) but he forced himself to set it down in his lap and tear open the second envelope. After studying the contents for several long moments, he pulled the small plastic card off the paper it was stuck to and held it up so America could see it. "How," he demanded.
"Photoshop, mostly," America answered. "Uh, photo editing, I mean," he corrected when Ford gave him a blank look. "Stan had a relatively up-to-date photo on file with the Oregon DMV already so a buddy helped me make some edits so it'd match you. The real trick was getting the records for you both straightened out in the database and getting your licenses mailed out overnight."
"What trick?" Stan interjected, his attention finally breaking away from the pardon letter clutching in his hands.
"You're both alive again in government records," America explained. "Got things mostly straightened out at the federal level, too, although the IRS is dragging it's feet. I'm not going to let them hit you with back taxes or anything. Or identity theft. There were extenuating circumstances, after all."
"I'm what now?" Confused, Stan reluctantly put down the Presidential letter (he still couldn't believe it!) and opened the letter from the DMV. Inside, he found a new driver's license with the name Stanley Pines on it. "Right, any doubts I may have had about you are now officially gone," he announced. "It'd take the actual United States of America to get the DMV to move fast."
"Any bureaucracy," Ford agreed. "Even briefly being king of the Finger Dimension required working extensively with a slow and inefficient bureaucracy." He fingered his new license, looking down at the photo America had made to help correct the issue of identity. "Thank you," he murmured. "For- for all of this."
"Don't worry about it. It really doesn't feel like enough," America replied. "What Bill did here … I don't even have the words to describe what it did to me," he continued in a softer voice. "But it's over and even better than before because he's gone. You saved Gravity Falls, this planet, this dimension, and the entire multiverse. All the pain and heartache - it was worth it for that."
"You're not just saying that, are you," Stan concluded once America had finished speaking. When the nation nodded, he sighed and carefully set down the precious pardon and ID on the skull next to his chair. "Alright, then." He spread his hands and shook his head slightly in bemusement. "Hit me with your best shot."