Gravity Falls, February, 1982

Stan groped frantically, eyes useless in the pitch black of the darkness. There was some kind of cool, tangible quality to it, and he thought suddenly of lightless ocean depths.

But this did not feel like an absence of light. This darkness had a liquid existence of its own.

Eventually, he tired. For a moment, gasping for breath that somehow existed, Stan simply hung there in the darkness, the chill of inexplicable fear deep in the pit of his belly. There, he registered an odd, indescribable sensation, like a shortness of breath, like a force of pressure on his back.

Someone was watching him.

He hadn't survived this long by being a complete knucklehead. Mustering up his courage, he shouted into the void, voice hoarse but strong.

"Who's out there?"

There was no reply.

Stan ignored the tingling sensation at the back of his shoulder, ignored how quickly it accelerated from a minor discomfort to burning pain, and repeated himself, teeth gritted. "I said, who's out there?

And then, he saw it. Or rather, he saw Them.

STANLEY PINES.

He didn't as much hear the words as he felt them. The air was gone from his lungs when he gasped for air - and, it seemed to him, from everywhere else as well.

"What - " Stan cut off suddenly. He raised his head and looked into six impassive eyes. Green. A pale, poisonous green. "What the hell are - "

A sudden burst of pain - dull and distinctly located in the region of his left hand.

Stan opened his eyes to the worn wooden logs that made up the ceiling of his brother's home. He blinked once in momentary confusion, and then glanced over to confirm his suspicions.

He had banged his hand on the coffee table. It wasn't particularly painful and evidently temporary, but it had been enough to jolt him awake. That, at least, he was thankful for.

What the hell was that?

Stan pushed himself up from the couch and attempted to rub the sleep from his sore eyes, to no avail. He might have rested physically, but mentally… that was another matter entirely.

This was real. This was real - the threadbare couch, the plain wooden walls, the high ceiling.

Not the voice. Not the eyes.

Bad dreams, huh? Stan had had his share of those. But none like this. There were always some kind of outlandish event in nightmares, no matter how bad, that he could grab onto to convince himself of the surreality of the events.

But though this nightmare was both strange and bewildering, Stan could not quite convince himself that it was just a dream. It felt real, both inside and out. It made him feel real fear, at the very least. Hell, it made him paranoid.

Stan remembered how Ford looked back then - how his brother had looked back then, eyes wild and pupils dilated, picking at the skin around his nails, shivering and generally looking an inch from a mental asylum. He had been scared, fearful of everything around him.

Was this how Ford ended up… like that? A few bad dreams, that feeling of deep helplessness - and his brother had went off the deep end - had pointed a crossbow at his own twin, and demanded to know if Stan was going to steal his eyes..

Then, with a burst of sudden anger, he thought - well, Stan Pines is made of tougher stuff than that.

Whatever had frightened his brother out of his wits, that thing with the eyes and the green, was in for a surprise if it expected an easy target in him. If it thought it could scare Stan away from Gravity Falls, away from saving his own brother - then it had a whole other thing coming.

(No, They had a whole other thing coming, Stan corrected himself automatically. Then he blinked. How did he know that?)

The foul taste of his own morning breath made it hard to stay thinking.

Stan got to his feet with a grunt, and began his long trek to the bathroom. The sudden movement made him suddenly aware of the various pains all over his body - the ache in his lower back from the hard couch, the throbbing pain slowly disappearing from his left hand, a resurgence in the burning sensation in his burn wound.

A proper bed would do him good, he supposed. Anything better than Ford's threadbare couch and a thin blanket.

But the thought of taking over Ford's bedroom in any way made him uncomfortable. It had been a decade since he had last slept in the same room as his brother, but it felt even longer.

A lifetime, maybe.

Stan hated being in his brother's room, and had ventured in only when circumstances forced him to. He couldn't quite explain it. There were reasons, of course: there were too many of Ford's nerdy books in there, his brother would throw a fit if Stan invaded his private space without permission, it reminded Stan too much of him. But none of them was right, not exactly.

It just felt like a betrayal of sorts. As if, by taking over another part of his brother's life, Stan was admitting a kind of defeat. That he was admitting that he would not be able to save his brother in a matter of days, or weeks, or months. It would take years. Maybe a lifetime, seeing how incomprehensible his brother's notes had been.

But… that was fine. At least Stan was in a better place than he was a month ago. Here he was - with a job, a goal, and if he managed to get the damn portal working again, his family - for the first and only time in his adult life. No matter how unconventional or inconsistent.

The door opened with a creak, and Stan splashed a few handfuls of cool water on his tired face, hoping it would soothe or hide at least some of the signs of his very long night. He brushed his teeth until his gums bled. A half-assed shave job later, he looked at least somewhat presentable. The liveliest he could look, under the circumstances.

At least he had running water. That wasn't something he could always say.

An uncomfortable twinge from the burn on his back reminded Stan of the last step in his new morning routine. Wincing and squinting at the mirror, he unpacked the gauze from his injury.

When did burns heal blue?

Stan certainly hadn't gone to any special measures to treat his wound. In fact, he had dealt with it much like how he usually did with personal injuries in the past - that is, clean it the best he could, stick a bandage on it or stitch it up, then ignore it. In retrospect, that might… not have been the best idea.

Stan made a noise of disgust. Why the hell was he wastin' his time on this stuff? He had survived, hadn't he?

He took one last look at his burn. What was the point of packing on more gauze anyways? The stuff cost money, and it wasn't as if it helped. Burn was gonna sting every few hours, no matter how many layers he stuck on.

He grinned at the mirror, exposing as many pearly whites as he could. A salesman's smile - or a conman's. Not that there was much difference, when it came to Stanley Pines.

Stan frowned suddenly. Nah. There was something… different needed. Something more. Sure, he had switched out the ol' question mark costume for a more distinguished looking black suit. Added a bowtie, an 8-ball cane, but -

He heard a sharp knock on the door. Stan froze for just a second. Maybe if he just ignored it, it would go away?

Whoever it was knocked again, just as frantic and clear as the first. "Stanford!" He heard distantly. It was a man's voice, not especially deep, and with just a hint of a Southern twang. "Stanford Pines!"

Oh, hell. It would be a few hours until the newly renamed Mystery Shack opened to the public, and Stan hadn't exactly done any advertising - the odds that this was some early bird visitor was astronomically low. And whoever this stranger was, he knew his name - his brother's name, at the very least. This wasn't someone he had met in town.

This was someone who knew his brother, and by the sound of it, it was more than a passing acquaintance. Meaning, this was someone who was going to know that Stan was not who he was pretending to be.

He might be screwed, but never let it be said that Stanley Pines didn't go down fighting. Stan cleared his throat, and tried to think hard about how his brother had acted in the hour or so he had talked to him.

Hole ripped in the fabric between dimensions. Advanced mathematical calculations to estimate the probability of impact. Stan repeated the words to himself under his breath, trying to get the voice just right.

"I'll be over in just a minute!" He shouted clearly, trying to keep the worry and fear out of his voice.

Stan fumbled on a pair of his brother's glasses and shrugged off the black 'Mr. Mystery' suit, pulling on one of Ford's dirty old coats over his white dress shirt. With a handful of water, he rearranged his own hair in as good of an imitation of his brother's as he could. He threw an old towel or two over some of his newer 'attractions', and let out a deep breath.

He cracked open the door, and slumped slightly in relief.

Guess he won't be needing the bat.

He didn't know the stranger, of course, but - the guy just didn't look like a threat. With his rail-thin frame, he looked like he could blow away with a heavy gust of wind. His nose was… unfortunate, and coming from a Pines, that was sayin' something. His wire frame glasses and familiar, nervous expression, however, single-handedly answered Stan's leading question about the man.

There was no doubt - this was a world class, rank A nerd of the highest degree. Maybe even one on par with the real Stanford Pines himself.

The two men exchanged a mutual look of silence.

"Stanford," the other man said finally, voice quiet. "It's - been quite a while."

The past ten years had taught Stan the art of reading a situation. So, friends - good ones, which was… kind of surprising, given how well Stan knew his brother. Might be that the surprise might just his own brand of jealous hurt.

Or - hell. Stan squinted. He had seen that particular look before, that specific brand of awkward discomfort - and wasn't this awkward. By the looks of it, these two nerds had been a bit more than friends. Who woulda thought that Ford of all people…

But there had been a fallout at some point, somehow. Stan sure wished he knew why. Except, this wasn't exactly a conversation he wanted to have out here on the doorstep.

"Yes," he said, glancing briefly to the side like his brother always did when he was nervous. "Yes, it - it has." Damn, Stan still had no idea what the guy's name was. "Would you like to - come in? We should talk inside - " Crap, crap, think of a reason… Ford had been pretty damn paranoid then, wasn't he? "Someone could be listening in."

"Someone listening in?" The other man blinked incredulously.

"Uh -"

"Stanford, we both know that your home is quite the opposite of a bastion of privacy," he snapped, with a surprising amount of anger. Stan blinked, taken aback. But it seemed that he wasn't the only one - Stanford's friend seemed briefly shocked at his own outburst, before he regrouped. "I - I know ya trust him over me, Stanford. But for once, trust me on this when I say that - that thing is not what he seems!"

Stan's expression tightened. The conversation had turned an abrupt turn into unknown territory, and he had no idea whatsoever how to proceed. 'Him'? Bastion of privacy? There was a long, familiar-sounding story here, he had no doubt. Stan had been dropped right in the middle of a lover's spat taken to the nth degree.

Just typical Ford.

Well, Stan had survived the past decade with the mantra of, 'fake it 'til you make it.' It seemed that this situation was no different.

"I'm not," Stan said hesitantly. "In contact with him, I mean." It - wasn't exactly a lie - Stanford certainly didn't look like he had talked to anyone in a long while.

The stranger looked surprised, then strangely hopeful. There was relief in his voice when he spoke. "Then, the portal - ?"

Stan's face froze. The portal? This guy knew about the portal? The one that Stanford had been so adamant about keeping a secret, the one that -

One that could not have been the work of a single man, no matter how much of a genius he was. And the equipment he had found downstairs had belonged to more than just one guy. The five-fingered gloves - Stan took a harder look at the man in front of him. Definitely a nerd.

Someone Ford would get along with. Maybe, someone Ford could work with as well.

Stan's mouth felt desert dry. Standing in front of him was the key to getting his brother back - someone who had worked on the same project, who knew how to fix it. All he had to do now was convince him to help.

"Stanford, now that you believe what I told you about him… surely you would agree to shut down that portal?" The man asked again.

Stan let out a sigh. There was a whole story here that he knew nothing about, and he would be lying his ass off if he claimed that he wasn't curious about it. "Let's - talk about it inside."

The other man looked doubtful. "Please," Stan said through gritted teeth. The last word had been hard to say - in fact, his burn flared in pain just thinking about it. But it seemed that it was the last thing the other man needed, because he nodded jerkily and walked through the open door.

Stan shut the door, and quickly stepped in front of it. He raised a hand, and swallowed. "Sorry 'bout this, but I can't shut down the portal - "

The stranger's face turned bloodless pale, but his expression had become resolved. "…If there's no other option," he started with a sense of finality.

" - because I'm not Stanford Pines."

" - then, I'm sorry, Stanford - " The other man blinked, one of his hands reaching under his coat. "You - What?"

"I told ya," Stan said again, his own accent slipping seamlessly back into his voice, "I'm not Ford." As explanation, he raised a single five-fingered hand. If this guy was as close with Ford as Stan thought he was, this was as much of a confession.

But the man blanched. "Bill," he whispered, eyes huge and white behind his glasses. He pulled out his hand from under his coat, and he was holding something in it - the wrong shape and size to be a gun, but Stan wasn't about to bet his life on it. "Bill. You promised - I stayed, I finished the portal, you said you wouldn't hurt him - "

Stan tackled him in a moment of adrenaline-fueled stupidity. It was never a good idea to jump a man with a weapon, but in his defense, this stranger was definitely not very experienced with using it. He wrestled the gun - thing out of the other man's hand and sent it clattering across the floor. The man gave a yelp, but Stan didn't budge.

Instead, he pressed him against the wall even as the man struggled frantically. "I don't know who this Bill guy is," Stan said through gritted teeth, "but I ain't him. I'm Stan - Stanley Pines. Stanford's brother, his -"

At that, his captive went limp in his grasp. "You're his twin," he said dully. He was staring at Stan now, mouth open slightly. "The one who was - thrown out from home at the age of sixteen."

"He, uh." Stan swallowed and let go of him. It didn't seem like the man was going to try anything at this point. "He told ya about that?"

"He did. Very unwillingly, I might add. But I wore him down," the stranger said, straightening up and brushing off his jacket. He was taller than Stan had initially estimated, several inches hidden by his terrible posture. "But that's not the topic at hand. Why exactly are you impersonating Stanford in his own home? With that said," his voice gained an edge, and he almost sounded dangerous. "Where exactly is your brother?"

"Those two things kinda… go together," Stan said quickly. "Ford called me over, couple 'f week ago. He showed me this machine in his basement - some kind of portal between dimensions, or somethin' like that. It… activated, on accident. Ford got sucked in. I've… been pretendin' to be him every since"

The other man was quiet after the explanation, his face like stone.

It was an uncomfortable silence. "Um," Stan said slowly, "who are you exa -"

"I knew it would kill him," the stranger said finally, cutting through Stan's aborted query like a hot knife through butter. His voice was unreadable. "I told him that he was meddling with forces bigger than he knew. But he wouldn't listen. And now… he's dead."

"My brother is not dead," Stan growled. "He's - not. That's why I'm here doin' my best impersonation of him, alright? I just have to fix the damn thing and - and I'll bring him back. He gave me one of his journals before he got sent through. I've been tryin' to figure out how to fix it - he's got blueprints or somethin' written down in here, but it's incomplete and I can't read half the stuff in here anyways."

"It's not that easy. Stanford wrote everything down in code. Besides, just the construction of the portal requires advanced knowledge in theoretical physics, doctorate level mechanical and electrical engineering - "

"Which you've got, right?" Stan asked. "You helped him build this thing, didn't you?"

"I - " It seemed to take the man some effort to power through. "Yes, I did."

"Then you can help me fix the portal an' bring my brother back."

"F-fix the portal…" he swallowed. "It's not that simple, Stanley. There's something on the other side of that portal, and if it comes through… It could mean the end of - well, everything. This is far more than a matter of life and death, this is a matter of the world. Stanford is dead, Stanley. I saw the other side. He could not have survived it."

Stan shook his head. "Just - stop, would ya? Stop sayin' that. My brother's alive, alright? I would know if he wasn't." At least, he thought he would. He couldn't really describe it, and it certainly couldn't hold up to any kind of logic, but there was a part of Stanley that knew beyond a doubt that his twin was still living.

Or maybe it was just hope in clever disguise.

Thankfully, the other man didn't even attempt a debate. "Fine. Even assuming that he is alive, you might very well be damning this world for the sake of a single living person. You will be unleashing forces beyond your control. Do you think Stanford would appreciate you doing this?"

He… wouldn't. That, Stan had no doubt. Stanford had always been the one with the big picture in mind. As always, hindsight was 20/20 - he should have known that his brother would have never settled for their childhood dream of sailing and treasure hunting. If what this guy was saying was the truth, then Ford would ream him out for endangering the world for the sake of a single man. But the thing was -

"I'm not expectin' him to," Stan admitted after a long hesitation. Sure, that was the dream - that his brother would return from the portal with… some kind of thanks, some bit of gratitude. He was too jaded now to think about the Stan o' War as an actual possibility - but maybe, Ford would let him stick around for just a little while. They could make up. Be something like brothers again.

But Stan was also a realist - least, he tried to be. Ford had been crazier than a sack full o' cats when he had - had pushed his brother into the portal - and he doubted that had improved the man's mental state at all.

"Look, uh - " He gave up. "What is your name anyways?"

The man scooted his glasses up his nose a bit. "Fiddleford. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, really, I'm an old college friend of Stanford's."

"Fiddleford Hadron McGu - " Stan shook his head. There were some names too strange not to be real. And… old college friend? Was that what they were calling it these days? "I'm not gonna ask. But, uh, Fidds." The man blinked. "I know you and my brother were - pals. So ya know how he is. I'm not doin' this for him to thank me, y'know? I mean, not that I wouldn't appreciate that, but - that's not the kinda person Stanford is. I'm doin' this so I can have my brother back, 'cause I don't know what I'll do knowin' he's gone forever."

Fiddleford flinched at that, and Stan knew he had found his opening.

"I - I'm sorry, Stanley, but - Stanford's - "

"But you - You get that too, right?" He pressed on. "I'm - I gotta admit, I haven't seen my brother in ten years. If ya knew him since college, then… You've known him for a long while. Hell, you might - know him better than I do." And didn't that hurt to admit. "I used t'say that my brother was the dumbest genius in the world. Guess that's still true now. But, sure he's - too darn oblivious sometimes, he has some screwed up priorities, but - "

Stan shrugged helplessly, and went for all or nothing. "That's Sixer for ya. But I - we still can't help but love him, yeah?"

Fiddleford was quiet. For one shining moment, Stan thought that maybe, he had gotten through to him -

"I - have to go, Stanley," Fiddleford said abruptly, an unreadable look in his eye.

Stan bit down an expletive. Shit, shit, shit, this couldn't end like this. "I - Look, I'm - not the kinda person who begs, but - " He let out a sigh. "I can't bring Ford back on my own. You're the only one who can fix that damn machine. Look, once we get 'im out, we can smash the thing into rubble, alright? Between the two of us workin' together, we can probably get him to get his head out of his ass. We just need t'bring him back before -"

"I'll think about it," the other man interrupted, with an air of concrete finality.

Stan's heart sank. Seems like this all he was going to get from the man. Short of forcing him to work on the portal unwillingly, a recipe for disaster considering how little Stan knew about the machine, this was a dead end.

"…Alright. Fine," he said, even though if there was one thing the past ten years had taught him, it was that 'maybe' meant 'no.' "Just. Really think about it, alright? P-please."

Fiddleford's not-gun was lying by his feet, and Stan picked it up in one fluid motion. Fiddleford's eyes went wide, but Stan could tell with a glance that this was no real gun. No place for bullets, just - some kind of glass, like a light bulb. Completely useless. But hell, if this made the man feel safe, all the power to him.

"Here," Stan said gruffly, handing the device to the other man, handle first. Sign of trust, right?

Fiddleford accepted it gingerly. He held it with a finger on the trigger and gave Stan a considering look. Even knowing that the thing couldn't do any real damage, Stan was momentarily, inexplicably afraid that he was going to shoot it.

"Stanley," Fiddleford said suddenly, "you don't need to get involved. The wise thing to do is to - forget about all this and go back to your old life. You can do that if you wanted."

There was no debate at all. Stan shook his head. "I can't. I really can't. Not when it's Ford."

The moment passed. Fiddleford nodded stiffly, and without further adieu, practically jolted out the door.

Stan watched him leave, and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. Damn. Five bucks said that he was never gonna see that fella again.

Not that he blamed him. If it was some other unlucky sap who had gotten himself swept up in this mess, Stan would have already been a few states away. Really, interdimensional portals? Those tiny men Stan had found hiding in the closet the other day? And judging by the parts of Sixer's journal that hadn't been about the portal, the weirdness of the town wasn't exclusive to just that.

But it was his twin at stake here, and Stan wasn't about to give him up to the mysteries of this town. Creepy green eyes or not.

Gravity Falls, August, 2012

"Mr. Pines?"

Stanford looked up and to the side. The car window rolled down to reveal a wide buck-toothed grin and a somewhat familiar, gopher-like face. He squinted - no, he did know this man, even if his name was, ah, escaping him at the moment. Soup? No, that couldn't be right, this dimension's naming conventions were different than dimension 17's.

A brief look around him made him realize one important fact - he had absolutely no idea where he was. Stanford had realized earlier this morning that the only things remotely edible left in the Shack had been a day-old glass of milk and a stale half loaf of bed, and made the decision to venture into town to restock the larders, so to speak. Unfortunately, Stanley had taken the car on his conceived venture, and Ford had been forced to walk. Just as well - it had been three decades since he had driven an Earth automobile. Nebulian warpcrafts on the other hand... But he must had made a wrong turn somewhere, distracted as he was by the contents of Stanley's journal.

Eye contact made the man's eyes widen in realization and his grin diminish, just a little. "Oh, you're the other Mr. Pines! What are you doin' all the way out here?"

"I was on my way into town," Ford admitted. "...You're the handyman who works for my brother, correct? I'm sorry, I don't know your name - "

The man chuckled. "It's Soos, Other Mr. Pines! An' that's me - I got a lotta experience unclogging toilets too, but -" He blinked. "Wa-ait, Other Mr. Pines... town's in th' other direction!" He pointed this thumb backwards, to where Ford had come.

"Ah." ...Had it really been that long since Stanford had left the Shack? Yes, he had been in town during the Weirdmageddon, but that hadn't been the best time to observe the scenery.

"It's just a few minutes away, really. Hey!" Soos blinked. "I can drive ya there!"

"...Are you sure?"

Soos nodded vigorously. "Sure thing, other Mr. Pines!"

Well, if he insisted. And if Stanley had trusted him with Dipper and Mabel, then there was no doubt about the man's intentions. "It's Stanford, actually," he said lightly as he eased himself into the front passenger seat. "Or Ford, whichever you would prefer."

"Gotcha, other Mr. Pines!" With that Soos made a - rather wild U-turn, sending gravel flying in all directions. Ford grabbed onto the assist handle on the side of the car in an attempt to limit the g-forces suddenly inflicted on his person, wondering briefly if everyone in this time drove as dangerously as his brother.

They sped over the rocky road, Soos seemingly unbothered by the amount of bumps and skids. Ford, on the other hand, was just a bit - queasy. In an attempt to distract himself from the imminent danger to his life, he reached for the book tucked in his coat pocket - and froze.

He glanced over at Soos with new eyes. The man was - rather close to Stanley, wasn't he? He certainly held a lot of respect for the older man. "...Soos, was it? This - might be a rather odd question, but... have you seen my brother around recently?"

Soos furrowed his forehead in thought. "Last time I saw Mr. Pines, he was at the small dudes' farewell party."

Another dead-end, then. Ford slumped back. "I see. Never mind, then."

"Why d'ya ask, other Mr. Pines?"

"It's Stanford. And - well, it's nothing really. I'm just trying to track down my brother."

Soos let out an audible gasp, his fingers suddenly tightening on the steering wheel. "T-track down - w-what happened t' Mr. Pines?"

"Nothing!" Ford said quickly, because the vehicle was making several uncomfortable swerves. "He's perfectly fine, I'm sure. He just left town last night, though he did leave a note. I'm simply hoping to - speak to him about some, ah, recent developments, and thought I'd ask around about his possible whereabouts. That is all."

The other man relaxed - and so did Stanford, now that he wasn't in any danger of crashing into a tree. "Huh, that's pretty weird 'f Mr. Pines t' do that. But he's been actin' pretty weird since he and the little dudes beat that triangle dude."

"Weird?"

"Well, everyone kept askin' Mr. Pines when the Mystery Shack was gonna reopen, 'cause the end of the world was over an' all. But he kept changin' the subject." Soos frowned. "Boy, I hope nothin's gonna happen to th' Shack."

"Oh." Ford... had some ideas about Stanley's weird behavior, but this was certainly not the right circumstances to bring them up. "Did he, ah, mention anything else? Any future plans, perhaps?"

"Nah, nothin' like that."

There was a long and rather awkward silence, but the buildings of Gravity Falls slowly came into view over the horizon. The silence continued as Soos pulled up in front of the Greasy Diner, but when Ford nodded his head in thanks and moved to exit the car, Soos spoke up.

"Hey, other Mr. Pines..." He fidgeted a little. "Do - D'ya mind if I come an' help? If Mr. Pines' gone missin'..."

Ford eyed him warily. Yes, he was at a dead end when it came to his investigation into Stanley's whereabouts - not even the man's journal had shown any signs of helping. Nor did he actually know any citizens of Gravity Falls, especially not which ones would have any idea where his brother might have went. But on the other hand, he had no particular desire to drag anyone else into this.

"Well - " He tried, and faltered. There was something about the intensity of the man's pleading look that made it impossible to say no. And - well, surely it wouldn't do any harm?

"Man, I bet Lazy Susan knows somethin'! Or -"

"No, I don't mind," Ford said quickly, hoping he hadn't made the wrong decision. He dragged a hand through his hair. 'Lazy Susan'? It seemed that the weirdness of the town had spread to more than just its supernatural denizens.

Soos' eyes went wide. "I - I won't let you down, other Mr. Pines!"

Gravity Falls, February, 1982

There it was again. That feeling of being watched, by a gaze that was a bit too intense to be normal. Stan exhaled.

"Look," he said, ignoring the innate instincts that were screaming at him to stop, to cower, to not engage, "if ya got somethin' to say, say it. I know I'm lookin' forward to my first decent night of sleep in a damn week."

There was a jolt of something like surprise -

- and then Stan was opening his eyes, feeling like he had slept more than the - he glanced at the ticking clock - four hours he had squeezed in the last night. Turns out, it was some hard work managing the Mystery Shack. Whole lot more visitors than he had been getting at the Murder Hut, though in retrospect, that was probably not the best name he could have chosen for the place. He might need to get an employee. Or two.

Was he getting used to this?

There was a knock on the door - again, he realized, because the first round of knocking had been what woke him up.

"Coming!" He yelled gruffly, groaning as he eased himself off the couch. The banging on the door stopped immediately, and Stan decided that he wasn't about to go to the effort to dig out some presentable clothing. If whoever it was could knock on his door at 6 AM on a Sunday, then they can handle the sight of Stan in his undershirt and boxers.

Stan cracked open the door. "Alright, I've had enough with - "

He froze.

"Stanley!" Fiddleford greeted, setting down what looked like a heavy toolbox and pulling out a stack of paper covered with what looked like scribbles to Stan's terrible eyesight. "I spent last night coming up with some theories as to what could have led to the portal's malfunction. The first and the most likely to me, the device could not handle the permanent transportation of a larger life form and - "

"Ya came back," Stan said weakly.

"Well - yes," the other man said, a bit hesitantly. "I... well, I thought about what you said. And I suppose - " He broke off again. "I'll help you bring Stanford back - or what's left of him. But that portal - regardless of what Stanford may say, it must be destroyed. And because - well, there's really no tellin' what condition the portal really is in at this point, and for all I know without personal investigation, it could very well be still runnin' and - "

"Hey," Stan said with an easy grin, "you don't hafta justify yourself t'me, alright? I'm the sap who convinced you into this, 'member?"

"Right," Fiddleford said weakly. "Right." He let out a big breath. "...Long and short of it, I figured it's not too late. There's still the chance that - he could be saved. That he could be - convinced."

There was an edge of - something there, but Stan had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The man was willing to help, and that was good enough for him. He was a simple man, really - as long as he got his brother back, he didn't particularly care what happened afterwards.

In retrospect, maybe he should have.

[A/N: ...Wow, it's been, uh, a long time. Two months, almost. I'm not sure what excuses I can give. At least I got all those pesky college applications done? The rest of the year, it's all fanfic binging. Kinda good news is, this chapter is even longer than the last one. Could have been even longer, but I figured it was a bad idea to give my procrastination another opening to strike. So here it is - introduction of a few new plot elements.

It's a bit hard for me to balance events in the past and future, but hopefully, all goes well. I don't exactly have a good track record with plot-driven fics, but I do have this all planned out to some degree, so. Hopefully I can get this fic done before the finale REALLY josses everything *sobs*

Confession: I'm pretty darn bad with timelines, so assume any inconsistencies come from this being an AU. Assumptions to make here: Fidds was mentally stable enough at the time of Stanley's arrival to pass off alright, Ford didn't know the full details of the Society of the Blind Eye, and Fidds is not far gone enough to throw away a chance to reconcile with his (boy) friend.]