Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Alex Hirsch owns Gravity Falls, not me. Warnings include heavy language throughout the chapter.

~1969, March~

"STANLEY, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHY THE WOULD YOU BE INTO THIS BULLCR-SHIT! SHIT, RUN! THE GNOMES ARE COMING THIS WA-" Stan was cut off as an explosion of gnomes barely missed him and his brother's sprinting forms.

"Stanford, shut up, you're making them more angry. If you had just shut your mouth and let me sketch them, then this wouldn't have happened and then we could o-"

"You're full of shit! This is not my fault! If you didn't tr-DAMMIT!" He jumped out of the way, as another explosion of gnomes narrowly missed him. "You had to start stealing their hair to do whatever creepy shit you do down in the basemen with Fiddles an-"

The pair's eyes widened and they cried in unison. "FIDDLEFORD!"

In the distance, the museum curator was being crushed by several gnomes, attempting to fight off their combined strength. Sweat rolled down his face, struggling to breath as the weight of several of them crushed his thin frame. Fiddleford was rapidly loosing strength and felt light headed from the apparent lack of oxygen. He briefly pondered where the Pines twins had gone after the trio had fled the lair of the creatures, but the thought went away as he began to loose consciousness. "...S'an...'ord...S'an...'ey..."

He heard the gnomes crying out and the breath returned to him as the weight was reduced. In-between the bodies of gnomes covering him, he caught a glimpse of Stanley beating them with one of his journals, while Stan was punching them until they would scurry off in fear. They made eye contact with him at the same moment and cried out his name. Strength returning, now that he could breath, he began to push the gnomes off of him, ignoring their bites. He reached a hand out of the pile of bodies on top of them. "HELP!"

Stan lunged at the pile, grasping onto his hand, attempting to pull him out. The creatures began to stockpile themselves onto him as well though and he yelped as they began to bite. "Ow! OW! WHAT THE HELL! STOP BITING ME! YOU FREAKS OF NATURE ARE GOING TO GIVE ME RABIES!"

"STANFORD!" Stanley screamed and Fiddleford caught of a glimpse of the other Pines twin, grasping his brother's foot, attempting to remove them both from the hoard of gnomes. He felt Stan's hand began to slip from his own and his chocolate eyes gazed into his own, a desperation apparent in them. His hand shifter, grasping his wrist instead, and both of their bodies moved, as Stanley succeeded in pulling them out. They scrambled into standing positions, Stan assisting his friend in standing. "RUN!"

The pair didn't have to be told twice and sprinted after the frantic scientist. They began to distance themselves from the dazed gnomes, attempting to reassemble themselves and soon they were miles from the scene. The trio only slowed, once they entered the clearing where the Shack laid. They bent over, hands on their knees, heaving for breath. There was a beat of silence, before Stan spoke. "...we're done with gnomes."

"Agreed." The scientists replied.

~1969, June~

"What the hell is that?" Stan questioned, pointing at the floating triangle in front of his brother.

"Um, he says his name is Bill and, uh, he just appeared from the fridge when I went to grab a beer?" Stanley replied, uneasily eyeing him.

Bill Cipher extended his hand. "Yep, Bill Cipher is my name, and running destiny is my game!"

Stanley uncertainly grasped his hand and shook it. "Uh, what were you doing in the fridge?"

"Simply waiting for one of you two notice me. Been in there for a week now."

"Wait, you were in our fridge for a week and we didn't notice?" Stan asked, scratching his chin.

"I was the mustard you kept glaring at all week. You not a fan?"

"Ugh, no, an-"

"Wait, are you a shape shifter? Oh my god, where's my journal, I need to sketch yo-" The scientist was cut off, Bill waved the journal he held in his hand. "How did you get my journal?!"

"I have my ways. Did you say you wanted to sketch little ol' me?" He questioned, tossing the journal to him.

He caught it. "Yes, see, I've been researching the strange happenings of this town an-"

"You sketch them and take notes, I know."

"You been watching us?" Stan asked, suspiciously.

"No, but being an all-knowing being has it's benefits."

"All-knowing? Are you not a shape shifter then?" Stanley asked.

"Actually, I'm a dream demon."

"...I can I talk to you in the hall, Stanley?"

"No, I'm talking t-" His brother dragged him out of the kitchen and into the hall. Stanley glared at him. "What are you doing? I'm trying to tal-"

"I don't trust that thing." Stan grunted, jabbing a finger at Bill in the background.

"Stanford, you said that about that Fiddleford's son when I had to watch him, when he went on a date with Susan last week."

"That was because he kept crawling into my room and putting my stuff in his mouth. And, I trust this thing even less."

"There is nothing wrong with him. If he meant us any harm, he would of hurt us by now."

"Stanley, it literally said it was a demon. Did you learn nothing from all those horror movies you used to make me go with you to watch when we were kids?" He hissed.

"Hello? All-knowing being can hear exactly what you're saying, " Bill chimed in, directly behind them. The pair startled, clearly surprise that he had snuck up on them. "Did you not quite grasp this concept by any chance, Stanford?"

"Who the hell told you my name?"

"Again, I am an all-knowing being."

"I'm sorry, Bill, my brother can be quite rude at times an-"

"Look, since you can apparently always know what we're saying, I'll just say it to your face; I don't trust you."

"Oh, I know. Just like I know your girlfriend can hold you in a head-lock until you lose consciousness."

Stan blushed and scowled at the dream demon, then stormed off, while Stanley laughed at his twin's embarrassment the entire time. He bellowed over his shoulder at the glowing demon and his brother. "Do you know what? Fine, you can do whatever the hell you want with it! You can marry it for all I care, but don't say I didn't warn you!"

~1970, January~

"Oh my god, we did it..." Stanley whispered in awe.

"We solved it..." Fiddleford whispered back.

"What are you nerds whispering about?" Stanford asked, glancing up from his battered copy of S.E. Hinton's "The Outsiders", as they were gathered about a table in the basement. Stanley calmly handed over the papers, that scientists were previously hunched over, to Stan. Stan dogeared his page and snatched it from his brother. He stared at it for a few moments, frowning in confusion at the work scattered across it. "You solved some math problem?"

"That's the formula I told you I could never solve."

"Oh. You mean the one where you can time travel?"

"No, the alternate universe one." He whispered back, clearly still stunned.

"Oh, congrats." Stanford replied, dropping the paperwork onto the tabletop, returning to his book.

There was a moment of silence, before Stanley turned to his panther, realizing he had been silent. "Fiddleford?"

Stan glanced up once more and frowned at the dazed expression on the curator's face. He plopped his book down and waved a hand in front of his blank face he was currently sporting. "Hello? Ford? Anybody homeeee?"

"...I've studied this matter for over 20 years and finally unveiled the formula to jump dimensions." He muttered to himself.

Stan shrugged and went back to reading the novel, as the pair beside him stared into space, the words coming alive in his mind. "Man, I thought if I have worries like that, I'd consider myself lucky. I know better now."

~1970, December~

"Abort, abort, oh my fucking god, abort!" Stanford cried into the walkie-talkie he held, as he sprinted from the officers.

His own crackled to life, Fiddleford's voice wavering in. "Stan? Stanford, what's going on?"

"The policía are on my damn tail! We need to abort right now!" He cried, weaving in-between trees.

"Oh my god, ok, uh, hold on a moment!"

"What?! I can't hold on! They're literally right behind me! I can hear them!"

"Stanley wants to know if you've gotten the chemicals or the machine parts."

"This is not the fucking time to do this!"

"I know, I'm sorry, so that's obviously a no then?"

"No, I don't have any of them on me, but I-Shit, they're firing at me!" He screamed, as he heard guns going off in the distance.

"Oh my god, where are you?! We'll come and g-"

"I'm in the damn jungle! How in the world would I be able to tell you where to pick me up?!"

"I don't know! Here, Stanley wishes to speak to you!"

"Well, hurry it up!"

"Stanford? Stanford, what's going on?"

"The fucking Colombians are shooting at me, for breaking into their radiation plant, that's what's going on!"

"Shit, and you don't know where you are?"

"I already told Fidd-" Stan lost his balance when his foot was caught by an exposed root, causing him to take a tumble down a hill to his left. His head smacked into a tree and he cried out from the impact. He continued his roll, the walkie-talkie flung from his hand, before his movement was ceased by a protruding rock at the bottom. He cursed himself and spat out a bit of blood pooled into his mouth. He distantly heard his brother's voice calling his name and realized he didn't have it in his hand any longer. He patted the ground, on his hands and knees, feeling in the darkness for the walkie-talkie. The moon shining on his path, revealed it to be a few feet away. He snatched it up and replied immediately. "Stanley?"

"Oh my god, what the hell just happened?! I thought they got you for a second!"

"Sorry, tripped and fell."

"Jesus Christ, seriously? I thought you were actually in trouble and I was worried!"

Stan decided not to mention the blood and decided to concern himself with other matters. "I think I lost them, because it's qu-"

He stiffened as he witnessed the outlines of figures with flashlights heading down the hill. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. "Stanley?"

"What? What's wrong?"

"I-I'm sorry."

"Stanford, what's going on?" His brother hissed in reply.

"I'm sorry, they found me."

"Wha-"

"D-Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone, bro-bro." He replied, before removing the batteries from the walkie-talkie. He glanced around, still on his hands and knees, discovering an opening in the ground by a tree. He crammed the batteries and the machine itself into the hole, so the Colombian police wouldn't discover he had accomplices to this crime he had committed. Stan made it just in time as well, as multiple officers began to surround him, aiming their guns at him.

"Levanta las manos!" They began to repeatedly call out, as they made their approach. Despite barely knowing a word of Spanish, he knew exactly what they commanded him to do, placing his hands into the air, while he remained knelt upon the ground. They realized he concealed no weapons and began to push him onto his chest. He didn't make a single protest, as he was cuffed, lying on his stomach. He doubted he would be home for Christmas that year.

~1972, January~

"Oh my god, Stanford!" His brother cried, sprinting to him, as Stan got off the Speedy Beaver bus.

His brother tackled him at full force, knocking the wind out of him, and jostling his broken arm in his brace. He cringed, crying out. "Ah dios mio!"

Stanley frowned, looking up at his brother's bruised face. "What?"

"Mr. Pines, as I told you over the phone, your brother is still injured, so I suggest not hanging onto him like that." Stanley's lawyer, Benjamin Howell, informed him, appearing from the bus, suitcase in hand.

Stanley immediately released him, observing his frame. "How bad is it?!"

"I think we should speak inside." Mr. Howell replied, reaching out for Stan's uninjured shoulder.

He jerked away with a sneer. "Don't touch me."

Stanley frowned, feeling anger flare within. "Stanford, Mr. Howell got you out of prison and that's how you speak to him?"

"I can speak to him however the hell I want. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going inside and taking a nap." He growled, heading towards the Shack.

"Stanford!" Stanley yelled, feeling extremely pissed at his behavior.

Mr. Howell touched his shoulder. "Mr. Pines...Stanley, give him some time. He's been held in a Colombian prison for over a year, so he needs time to re-adjust to society."

"I know that, but he's always talked to people in that manner, even though he has no damn reason to do so."

Mr. Howell sighed. "Stanley, he was beaten while he was in prison, almost on a daily occurrence, it's expected for him to find the need to feel hostile towards people."

"I know he was! And I feel horrible that I put him that situation, but he should be more grateful to you!"

"I've had certain clients treat me worse than your brother, it's fine. Just out if curiosity though, are you planning on actually telling me what he did? It was difficult to defend him against the Colombian government, when I didn't know what actually happened. That's actually why you and Mr. McGucket had to pitch in over $30,000 to get him out of prison."

"Which was completely ridiculous to bribe them with money! And, I'm sorry, we can't tell you."

He sighed. "Very well, but may I make a suggestion?"

"What?"

"Your brother cried on my shoulder three times during the ride back and he didn't even care if anyone saw. I honestly suggest he speak to a psychologist about what happened, because what's happened to him was a traumatic experience." Mr. Howell concluded.

Stanley blinked in surprise, knowing his brother never showed any sign of weakness to anyone, not even him when they were alone. He didn't think though, that Stan would even accept going to a doctor to talk through his issues though. "I don't know, I doubt he would want to."

He nodded. "I figure as much, but I think you should at least try talking to him sometime soon."

Stanley decided perhaps tomorrow would be best to began to approach the subject on what occurred, while he was away in another country. As destiny would have it though, it was later that same night, after informing Fiddleford who was in Portland for work and Carla who was visiting her family in Washington, that Stan had be released, he found himself in the lab with his brother. Stanley raised an eyebrow at him, gazing up from the journal he was scribbling in. "I thought you said you were going to sleep? It's midnight."

"Those parts you need for the machine are still in Colombia." His brother short replied, in sweatpants and Stanley's Princeton sweatshirt, feet bare.

He blinked. "The parts?"

"The god damned parts you made me go to prison for." He ground out, jaw clenched.

He gaped. "Wait, you actually had them?"

"Isn't that what I fucking said?"

"Ok, why are you so angry right now?"

"Ah dios mio!" He cried, throwing his hand into the air.

"That's the second time you've said that! What does that even mean?"

"It's Spanish and it just fucking slips out sometimes!"

"I didn't know you knew any!"

"Well, you learn a ton of fucking shit when your imprisoned in a another country for a fucking year!" Stanford exploded.

Stanley clenched his jaw. "Are you blaming me? That was not my fault."

"Oh, it's not?! It's not Stanley Pines and Fiddleford McGucket's fault that I was there?! It's not their fault I haven't seen my girlfriend for nearly a year?!"

"It...It's not." Stanley replied, grinding his teeth, reply not as confident as the previous response.

He lurched forward, grasping his twin's collar with one hand. "It is! It's all your fault, asshole! Do you know what it's like?! Do you?! Be housed with money launderers, and drug lords, and murderers, and rapists?! Do you?!"

"N-No."

"Do you know what it's like to be smacked around by them and have the guards laugh about the fucking silly American stuck in prison, who doesn't speak a word of Spanish?!"

"N-No."

"Do you know how I learned Spanish?! The guards would smack me upside the head with their damn sticks, every time I spoke a word of English, so I had to learn their stupid language, so they would at least stop hitting me! I couldn't get the other assholes off my back, but at least I could get the guards off mine if I spoke like them!"

"I-It's not my fault!" Stanley cried out, feeling sick at his brother's pain.

"Yes it is! If it wasn't thanks to you, I would of never been in the mess in the first place!"

"I-I'm sorr-"

Stan punched his brother, clean across the face, silencing him. He repeated the action, until blood poured from Stanley's nose. "I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

His twin never attempted to defend himself from the blows and he ceased his punches, breaking down into tears, releasing the bloody mess he held with one hand. He collapsed in a heap before the scientist's feet, trembling. "I-I hate you..."

Stanley removed his broken glasses and wiped at his dripping nose with his lab coat. "I-I'm sorry."

The pair embraced, breaking down into sobs, regretting actions they had committed.

~1972, Feburary~

"So, this is what you were doing was I was getting beat in prison." Stan whispered.

Carla trembled, wrapped the blanket draped around her bare body tighter. "P-Please, it was a m-mistake!"

"...we're done." He muttered, feeling numb.

"I-I didn't think you would ever get o-out and I f-felt s-so lonel-"

Stan stood from the edge of the bed he had settled himself upon, heading towards the bedroom door. "When I come back in the morning, you better be gone."

"S-Stanford, p-pleas-" She never called him Stanford. He gently closed the bedroom door behind him, not even angry, though his body was trembling from the betrayal he had witnessed. He snatched the keys to the motorcycle, the one his brother had bought him when he had returned from Colombia, and headed outside with his helmet on his head. The machine purred as Stan started her up. He didn't break down until he drove his motorcycle down the interstate to California. He didn't even flinch as he barreled straight into an oncoming car in the dead of the night.

Chapter 23 End

Whoops, I lied when I said this was a two part chapter. Sorry, this will actually be in three parts. Anyways, I imagine, as Stan recounts his past to the children, he would obviously leave out anything too dark and most of the language. Notes for this chapter include: "The Outsiders" was published in 1967 and seemed like the type of novel Stan would love to repeatedly read. The last line in that section, with the italics was from a chapter in the novel and was meant to be foreshadowing of what was to come. The Speedy Beaver bus is what Dipper and Mabel had rode in to Gravity Falls. I'm pretty sure it's the equivalent of the Greyhound bus. "Ah dios mio" means "Oh my god" and "Levanta las manos" means "Put your hands up" in Spanish. I actually was planning on having Stan become obsessed with helping his brother, causing Carla to break up with him, so she could have someone that actually loved her. Then, I read this comic on Tumblr about Stan catching her in the act of cheating and found I wanted that idea instead. As always favorites, followers, and reviews are appreciated!