Chapter 26
Disclaimer: Alex Hirsch owns Gravity Falls, not me.
Stan felt overwhelmed at the sight of his best friend, obviously coherent, being washed over with optimism. He hesitated, nearly lurching forward to smother him into a hug, yet resisted the urge to do so, not wanting to fully get his hopes up that his friend had fully returned. Simply because Old Man McGucket was calling him by his nickname, instead of his full one, didn't mean he remembered shit about their past. For all Stan knew, he was only having a slip of a tongue, accidentally calling him "Stan", instead of "Stanford Pines" as he usually did. "What, uh...what do you want?"
The homeless fidgeted at his tone, eyeing the children behind Stan. "I...wished to speak to you."
The speech pattern seemed to be sophisticated, much as when the pair had originally knew one another. He stepped aside, opening the door wider, daring to hope the curator had returned to his senses. "Yeah, come on in..."
Fiddleford hesitated for a moment, before complying. Stan peeked out into the darkness of early morning, feeling a chill as he did so, as though someone watched them from the forest. Stan frowned, aware that his senses wouldn't lie about this. He hastily closed the door, turning around to the group. Mabel was grinning at McGucket, waving excitedly. "Good morning, Mr. McGucket!"
"Ah, h-hello, Mabel, I...I suppose it is morning..." The man replied, giving a tentative smile in return. He nodded over at Dipper, avoiding eye contact. "G-Good morning, Dipper..."
Dipper nodded back, noticing his oddly timid behavior to be out of character for Old Man McGucket. "Um, good morning."
Fiddleford spied Gideon, who hid behind the brunet 13-year-old, clinging to the back of his t-shirt, glancing around awkwardly. He adjusted his glasses with his free hand. "Oh. I-I didn't know Gleeful's son was friends with, uh, you t-two."
"Yeah, we're the best of buds!" Mabel exclaimed, stepping over to the pair, hooking her arms around their shoulders.
Dipper laughed. "Uh, yeah, I guess what Mabel said."
"I, um, see," He replied, squeezing his hat tighter, frowning. "Um, Stan, um, may we speak...p-privately?"
"Yeah, yeah, uh, do you want to go to the dining room?"
"T-That, ah, will work."
Stan nodded, glancing at the children. "I think its about time you gremlins go to sleep."
"Awww, but Grun-" Mabel began, but was cut off by her great-uncle.
"Now."
Mabel made a pouty face, before turning to Gideon, tender smile spread upon her lips. She grasped his sleeve, whispering into is ear breathlessly, as though she had been in a marathon. "You're ok."
He gulped, lips twitching upwards for a moment, before she released him, smile dancing fervently across her face. Dipper frowned at her behavior, observing her form as she disappeared down the hallway, to retire for the night (or morning in this case). Dipper glanced away from her, before jerking a thumb up the direction of the stairs. "Come on, Gideon."
The other two went up the stairs wearily, leaving the elder men alone by the front door. Stan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling tense about the situation he had been presented with. "Uh, so, we can go sit down at the table, over there."
The pair sat on opposite sides of the dining room table, awkwardly silent. Stan observed the broken lenses of Fiddleford's glasses, realizing they were his spare pair. It had occurred to him that after 37 years, he would still have them, despite not ever wearing them in that time. "Uh, do you want your other pair of glasses? I guess you left them here, back then, and I sorta found them the other day."
Fiddleford shrugged, eyes lingering on the filthy and beaten hat he held. He set it on the table, hands clasping together, thumbs beginning to twiddle. "I-I would appreciate that."
"I'll be back...just going to get them..." Stan muttered, heading to his room. He opened the top drawer of the side table, next to the bed, revealing the pair to be set in there. He lifted them up, with tenderness, then slammed the drawer shut. He re-entered the room, discovering McGucket to be staring at the light fixture above the table. The intensity he was doing it made Stan feel unsettled, as though there was nothing more captivating in the world, than that light hung above him. "Uh, here they are."
He startled, then gave a timid smile as he was handed his glasses. He removed his spare, as Stan sat back down, and put on the unbroken ones. "Oh...I can...can see better now."
"Uh, good," Stan replied, crossing his thick arms across his chest. There was another beat of an awkward silence, until Fiddleford's stomach growled, causing him to blush. Stan couldn't help the bark of laughter that erupted from deep within his sternum, breaking the tenseness. "Looks like you don't have to talk, cause your stomach is already doing for it!"
"I-I-um, oh, I-" He spluttered out, causing Stan to laugh louder at his flustered behavior. It occurred to the elder man at that exact moment, that his best friend had returned at last, allowing himself to be flooded completely with optimism. He stood up, extending his arms for a hug. "Come here, you nerd."
Fiddleford's blush receded and visibly eyed Stan with hesitation. "Come on, I won't stand here forever."
He was startled when McGucket began to have tears welling in his eyes, hand clenching at the pant legs of his torn overalls. He bowed his head, gasping out his words. "I-I'm sorry!"
Stanford felt a familiar burning of emotion swell within, at the sight of his best friend breaking down, sobbing brokenly. Stan stepped closer, wrapping his arms around the frame of the frail man. "Hey, enough with the crying, it's ok."
"N-No it's not, S-Stanley!" He cried, hands clenching at the back of Stan's wife beater.
Stan tensed, though he didn't pull away from the hug. "...what did you just call me...?"
"Oh my god, Stanley, I-I thought y-you were gone f-forever!" The curator sobbed into his shoulder. The image of Fiddleford screaming at him wavered into his mind. He was shoved away, with strength he was unaware his friend had. It was his fault and Fiddleford kept screaming this at him, waving around one of his arms in a cast. His hair was disheveled, eyes roving about wildly. They should of been comforting each other, as they both fell apart. Fiddleford, losing his sanity, and Stan, losing the will to live. He grew angry though and forcefully shoved back. He shoved the man into the wall, causing him to tremble in fear, and Stan to feel horrified by his own behavior. It was too late though, Fiddleford screamed at him to leave his house and he didn't hesitate in doing so.
Stan couldn't react with anger this time though or history would repeat itself all over again. Despite his indignation that Fiddleford remembered his brother, but not him, the elder man patted his friend's shoulder. "I...I'm back now, everything is ok...everything is ok..."
~!9/1-13/18-21-14-14-9-14-7/15-21-20/15-6/20-8-9-14-7-19/20-15/19-1-25!~
"Robbie, sweetie, we need to talk." His mother spoke up, as the family sat down for breakfast.
Fork hovering over his pancakes, Robbie raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that like what we're doing?"
"Son, this is actually serious." His father informed him, Robbie staring intently at him. His eyes drifted to the cover story of the newspaper he held. "JURY STILL DEBATING ON WHENEVER BARNEY GRIEVOUS DESERVES LIFE IMPRISONMENT OR THE DEATH SENTENCE. COURT MAY SEND CASE TO U.S. SUPREME COURT". He glanced away, gulping compulsively at the headline, feeling somewhat nauseous at the reminder of that sickening situation. He had heard Gideon Gleeful was with the Pines' as a foster child.
Mind returning to his parent's behavior, it occurred to him that is mother called him by his nickname and his father called him 'son'. Beginning to feel a sinking his stomach at their unusual choices of his name, he set down the fork. "W-What's going on?"
His parents glanced at one another, sharing a saddening look. His mother spoke softly, leaning across the table. "Before we begin though, we just want you to know we love you and this isn't your fault."
"Mom, what's going on?" Robbie asked, feeling unsettled by her words.
"We're getting a divorce." His father stated bluntly.
The teenager stared at his father, then to his mother, who nodded to confirm what was stated. "...is that all?"
They blinked in surprise at their son's behavior, while he began to eat his chocolate chip pancakes. "Uh, son, we uh..."
"We thought you would be upset, sweetheart?" His mother concluded.
Robbie shrugged. "Well, you two are like adults, so if you're getting a divorce, I can't really stop you."
"You aren't upset?" His father pressed, setting down the newspaper.
"Not really. It's not like you guys are dying or anything, so why would I?"
"Oh, well, um, sweetie, since we're splitting up, we need to ask you a question." Robbie's mother continued, watchful of signs that Robbie was about to begin crying.
"What?" He asked, cramming a forkful into his mouth.
"Which one of us do you want to live with?"
He shrugged. "I don't know? I guess I'll think about it."
His father reached across the table, resting his palm upon his son's arm. "Son, are you sure you're alright?"
His arm slunk away, setting itself into his lap. "Yeah, fine."
"Sweetie?" His mother whispered, causing him to become uncomfortable.
"I'm gonna go work on some of my music." He replied, finishing his pancakes. Neither of his parents halted him from leaving and neither of them would come to check up on him for the rest of the day. He spent at least an hour, staring at the wall by his bed, remembering words his father told him when he was nine. It occurred to him, that they had probably wanted a divorce since he was little, but didn't want to upset him. Robbie felt like he never wanted to talk to anyone ever again. At the same time though, he wanted someone to make him actually feel happy, even though he didn't deserve it. None the less though, he found his cell phone in his hands, thumb hovering the Pines' number. He thought about Mabel. He remembered how she cheered him up, after his break up with Wendy. He felt whole, after she set him up with Tambry. It didn't surprise him in the end though, that the pair began to dislike each other once more. She had finally broken it off yesterday and despite hating her once more, he missed feeling happy.
He didn't deserve it though. He didn't deserve to be happy. His thumb pressed the "CALL" despite these thoughts and he let it ring. He was startled when a irked voice answered on the other end. "What?"
The 16-year-old choked on his words. "Is this those girl scouts, again? How many times do I have to tell you I don't want those darn Thin Mints?!"
He hung up, throwing his phone across his bed with a sigh. He wrapped his blankets around his body, eyes clenched shut, realizing he had forgotten his migraine medication. He reached out a hand from his cocoon, opening the top drawer of the side table. His head began to pulse, the beginnings of a migraine hitting him, as he grasping the bottle. The medication wouldn't do anything for him now.
~!-?-!~
Stan hung up the phone, glaring hatefully at the receiver. He didn't know if it was those pesky girl scouts or not, but either way he didn't have time for this. His phone only rang when it was something important, since people didn't usually want to chat with him. He had assumed it was Dick, giving an update on Mrs. Gleeful's-Grevious'-condition. Now that he was fostering Gideon, he would be given updates on her state and hopefully be informed one of these days that she was no longer a comatose. That had yet to happen and it had been a near two weeks since that night.
"S-Stan?" He was startled by the voice of Fiddleford behind him.
"Sorry, phone call, from, uh a buddy of mine. You feeling any better?"
"Um, a bit, uh, I'm actually slightly parched. May I trouble y-you for a glass of water?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I should get you something to eat too, you gotta be hungry." Stan replied, heading to the kitchen.
Fiddleford followed him, waving one of his hand. "Oh, y-you don't have to! I-I'm not that hungr-"
Stan rolled his eyes. "Shut up, nerd. I can hear your stomach growling from a mile away."
Fiddleford blushed heavily as they entered the kitchen and he covered his stomach with his hands. Stan opened a cabinet, removing a glass jar. He began to fill up the jar, glancing over his shoulder at the ex-curator. "What do you want? I could make some pancakes, but that will take awhile. I have stuff for PBJ's an-wait, I forgot that we're out of peanut butter an-"
"S-Sta-"
"Or I can scramble up some eggs and you can try some of Mabel's weird juice, though I wouldn't drink a lot if I were y-"
"S-Stanley!"
Stan ceased his speaking, mouth clamping shut. Fiddleford blushed, appearing sheepish. "I-I'm sorry, but I don't think I can eat much and, um..."
"Yeah...Sorry, I just...yeah..."Stan shut off the facet, hanging his head over the sink, releasing a sigh. His friend had been eating scraps from trash cans all these years, while he had grown plump from decent meals. He felt a bit sick, thinking on the times he had witnessed Fiddleford doing this, and hadn't even blinked at it. He shook his head after a moment, picking up the glass, and turning to his friend. "Do you just want some toast?"
The curator fidgeted with his hands, then nodded, accepting the glass with a muttered "thank you". "P-Please."
Stan realized at that moment, why exactly the whole situation was off as it was. Fiddleford's behavior had reverted back to the original state he had been when he had first met him. Before the incident, they were at a point in their friendship, were they could fake fight and call one another names, without any regrets after. Fiddleford wasn't aware of this though, believing him to be Stanley, as Stanford didn't seem to exist in his mind. Stan would likely have to act as Stanley did, when the pair were friends. He smiled tenderly, feeling slightly embarrassed that his mouth could even smile in that matter, and softened his voice. "You don't have to be so nervous around me, Fiddles, I'm you're friend. And, you just cried on me, so I think we're already past that."
Fiddleford nearly spit up his water back into the glass jar, turning a shade of red in embarrassment. "I-I'm sorr-"
"Don't finish that sentence!" Stan interrupted, realizing that wasn't the way Stanley would phrase that.
His friend hadn't seemed all that alarmed by his behavior though. "T-That may be a type of defense mechanism I've attained, likely to cope with my mind not working as effici-"
Stan tuned him out at this point, opening the fridge for bread. He had nearly forgotten Fiddleford's own father had been a psychologist, which was where he always got these observations from. He plopped a slice into the toaster and placed it to a low setting. He decided to listen in to what Fiddleford spoke of. "-ather always said that when people edge towards this behavi-"
Still talking about that. He shook his head, removing the toast and setting it on a plate. He frowned, realizing his friend had ceased speaking. He turned around, plate in hand. Fiddleford was staring intently into space, eyes far off into the distant. "Shit, not again."
He set the plate onto the counter and grasped the ex-curator's thin arm, guiding him back to the kitchen table. After Fiddleford had sobbed into his shoulder, he had been in this is state for two hours. Stan had nearly called 911 at that point, but realized they could do nothing for his mind. Not even a psychologist could help, as they might find his ramblings about the supernatural to be a illusion of his broken mind. He knew these "blank outs", as he was labeling them, wouldn't cease their appearances, so Stan hadn't any idea what to do. He sighed, setting his friend and himself into the chairs. Stan removed his glasses, placing them on the table top, and buried his face into his hands. "God, when did everything go so wrong?"
The elder man startled, when he heard a floorboard creak, and glanced up from his hands. Gideon was frozen in place, in the entry way of the kitchen, appearing frightened at being caught. "Why are you up? It's been only two hours since I sent you kids to bed."
"I-I, um, o-" He began to stumble away.
"Hey, hey, come here," Stan waved him over. The freckled boy froze once more, staring at Fiddleford with confusion and concern. "He's fine, just come here."
Gideon nodded after another moment of hesitation, halting before the elder man. Stan reached out, taking hold of Gideon's forearms. "Fiddles here, he's been through something, too. You know how he usually seems totally off his rocker?"
The 10-year-old nodded. "Well, he wasn't always like that. Something happened and he lost his mind. Well, that, and erasing his mind over and over again did that. But, I was the one that started it. He's getting better though. Sort of. He keeps doing this whole staring at nothing thing. Anyways, I think I know why you aren't sleeping. Fiddleford began to have nightmares, repeating what happened. I'm guessing you're having nightmares, too, huh?"
Gideon bit his lip, whispering. "...I-I k-keep s-seeing t-things."
"What things?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his freckled cheeks as he spoke. "I...I still see h-her when I...I close my e-eyes...and my...my D-Daddy, too...I w-wish my M-Ma...never h-had me..."
"Hey, hey! I don't want to hear any of that ever again, you hear me?"
Stan could feel the quivering throughout the child's frame, rubbing his hands up and down in a comforting gesture on Gideon's arms. "B-But, i-it's t-tru-"
"Ok, look, do you want to die?"
"W-What?
"Do you want to die?"
"N-No." Gideon gasped out, tears dripping off of his pudgy face, as Stan nearly sighed in relief from his answer.
"Then why do you wish you were never born?"
His eyes squinted, lips pinched."I-I...j-just...i-it h-hurts!"
"Hey, I know, trust me, I know a lot things hurt, but that doesn't mean that you never being born would be a good thing. If you weren't ever born, Dipper and Mabel would miss having you as a friend. And, who would of taken the beatings your pops dished out that were meant for your mom? I'm right, aren't I? He usually went after you?"
"Y-Yes, h-ho-?"
"You see, another thing you and Fiddles had in common, were that he also took most of the beatings. I didn't know him then, but he told me he would stop his mom from hurting his pops. His pops had this heart thing, you see, and he wasn't able to do anything very physical, so his pops couldn't defend himself from her when she got mad and you...you know what that's like, huh?"
Gideon nodded, releasing gasping sobs. "I-I d-didn't p-protect M-Ma! T-That's w-why s-she left!"
"Left? Wait, hold on just a second there. What are you talking about?"
"I-I d-didn't s-save her w-when s-she w-was s-screaming a-and t-that's w-why s-she l-left!"
Stan vigorously shook his head. "No, she didn't leave."
"W-Why d-doesn't a-anyone t-tell m-me w-what h-happened t-to h-her?" He cried out.
"Ok, sit down, right here," He commanded the 10-year-old, pointing at the empty seat his left. Gideon immediately complied, releasing continuous sobs as he did what he had been told to do. Stan hesitated for merely a moment, before wrapping his arm loosely around Gideon's shoulders as he leaned in closer to the quivering boy. "Listen to me when I tell you she didn't leave you. You haven't been told a whole lot, because you aren't old enough to hear some of things that happened to her. What I can tell you is that she had her head hit and it sort of...scrambled her head a bit."
Gideon stared at him in horror, whispering. "L-Like a-an e-egg?"
Shit. "Shoot, not like that, uh I mean like, uhhh...her head just got bumped and that made her fall asleep, so that her head could fix itself."
"A-Asleep?"
"Yeah, but nobody can wake her up, until her body wants her to, that's why she hasn't been around."
"S-Sleeping?"
"Uh, sometimes when people hit their head, they fall asleep, so their heads can get better."
"W-When w-will s-she w-wake up?" He asked, wiping his nose across the back of his hand, staring up at him with innocent eyes.
Stan sighed, well-aware he couldn't lie by this point in the conversation. "Well, sometimes they don't, because sometimes their heads don't get any better."
"...h-how l-long?"
"How long what?" He questioned, frankly surprised about how the 10-year-old had been taking this.
"U-Until t-they k-know h-her h-head w-won't g-get b-better?"
"Uh, that's sorta hard to say. I've heard stories about people waking up like 20 years after, but other ones never wake up."
"Oh."
"Look, it sucks, I'll tell you that much. But, Mabel and Dipper will be there for you and, uh, if you ever need to talk to someone besides them, you can...uh, talk to me, sorta like we're dong right now. Just don't tell the them I told you this or they'll probably start thinking I care about them." He whispered.
Gideon released gasp of laughter, lips quirking upwards momentarily. He wiped his eyes. "...t-thank y-you."
Stan squeezed his shoulder. "No problem."
They were unaware of Fiddleford returning to consciousness, gulping back the memories overwhelming his senses, clouding his mind with confusion on the matter of memories clashing together. One held Stanley and Stanford as twins, while the other only had Stanley Pines, an only child. He didn't question Stan about it, horrified about discovering how truly broken his mind was.
Chapter 26 End
First off, I would like to introduce my new beta, who will be sure I correctly write out my Spanish when I use it. Aldecaalfi, thank you for being my beta for the Spanish in the previous chapter! Next, I had to rewrite this chapter twice, which I find to be an improvement compared to the last chapter. I apologize for the gap of time since the last chapter, but I'm going to be frank when I say I'm in a difficult situation at the moment and every time I get a favorite or a follower or a review, I feel a bit better during this unfortunate time of my life. I honestly appreciate your support and hope you all continue to enjoy this story as it progresses.