Ford didn't know what he'd been expecting when he came home, but it was definitely not for Mabel to burst out the door, carrying a large mug in one tiny hand, and after setting it carefully down on the porch, to lunge at him and throw her arms around him. He barely managed to stop himself from incapacitating her when he realized she wasn't posing a threat.

"What-what the devil-" he managed to splutter.

"Dipper said you'd gone to see McGucket," she said, looking up and leaning her chin against his sweater. "We were still trying to figure out how to tell you. I'm sorry you had to see him like that."

To his surprise, Ford felt a small lump rising in his throat as he registered that he was being hugged, by someone attempting to comfort him, for the first time in…well, in a long time. He swallowed hard, and gave his niece an awkward pat on the head before gently extricating himself.

Mabel looked a little disappointed that the hug hadn't lasted longer, but she retrieved the mug and brought it over to him; a glance revealed that it was hot chocolate, with what appeared to be a generous helping of whipped cream decorated with…glitter, of all things, on top.

A moment later the door opened again, and Dipper stepped out after his sister. "...Believe it or not, he's doing a lot better than when we first got here." He shuffled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "...It might be because we finally helped him get his memories back."

"After we fought the Society of the Blind Eye and utterly DEMOLISHED it!"

Ford did a long, slow blink.

"...You did what?" Images of Fiddleford in a long red robe with a crossed-out eye symbol flitted across his thoughts, and he put two and two together. For once.

Mabel beamed at him. "You wanna hear about it? It was a totally awesome adventure!"

And despite himself, Ford nodded and slowly sat down on the porch steps.


The story lasted for approximately twenty-two minutes (in part because Mabel felt the need to tell him about the several failed romances she'd been tempted to make herself forget with the memory gun; Ford felt a little concerned, both that she'd wanted to erase her own memories, and that she was possibly too young/emotionally immature to even be thinking about a serious relationship, but he refrained from saying this out loud).

To his unexpected pleasure Dipper overcame his tongue-tied awkwardness enough to assist in the storytelling, and as he warmed to the subject he expressed a delightful level of curiosity, intelligence and resourcefulness far beyond that of the typical loutish adolescents Ford had been forced to associate with in his youth.

Despite its unconventional sparkly ingredient the hot chocolate was surprisingly comforting to take the occasional sip from as he listened (not to mention it tasted far better than his nutrient pills), so by the time they finished telling the story the mug was empty, aside from a thin dribble of brown liquid at the bottom.

"Maybe he just needs time to remember you," Mabel reassured him, patting his shoulder.

Ford winced as he remembered how this conversation had come about in the first place. "...Perhaps."

For a minute the three of them sat in silence, watching the pine trees; Ford faintly remembered that Dipper had written about several of their other adventures in Journal 3, and was just thinking that he ought to give them a better look than the cursory one he'd had last night, when the boy cleared his throat and asked awkwardly, "...Um, Great Uncle Ford? If now's a good time, I have about a million and one questions about-"

"Kids!" The screen door opened and Stanley came striding out. "Do you have the glue gun-"

He stopped short when he saw Ford, and practically began bristling all over, like an angry cat. "...Thought you were hiding in the basement."

Ford didn't dignify that with a response. He just levered himself to his feet in one fluid motion and shoved past him; he'd reminded him that he needed to get back to work dismantling the portal anyway.

"Nice talking to you too!" he heard Stan yell at his retreating back.

It was all he could do to just keep walking.


'Nice talking to you too'? Seriously?

Yeah, pretty sure I wouldn't wanna talk to a guy who stole my identity and won't give it back either.

Stan's shoulders drooped, and he had to fight back the urge to run after him and try to apologize, because that's all he'd been trying to do for the last thirty years and look where it had gotten him.

He was done giving up for Ford, done giving in to Ford.

Done letting Ford control his life and getting nothing in return.

He turned and saw the way the kids were looking at him-somewhere between confused, upset and accusing-and shrugged awkwardly.

"...So, glue gun?"

"It's next to my bed," Mabel said softly. "Grunkle Stan-"

"Thanks, pumpkin." And he hurried inside and headed for the stairs to get it so he could finish his latest weird, spectacular attraction.

This house had been his a lot longer than it had been Ford's, and as bad as he felt about the whole identity thing, he had no intention of giving it up.

Sooner or later, Ford was gonna have to just accept that.


Three days later

"Mabel, would you please ask Stanley to pass the salt?" Ford asked in a far too sweet voice, while glaring daggers at Stan across the table.

The children sat between them, looking back and forth uncomfortably as soon as the first shot was fired; Dipper's shoulders immediately started to hunch, and an unhappy frown rose up between Mabel's eyebrows as her grip tightened around her fork.

Stan lowered the newspaper enough to glare back at Ford over it, and said before Mabel could even open her mouth, "Dipper, tell Ford that if he wants it so badly, he should just come and take it."

"Tell Stanley that maybe I will, since legally it is my salt and I have every right to it."

"Tell Ford that it was bought with my dough, not his, and I bought it long before he came here, which means it's my salt-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Everyone jumped about a foot in their chairs, and Stan stared in shock at Mabel, who had slammed her hands down on the table and was now standing on her chair, face flushed and breathing hard through her nose.

"What the heck, kid, you tryna give me a heart attack?!"

"Everyone!" she ordered, pointing to the doorway. "Living room! NOW!"


Even Mabel can only take so much bickering.

Also, sorry if Stan seems more jerky than usual; he's at his lowest point and lashing out, same as Ford.