For an uncomfortably long moment the puppet just hung in the air while they stared at it.
Then Stan heard Mabel's voice hiss, "Dipper! That's your cue!"
There was the sound of Dipper sighing, before another puppet appeared on the other side of the door-one that looked almost exactly like the Stan puppet, except that it had a cloud of fluffy gray wool attached to the top of its head, and its hands had an extra finger taped on.
"And I'm the inner Great Uncle Ford, here to speak all the suppressed emotions of his heart," it said flatly.
"Put some feeling into it!" Mabel's voice hissed.
"I am putting feeling into it!"
The puppets shoved each other briefly, and then returned their attention to the two startled old men. The Ford one cleared its throat.
"Stanley, you are not 'nothing.' I-I hope that the real me actually believes this too-"
Ford made a sound like he'd just been socked in the gut.
"-but you are…probably the most remarkably determined man I have ever met. Determined, and brave, and incredibly loyal. And I can't imagine how you managed to stay that way after everything you've been through."
Stan was mortified to actually feel a lump rising in his throat. Even as he reminded himself that that didn't mean Ford really thought all that, it was just what the kids thought about him (maybe), he shouldn't get his hopes up don't get his hopes up-
"Ford," the Stan puppet 'replied,' "I'm so sorry about your science fair project, and then about what happened with the portal! I know I messed up, but I've been trying so hard to make it better so we can be brothers again, and at the end of the day all I really want is to hug you tight and never let you go-"
"Stop trying to make them hug, Mabel!" Dipper's voice hissed, "It's not gonna work if you keep pushing it!"
"I'm just trying to give them subliminal messages like the ones Stan has in the gift shop!"
"Those are literally the opposite of subliminal!"
Two extra arms appeared, smacking at each other while still trying to keep their owners out of sight.
Stan buried his face in his hand, unsure if he wanted to laugh or die of embarrassment.
Possibly both.
When he looked up again, the fighting had stopped, and he could hear muffled giggles from the doorway, because as crazy as they drove one another those knuckleheads couldn't stay mad for long. Definitely not something Stan was jealous of in any way, shape or form.
The inner Ford spoke again. "I'm sorry for staying angry for so long. And for wanting to shut down the Mystery Shack and take away your only source of income, that was unfair to both you and your loyal, hard-working employees-okay, seriously? Did Wendy and Soos tell you to put that in?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," said the inner Stan primly.
Stan could almost hear Dipper rolling his eyes. He certainly was, considering that if anyone thought Wendy was 'hard-working' they needed a serious reality check.
After a moment the Ford puppet went on, "I-um-I don't know everything that's happened to the real me, unfortunately, so I can't be as thorough about this as I'd like to be. But…I do know that I…miss you, Stanley. It's just been easier to stay mad at you than to admit it."
Ford made that strangled noise again. Stan glanced at him to make sure he wasn't choking or something, but he looked mostly fine. Even the bruises and scratches he'd gotten when the robot crashed onto him were looking better-probably thanks to the robo-doohickeys.
And he was staring very intently back at Stan, with that pleading look again, the one that was making Stan's gut twist and squirm and made him want to go back to his rage from earlier because it would feel a heck of a lot better than all this conflict-
Ford reached into his coat, and pulled out a slip of paper, which looked really old and faded and ripped at the edges. He bit his lip, and then held it out so Stan could see it.
It was a photograph.
Flashback flashback flashback flashback
Shermie wrinkled his nose. "You really think you're gonna be able ta fix this piece of junk?"
"No, we know we can!" Ford retorted, giving the hull a proud pat, and ignoring when a piece on the other side immediately fell off. "I found some books on boat building at the library, and there's lots of old driftwood lying around we can use!"
"And we got some o' Pa's old tools ta help us!" Stan added, holding up hammer and saw.
"Does Pa know you have those?"
"...Yes. Absolutely."
Shermie raised a skeptical eyebrow…but then shrugged. "Just don't cut yourselves, okay?"
"Okay!" Both of them saluted, and then winced as their hands brushed against their sunburned foreheads. Ma was definitely gonna raise Cain and slather them in aloe vera when they got home.
Then their big brother held up his camera with a grin. "Shall we preserve the moment?"
Happily Ford and Stan scrambled to different parts of their new boat, trying to look as epic and heroic as humanly possible.
End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback
Stan stared at the photo, at how gently Ford was holding it…and tried to remind himself it all had to be part of the Lie, that he was just trying to get Stan's hopes up so it'd be more satisfying for him to yank the rug out from under him again the moment he started believing him. But it was a lot harder this time.
But Ford's eyes immediately saddened, like he could read his thoughts, and he lowered his hand. Until he brightened up again not more than a few seconds later.
"...I can prove that I-or the children speaking for me-or-you know what I mean-that my intentions are not…well." He reached into his coat again, and this time pulled out the journal Dipper had been reading all summer, flipping through it until it reached the section he was looking for.
"Many years ago, I discovered a strange phenomenon in the forest: a set of golden dentures that render whoever wears them incapable of lying-"
"Kids already found them."
Ford blinked. "They did?"
"Uh-huh!" the inner Stan said from the doorway. "We threw them in the bottomless pit after learning that sometimes there's such a thing as too much truth, because Grunkle Stan almost got arrested!"
"And he revealed too much about the depths of his tortured soul," added the inner Ford. "And about his bad personal hygiene."
Okay, enough is enough.
Stan walked over and carefully, so he wouldn't smash any fingers, but firmly, shut the door, ignoring the muffled protests from outside, and leaned against it, facing his brother.
Ford swallowed, and slowly put the photo back into his coat.
"...That does make things slightly more difficult. But…if you want, if it would make it easier for us to have this discussion…I can try to find them. Or come up with some equivalent-perhaps a potion, or a spell. I'm certain I could make something suitable."
Stan pondered…and then swallowed his pride enough to nod. After all, if he did find the truth teeth and it turned out he really had tried to have the robot kill Stan because he didn't care two cents about him anymore (if he ever had), at least he could have the bitter satisfaction of knowing he'd been right all along. He wasn't sure what he'd do afterwards if that turned out to be it, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.
Ford's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."
…It wasn't the thank you Stan wanted to receive, but he'd take what he could get.
"...So where do we stand now?" Ford asked.
"Technically, you're sitting."
Ford blinked, and then rolled his eyes as realization set in. "Ha ha."
"Hey, if you're allowed to be pedantic, so am I." Stan smirked.
He was rewarded with the smallest fraction of a grin, before Ford gave him a "this is serious" look. "I meant, what are we going to do now, Stanley?"
Stan sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "...I don't know."
Ford sighed too, and nodded. "...Mabel will be disappointed that we haven't already fixed things and hugged it out."
"Yeah, well, she's gotta learn that sometimes, you don't get what you want."
Ford flinched, but didn't argue the point.
For a moment they remained still, looking like one of those paintings at a fancy art gallery that people stood in front of and pondered what the subjects' facial expressions and junk meant.
Then, without saying a word, Stan opened the door and left, walking slowly past the kids for the stairs.
"Grunkle Stan?" he heard Dipper call after him worriedly.
He glanced over his shoulder and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, I just…gotta get some shut-eye."
For about twelve hours straight, ideally, but he wasn't holding his breath hoping for that.
...But if you try sometimes, you might get what you need!
