*Dragging the chapter gasping and squirming into the light while keeping it in a headlock so it can't escape*
Behold, my creation still lives! Cower before it, mortals!
There comes a time in everyone's life, at least once, when they look back on something their younger self once did or said, and dearly wish that they could go back in time and undo it. Or, failing that, at the very least give their younger self a good hard smack upside the head.
Unfortunately, members of the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squad rarely appear during these moments offering time tape unless it would have an impact on the natural flow of the timeline important enough to warrant Time Baby's attention, and this was not one of those times.
Hearing his own words parroted back to him was a harsh reality check to Ford about how heartless they had been. And while he did have legitimate reasons for the emotions behind them, and had been under a lot of "I've potentially doomed the world" stress at the time, and he hadn't known what was happening to Stan other than that he was running some kind of less than savory business somewhere in New Mexico last he'd heard from Ma, and he certainly never expected for Stan to read what he'd said about him…he had just enough self-awareness to realize that that didn't make it okay.
After staring at Stanley's back for a moment, struggling for the words he so desperately needed to fix this and failing miserably, he reluctantly pulled that particular journal out of his coat pocket and flipped to the offending section.
It didn't look any better in print.
He could still remember the half-mad frenzy in which he'd scrawled the words. He hadn't even known who he was writing them for; future generations, perhaps? Because even then, he'd been so adamant that the information in his journals be preserved, despite how dangerous it was, because perhaps someday someone wiser than he might see it and know better than to use it as he had-
Modoc the Shaman most likely had the same thought when he-if it really was him-painted that warning in the cave.
With a disgusted sound Ford turned to the recording of his life in Gravity Falls before the portal.
Back when he was still innocent and happy and thought Bill was his friend, and everything was much simpler.
He had missed Stanley.
Even when he was at his lowest points, he'd never quite managed to stop wondering about his twin: if he was all right, if he'd ever see him again, if the last words they'd ever say to each other would be in anger.
In those lowest moments, he'd wondered briefly if he was even alive, before quickly telling himself that that was ridiculous, Stanley was fine.
Yes, he'd been angry, and hurt; he had a right to be, after losing his chance at not just a good college, but the best college money could buy, and then Stan had just disappeared without so much as an "I'm sorry" (he tried to ignore the inner voice that hissed, "Yeah, cuz he had so much reason to think you'd listen").
But there was still a small spark somewhere inside him that had missed the time before all the anger and hurt, when they'd been happy together, and it was just Ford and Stan against the world.
Occasionally he'd even-
A small spark of inspiration, or maybe even hope, flared up.
"Stanley?"
Stan didn't acknowledge that he'd been addressed.
All right, time to play hardball then.
Ford cleared his throat and read aloud, "I recall finding a shrunken head in the family pawnshop and bringing it to show-and-tell. Every other student brought a football, a football trophy, or a book about football. All of these objects were thrown at me as I gave my report. If my brother hadn't shielded me and punched one of the other kids in the nose, I might have spent the rest of the year in the hospital."
Stan did a little half turn in his direction. Ford held up the journal so he could see the entry; he said nothing, but his eyes widened a fraction, and some of the hostility went out of his stance.
Ford turned to another section.
"There is no other place in Gravity Falls I would rather be than the lake. It reminds me of my childhood and Glass Shard Beach."
Even though he had written it in code, he remembered the next part perfectly.
"I still recall that one summer Stanley and I hunted for the Jersey Devil in the Pine Barrens. Mom and Dad never believed that we really saw one."
Was that a muffled laugh from Stan? Maybe the faintest hint of a smile?
"In hindsight, I would technically have been more correct in saying that we searched for it on the boardwalk and the caves by the lighthouse, but when I wrote this the Pine Barrens sounded like a more mysterious and appropriate setting for finding the Jersey Devil." With a sheepish shrug Ford turned to another entry.
"At one point Fiddleford and I went hiking, in search of parts for the portal, and I wrote this while we were sitting by the campfire one night. 'Reminds me of camping with my brother. I wonder what he's up to.'"
Stan immediately winced again, and turned away, towards the ruined remains of the portal.
"You could've found out, if you'd really wanted to," he whispered hoarsely. "You could've at least tried."
"...I know."
Stan finally turned to look at him again, expression revealing nothing, but Ford could see that his hands were tight at his sides, the way they always had when he was bracing himself for something that was probably about to hurt.
It was disconcerting how he felt the spell immediately reacting to the words he was leaving unspoken, and shoving them forward.
"I thought about it, whenever something happened that reminded me of you. Every Hanukkah, and every birthday. And when I first moved here, even when I enjoyed exploring the woods and all the strange anomalies I found here, I often thought about how much more I would have enjoyed doing it with you." He bit his lip, his own hands clenching around his journal. "But…I remembered how you'd said that you didn't need anyone. And I would just allow myself to get worked up all over again over the old hurt, and then return my attention to whatever I was studying and try and forget about it."
He took a tentative step forward, mindful of the candles; he saw Stan's shoulders immediately tighten in response, but at least he wasn't walking away just yet.
Well, better rip the bandage off, as long as so many of them were already metaphorically laying in a bloody pile at their feet.
"...I want to believe that you didn't sabotage-"
"I didn't."
Ford winced at the snarl of complete and utter frustration, and held up his hands in surrender.
"You're right, I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "I'm glad that this spell is confirming that you didn't, as harsh as I realize that sentiment is now that I'm actually saying it aloud. And it wasn't fair of me to assume that you had in the first place, without hearing your side of the story in full. But…the consequences for me were still the same as if you had."
Stan flinched, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"And that was the part that really hurt me, Stanley. Because West Coast Tech was important to me. Or, at least what it was offering me: a chance to be surrounded by people who would not only accept me as I was, but challenge me on an intellectual level-"
By the way Stan's face darkened, he realized again that that had been a poor choice of words, and tried to furiously backpedal.
"You know what it was like living in Glass Shard. All anyone ever saw me as was the six-fingered freak who knew too many vocabulary words and understood complex calculus that went over their heads, and West Coast was…a way out."
Stan made a scornful sound through his nose. "Yeah, cuz my life was an effortless wave of joy compared ta yours. You think I liked being the dumb one? Or that I was thrilled ta hear that I didn't have a future beyond scraping barnacles?"
It was Ford's turn to flinch. "You are not dumb-"
"It's not like I didn't want you ta succeed in life," Stan interrupted vehemently. "You're a bright guy who needs ta stretch his brain muscles and junk, and those West Coast jerks didn't know what they were missing out on. But I had dreams too, ya know. Maybe not as big and important and world-changing as yours, but they were still…mine."
Ford wondered if he was ever going to reach a point in this conversation where he would stop feeling awful.
At the moment, the possibility seemed highly unlikely. And it wasn't much comfort to see that Stan looked equally miserable.
In retrospect, it should have been obvious that Stan would have been eavesdropping on that meeting; he wouldn't be Stan if he hadn't. And as much as he claimed not to care what other people thought of him, and that he didn't let it get to him…hearing the principal say those cruel things about him (and not one person speaking up in his defense) must have broken his seventeen-year-old self's heart.
"I know I shoulda told you what happened," Stan interrupted his musings hoarsely. "Or just-not gone near the dad-blame thing at all. And I should've caught you in time." He nodded towards the portal. "I'm sorry about all of it. I can't even tell you how sorry I am." He rubbed a hand over his face again. "I'm just…so tired of paying for it. I've been paying, and paying, and paying…and it's never enough."
The worst part was that he wasn't even angry this time, like he'd been upstairs when spitting similar words at Ford.
He wasn't even bitter.
He just sounded…tired.
And broken.
"...Stanley, don't say that," Ford choked out at last. "Please don't say that."
Stan opened his eyes and squinted at him. "Gimme one good reason not to."
"Because you've paid for all of this far more than you should ever have had to, and you deserve better." Ford began maneuvering around the circle of candles towards him. "Because you didn't deserve to lose everything over a dumb mistake, or to feel worthless. Because I have made plenty of my own mistakes in this whole disaster, so the responsibility does not entirely lie on you."
Stan backed up uncertainly at his approach, and ended up stumbling over a few broken pieces of portal before catching himself, eyes wide and looking somewhere between suspicious and bewildered.
Undaunted, Ford continued his approach until they were face to face. "...Because it's taken me a foolish amount of time to realize it, but I don't want to lose you again." He kept his gaze steady, trying to convey his conviction with it.
Stan swallowed, hard, and glanced at the candles before meeting his eyes again. "...I wanna believe you. Honest-heh, can't be anything but right now-I do. I just…keep waiting for the other shoe ta drop."
"That's fair," Ford admitted, lowering the intensity a little. "I am experiencing similar fear. And while I appreciate your apologies, I suspect it will take a while for the hurt to completely fade."
Stan gave a little shrug. "That's better'n a poke in the eye with a sharp object, I guess."
Ford's lips twitched. "If you are amenable, I would suggest that we just try…taking things one day at a time. See what happens."
Stan chewed his lip, mulling over something, then nodded and said reluctantly, "...If you really wanna shut down the Shack, you'll have to figure out some other type of income-"
"We don't have to shut down the Shack." The little part of Ford still feeling territorial over it rankled, but he reminded it sternly that a) they had no other way of earning money at the moment, b) Stan clearly excelled at this line of work, and c) part of rebuilding his relationship with him would have to include knowing when to make compromises.
Immediately Stan brightened. "Really?"
Ford gave a firm nod. "Really."
For a moment he thought Stan was going to lunge forward and hug him. Instead his shoulders relaxed, and he whispered, "...Thank you." One of his hands twitched briefly at his side, before he gave a loud, theatrical yawn and stretched.
"Ugh. I dunno about you, but I'm exhausted from all the emotional vulnerability, so I'm gonna pretend I'm more tired than I actually am and go to bed-" He stopped, and groaned into his hand. "Stupid truth spell."
Ford chuckled. "I was considering taking similar action, though in my case I'm going to stay up all night thinking about what to do about the interdimensional rift and what further precautions to take against Bill until I collapse from exhaustion-" He groaned. "You're right; this truth spell is incredibly frustrating."
"...Yeah, no." Stan grabbed his lapel and began towing him towards the elevator. "We're gonna get some ice cream, and maybe bourbon while we're at it, and see if there's anything good on TV, and fall asleep in our chairs like the old fossils we are."
"Hey!"
But Ford allowed himself to be tugged across the basement to the doors, and half-shoved inside.
As they were going up, he cleared his throat.
"Stanley?"
Stan, who had been leaning tiredly against the wall, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Hmm?"
"I'm sorry too. For everything."
Stan…appeared to get glitter in his eyes for a moment. He didn't answer, he just nodded and swallowed, then led the way to the kitchen.
Sorry if any of this feels unrealistic or rushed; I'm trying to keep the pace decent, but I feel like I've held up this story for too long, and also wanted to finally get the boys into a relatively good emotional place once everything's out in the open.
