NB: This work is part of an interconnected series/multichapter of one-shots. Context isn't required and these chapters can be read as standalone works but if you're curious, you can check out the end chapter which explains the premise and the A/Ns. If you're not interested, please enjoy the story freely and don't let me stop you!
Breakfast began slowly.
In fact, a lot of things took off like the Stanmobile on a bad day: Stan being awoken by Mabel at six AM the moment he had an idea when and where his dream was taking place, the eggs taking an annoyingly long time to get going on the small gas cooker, and a vague stillness he felt he was the only one to have taken notice of.
The stillness was in the atmosphere.
He was weirded out by how different the kids were from an hour ago—when Mabel had been missing her ear-to-ear smile and Dipper had looked like he was stuck in one of those boring hot days last summer. He couldn't think much about it without his entire filling of putrid instant coffee, but even if part of the problem had been grogginess, this felt as though it trod a line between purposeful and incidental.
Of course, his thoughts were challenged when one thing led to another and it was back to the usual Pines pandemonium.
"No, sweetie, pass the salt," Stan said, pointing to Mabel's left.
"Oh, I can't hear you!" Mabel yelled, pretending to search in a plastic bag. "Did you mean, 'make a toast'?"
"No, Mabel!" Dipper yelled. "Salt! He meant—"
The explosion of colour which followed made Stan feel like he didn't have much to worry about.
"Whooo!" Mabel shouted, sprinting back to the small table. "Go, glitter gun!"
"Well, I've had worse," Ford commented, sitting at the far edge and tapping his fork over the contaminated can of contraband 'fibre paste'. "Probably less of a health risk. But worse."
Dipper sighed, looking at his orange juice. "If you've eaten enough glitter, the indigestion almost starts being manageable."
"Ey, speak for yourselves," Stan said, mouth nearly full. "We used to have glitter lunches all the time when you nerds were out on adventures!"
"Ah." Ford smiled. "Good thing we didn't share a room for the summer."
With Stanley's eye-roll enriching the air with sarcastic leisure, the four soon cleared out the table, disposing of leftovers in the deadly corrosive mix known as Stan's denture cleaning 'solution'. Life jackets in tow, they spread out on the boat. Stan's ears clicked first—the waves were livelier today, the sound of impact resembling more of a booming thud than a gentle bonk. He took a long, deep breath, chilly air clamouring around his throat; it wasn't concerning for someone like him who had been near the Arctic for the better part of the year and had grown a backbone for the cold. However, with Dipper and Mabel wearing T-shirts, he knew if there was anything he didn't want to deal with, it was sick kids.
"Seems we're still on track," Ford said, manning the wheel and glaring at the GPS. "Around ten hours left."
"Ten hours?" Mabel complained. "Man, the ocean is slooooow."
"There's always the water golf I promised to beat you all on," Ford said. "Fiddleford's holocron course projection tool has gotten a lot better last we were in town, but I brought an extra set of clubs if something goes wrong. Or, of course, if someone's too angry from losing to Dimension Theta's BurrowGolf champion!"
If awkward glances were the only identifying traits of a Mexican standoff, everyone except Ford would've been in one.
"Great!" Ford let go of the wheel, either being too oblivious or not caring enough to take a hint. "Stanley, take over while I get the stuff, will you?"
"Fine." Stan shrugged, taking over while Ford ambled over to the cabin.
"Hey, Stan, can I check that out?" Dipper asked, pointing at the GPS hanging on the wheel by one of the ropes.
"Eh, sure, kid."
Dipper grasped the device. He analysed it with an intensity only he could postulate before, without a word and amidst a sharp gaze, he followed in Ford's direction. Stan watched, a couple of oddities from the happenings of yesterday making the gears in his head turn around at a pace unbefitting his age.
"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked from out of nowhere, fingers tapping upon the wheel.
"Huh? Sorry, sweetie. Zoned out for a sec."
"Sooo, I wanted to ask you something I've been wondering about for a while."
Stan smiled. "Go ahead."
"How'd you come up with the name Murder Hut?"
He gripped the wheel more strongly. Murder… Hut…
"I, well, y'know me—first thing that comes to mind for anything. Used to be bad at it, but now it's making 'em sound like the Grunkle joke book!"
"Really? Isn't there, like, a story there?" She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket.
Stan scratched his chin. "Don't think so, nah."
"I, um, thought the name of your first attraction would have one."
He eyed the boat's anchor. Ironic.
"Eh, it was a lame one, anyway. I mean, makin' people think they'd die if they went into a slimy tent wasn't my best idea."
Mabel blinked, drawing a quick, shaky breath. "Oh, okay."
"Did I disappoint ya?" Stan asked with a small chuckle.
She rolled her eyes. "A little."
Stan wanted to laugh all before noticing her lip quivering, but before he could spark fire into his early morning suspicions, a loud thump interrupted everything. The cabin door had swung open.
"Look, Dipper, I've changed my mind," Ford said, marching to the bow. "That's the end of it."
Dipper pouted. "Seriously? So that's just it—telling us about it and now no good reason, nothing new, no—"
"Whoa, whoa," Stan said, raising his hands, "the heck are you two arguing about? We left you in there for two minutes!"
"Ten," Mabel corrected.
"Same thing."
Ford was looking at Stan with worry. Stan grimaced, connecting the dots.
"Grunkle Ford wants to call off the search for the Moryana," Dipper said, "and he won't say why!"
"What?" Mabel asked.
Ford sighed, turning back to Dipper. "Why is this even discussed? The reason's in front of you: chance of encounter! That's it!" He knelt and put a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "Take it from me, my boy: you can't force every mystery to have a grand answer that solves everything."
"I know that's not true, Grunkle Ford!" Dipper shouted, breaking from Ford's grasp. "Our route lined up with hers perfectly before you intentionally changed it!"
Ford frowned. "How do you…"
"Okay, you two, that's enough," Stan warned, standing between them. "Let's just take a breath and relax. Who cares, anyway? Ford nearly forgot to mention that thing yesterday."
"No, we're not done here." Dipper was scowling. "This isn't like you, Grunkle Ford. If it were so simple, you'd have told us. Why are we going off track?"
"You've been through my notes, haven't you?" Ford's tone was sharp.
"Yeah." Dipper crossed his arms. "But that's not the point!"
"Uh, guys," Mabel said, "I think you should check this out."
Stan raised an eyebrow, trudging next to Mabel. Ford's spyglass was in his hands and, peering through to where she was pointing, he wished he could mouth a more foul curse than 'piranha paste'.
"Dipper, that's a breach of my unrevised writings," Ford continued. "You can't just read that without at least telling me!"
"Don't pull that card, Grunkle Ford! What's the difference between this and your journals? I mean, do you honestly think it even matters if we see her at this point?"
Ford huffed. "Then why the fuss, Dipper?"
"Because I want to know if you two are doing it again! Keeping—"
"Guys!"
"What, Mabel?!"
"There!" Stan yelled, shooting a finger in the boat's opposite direction.
He saw Ford and Dipper freeze up like reptiles in amber—on the distant horizon, striking their eyes blinded with anger, were hints of a vibrant pink spot of light which seemed to move with the waves, left and right.
"Impossible," Ford muttered.
"Is that her?" Dipper asked, sprinting to the bow. "It is!"
"S-Stan," Ford said, "you should—"
"I'm watchin', Ford." The gleam, although distant, strained Stan's eyes. "There's nothing there yet."
In fact, there was something there, just not something he wanted to mention. The light spread outwards as the centre became fainter, as kindling does to an expanding bonfire. Several layers of light lined up a humanoid silhouette—its hair, face, and eyes taking on different colours near pink, like purple, orange, even a touch of red. Of all the breathtaking sights Stan had seen in his year out travelling with Ford, this one was the winner.
"Stanley!" Ford exclaimed. "I really think we should—"
"It's coming closer, I think!" Dipper shouted, taking his dad's camera. "Grunkle Ford, we need to record this!"
Stan heaved a breath, lifting away the spyglass. He rubbed his eye and saw how the sun's light slowly dimmed away behind the vast grey clouds, an omen he hoped had nothing to do with the dizziness in his head.
"Pines!"
Stan nearly dropped the spyglass. That voice—deep and sage-like, carrying a powerful reverb which pierced the air—had whispered in his head last night.
"Don't tell me I was the only one who heard that," Dipper said.
Before anyone could confirm, the water around the bow burst out the same way steam did from a geyser. The Stan'O-War II shook with immense fervour as Stan and Dipper gripped the railings, but once the splash had found its way to the entirety of the deck and their clothes, the forces of nature calmed and the image before the group cleared. With a soft and pleasant pink glow, the levitating silhouette half as tall as the mast resigned to detail: a young woman with fair skin and red hair bearing the texture of seaweed smiled at them, body clad in a white, tunic-like garb with red cross patterns and almost regal adornments.
Had it not been for those four commanding hazel eyes and what happened next, Stan's dumb brain might've had an interest.
"Howdy!" the woman said, her voice instantly shifting to a much higher pitch.
"Whoa!" Mabel shouted.
"Stay back, everyone!" Ford went in front of the three, strong wind billowing out his hair. "Great Moryana of the oceans! We mean you no harm! We simply want passage north!"
"Oh, 'great'!" She chortled. "Get it?"
Silence.
"So much for a crowd! I knew Stanford wouldn't get it, but c'mon!"
"What?" Ford asked. "How do you know my name?"
"Or our names!" Dipper said. "You called us 'Pines'!"
"That question's not mine to answer, guys!" She shrugged, shrinking down to a more normal height and stepping onto the boat. "I can't dictate what the universe's telling me in this ol' noodle here, only… with whom to talk about it."
"Sweetheart, if you're lookin' at me for an answer to whatever's goin' on with you, I'm not the guy," Stan said, taking a raspy breath.
She clicked her tongue. "Maybe."
Only now did Stan notice that she was, in fact, following the boat, but somehow using the water to carry her and make it seem like she didn't move.
"W-What are you, exactly?" Dipper asked.
The light around her softened, though the same couldn't be said of her expression, one which hearkened to a hidden sadness.
"I am Zorya, last of the Moryany. My kind has been gone for some time now, but places like these waters have always been… familiar to us, as much as I can remember the others." She smiled. Seemed forced. "We allow those who haven't seen as much as us to understand; I chose to act as a guide to the seafarers, those lost and those who are yet to lose."
"Last of the Moryany…" Ford murmured. "U-Um, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your species?"
"Read the room, Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, nudging him.
Ford pouted. "Right."
"Can you at least tell us where exactly you come from?" asked Dipper. "Or how long you've been here?"
"Mm, no. No thanks."
"Wow. I feel like that's a record."
"Ooh, for?"
"Most uncooperative creature we've encountered."
"That's because you're all asking me boring questions! Whatever, I just wanted someone fun to badger. Here, let me ease these tides for you, Pines! Go, go away and do"—Zorya looked off to the right for a second—"your summer vacation?"
Stan bit his lip, fighting the pain of an oncoming headache in full force. He caught Ford's expression growing increasingly sour.
"Wait!" Dipper said. "You can't just show up and leave like that!"
"Yeah," Mabel agreed. "I wanna know how you do your hair! I need all the techniques!"
"Kids, if she wants to go, that's her decision," Ford said. "Perhaps it's best we—"
"Fine, I guess I can share some ancient, forbidden knowledge for a bit. You!" She went closer to Mabel and tapped her nose. "Before we get to my amazing hair, I need to know something."
"Okay, what?" Mabel asked.
"Do you like it here? Out in the ocean?"
"Sure!" She laughed. "Beats the Bay Area!"
"Amazing!" Zorya clapped. "Now, have you ever wanted to feel like—"
"This is sweet'n all"—Stan clutched his head and silently turned around—"Urh, 'scuse me."
He trudged towards the cabin without another word. Why now—why again? He scampered inside, feet losing their balance as one of his hands reached for a horizontal wooden beam for support. His other hand shifted through his shirt's pocket and quickly ran over the Ibuprofen's cap, fingers combing to two random pills which he plopped into his mouth; something was better than nothing, but it felt like less than a bandaid over a gruelling, festering wound.
So much for trying to get rid of their visitor diplomatically, he thought.
Several pained growls sounded as he punched the wall in a way that wouldn't be heard outside. A sleepy Waddles responded by rubbing up Stan's leg and oinking, a gesture he took some comfort in before the pig left him too and went to lie down. He didn't want to leave the rest with Zorya, yet he had to keep his sense of place afloat as the ceiling met his eyes in this hot, dry cabin. He was losing control, uncertain what could help anymore except solitude at this moment, this lapse—this reprieve—to let himself back into the world before he was lost for good.
"I know, I know, I know."
Ford's shaky voice. He was behind him.
"I don't like the look of her either. She has a siren's deceit written all over, not to mention that stabbing feeling again. I think I'm going to activate the turbo drive so we can get out of here, but I need to know—"
Stan's eyes widened.
"Stanley, are you"—A pause—"Oh no."
He turned around. "Ford."
"Yes?"
"Where are the kids?"
The hurt which crossed Stan from Ford's silence was suffused by the unimaginable dread his great-nephew instilled by shouting their names from the deck. Barging out of the cabin, they nearly broke off the door's hinges. Droplets of water quickly cast down upon them. Stan looked up; a squall—how did he not see this coming?
"Dipper?" Ford asked.
"Grunkle Ford!" He ran to them.
Literally and figuratively, Stan's head was spinning around, trying to find the reason for Dipper's loud cry for help. His heart dropped when he realised Zorya wasn't here, and neither—
"Where's your sister?!" Ford yelled.
"No…" Stan murmured, gripping the railing and seeing the fresh ripples in the water. "No, no, NO!"
He'd never run back inside so fast. Eyes zipped through the clutter, hands grasping the mini rebreather under a stack of newspapers next to the gas cooker. Lifejacket off. No time to lose—no time.
Distant thunder sounded.
"I don't know! I just saw this blue thing a-and Mabel was just"—Dipper stopped to look at him—"Grunkle Stan, we have to follow—"
"Stanley!"
One, two, three.
"STANLEY!"
And with a foolhardy lunge, Stan found himself in the ocean's grasp.
Cold.
Not like 'pressing an ice pack over a twisted ankle' cold and not like 'making a snowball without gloves on' cold—no, a desperate, malignant chill surfacing over his entire body like lightning, reaching through his fingers, his nose, his gums even. It had no right to be this cold, as though it'd been ways deep in the Arctic—a sensation far worse than when he'd fought tooth and nail to win the favour of the Tizheruk in winter clothing.
This was all before he opened his eyes.
Stan was on the verge of forgetting to breathe when the blurry spot of colour dashed through his peripheral, the rays of sunlight which had broken from the surface almost making him miss it. Arms and legs working on their own, he fluttered in the clear water, trying desperately to chase the distant breadcrumbs; to quell the nails digging deep in his head. From the third rowing of his arms, he felt the muscles in his unprepared back strain. And though ears were clogged with water, that didn't stop him from hearing the powerful thumps vested in the passing of each feral wave, ready to sunder his spirit and let the worst come to pass.
God, it was hard to swim.
But he had more on the line than his own worthless life. He had to keep pushing. He had to protect the light of his waning world lest she fan out in the cold dark. Amid the struggle, a terrible kinetic force burst out from the large, illuminated figure Stan was banking on to be Zorya, blasting his chest and forcing him back, head peeking in and out of the water. Rain was pouring down in full force. Waves were reaching higher and becoming more violent. This paltry deck was stacked against him—the whole game was a rigged mess—but damn if he wasn't going to double down when the cards were counted.
With a huge breath to succour the searing fire in his lungs, he was back. Seconds later, in a weak cadence of light, Zorya's form became far clearer, and Stan could see her gliding through the water. Barely could he keep his eyes open anymore; barely could the lightheadedness break from heralding his demise; barely could the descent not squeeze tighter and tighter.
At arm's reach and with fist clenched, Stan spearheaded through the water, striking without a lick of mercy. A slight overestimation was enough to deter his trajectory and make him miss. He was sinking and, with the last of his strength left, risked it all on a last-ditch move. With a swift motion, he grabbed Zorya's ankle. In an instant, the weight of the water's pressure evaporated, his head no longer hurt, and his vision—unobstructed—was subjected to the radiant beacon that Zorya had become.
It wasn't the only surprise.
"What?" He heard his voice say without his mouth even moving."YOU!"
"Look!" Zorya answered, lips also shut. She lifted Stan to face her, wrapping two, three, four arms around him. "Listen to me, I know it's hard, but you need to let me show you why I brought you here."
He pushed himself away from the Moryana, floating like he was in zero gravity.
"SHUT UP! Where's my great-niece, you freak?!"
With newfound energy, he waded through the water which had become all but warm, and he aimed for another strike. Zorya dodged effortlessly.
"You've no idea how long I've been waiting… I'm sorry."
He tried tackling her. He missed again.
"Ugh, hitting me won't fix your problem! Do you want your family to keep aching because of your own fear?!"
She snapped her fingers and did the one thing which could stop Stan dead in his tracks. From somewhere on Stan's left side, Mabel appeared, suspended inside a blue sphere—floating; conscious. Stan wasn't sure where she was looking, but he could see her move.
Zorya held her. "Throw your selfishness away so she can see what I've promised her. You're the key to this reality—you are the tempest, Stanley. We're alike in that way."
For a second, he considered not punching her face off. This was because he was going to kick it off. And he actually surprised her by landing one in a pseudo-somersault style. She wiped her mouth, glaring as purple liquid bled from her lip. Stan tried to snatch Mabel in the meantime, but Zorya pulled her back in spite of her condition.
"Fine." Her eyes began to glow and her hands swirled in a circular motion."I'll show you what fear like mine means—what I've run from: Toneli iz izmerenyata, prinesi naji duji tam!"
In exactly two seconds, everything changed. Stan wasn't able to move nor could he find Mabel—for crying out loud, he wasn't in the ocean. Many colour patterns flung towards him grizzling speeds, fantastical creatures crossing through the ebony cracks which broke through the infinite tunnel he'd found himself in. Next, words sprung out around him and formed a puzzle of sentences a billion pens couldn't have inked. Joy. Deception. Grief. Pain. Release. Surrender. What was the point of these familiar faces springing up only to smile and cry in places past he would've given anything to recognise?
Not even the end told him—the desolate, empty wasteland of what once was unchained inertia.
Whatever Ford had felt in Zorya's presence was nothing compared to this, and his overloaded senses begged for the forgotten silence of a decaying soul. But as though some higher power were listening, Stan was back—energy wholly spent, a mirage of the depths displacing his body.
"Alone with the brokenness!" Zorya said, exuding no light. "Reach absolvement of my crime in you, Stanley! No hiding from him anymore—free me from my prison and the family I abandoned!"
"No… NO!"
His throat tightened and he couldn't speak anymore, writhing as the crowning achievement of an exhausted, broken man became absolute—Mabel was drifting from his view and he was powerless to do anything.
Stanley Pines only held on long enough to hear these final words welcome his surrender to the ocean:
"Gaze, Axolotl, upon my retribution! Step out of fear's shadow—sin of cowardice—and at death's door, repair this universe's broken hero: the bravest being to ever live!"
Lee eyed the raft from below. He could never get why these places had to be so white and so badly designed for kids. I mean, who puts their stuff up so high?
He sighed and closed his eyes.
"Bad thing, Lee," he whispered. "It's a bad thing."
As if being good was anything to worry about right now. Why was he even thinking about this? There was no 'right' or 'wrong' when it came to your own brother.
Jumping, Lee snagged the medicine. Good thing he didn't step on the thread. He pretended to read the inscription on the back of the bottle while his peripheral vision tracked the pharmacist near the front entrance, who was occupied with explaining why cough medicine didn't work for dogs to some bozo.
Slowly, he put the pills in his jacket and—
"Nice try, pipsqueak."
Lee looked up. Green scrubs, wandering around the counters, and thinking he'd just caught him—exactly as planned.
"O-Oh, sorry. There a problem?"
The guy frowned. "Cough it up, kid. Or you'll be visiting juvie in a heartbeat."
Lee gulped, reaching into his pocket. But instead of giving up the pills, he dragged his foot and dashed for the door. Before the sucker had any chance to catch him, the avalanche of medicine bottles—a domino of other bottles Lee had linked by a small white thread—already did its job in burying any resistance.
"So long, sucker!"
He was outside, doorbell chiming and evening drizzle already soaking his clothes. A few minutes of running in the pouring rain and he was home, wet and cold. Fortunately, timing the clicking of a lock with a loud sound (like the roar of thunder) and sneaking behind the dining room table while the TV was on had all but become common tactics for Lee to get past his distracted parents without them having noticed he'd left in the first place.
He creaked open the door to his room.
"S-Stanley?" Ford asked, voice hoarse.
"I'm here, Ford," Lee said, throwing his jacket to the far end of the room and pacing over to the dishevelled bed surrounded by tissues and overflowing blankets. "See, five minutes. Like I said."
Ford placed a six-fingered hand across his face, lost and half-opened eyes pointed at Stan.
"Here, take this." Lee twisted off the cap and shook the bottle until two pills dropped. "C'mon."
"Uh…" Ford coughed. "What is—"
"A surprise." Stan dropped the pills in the cup, watching them quickly dissolve in the water. "Trust me, 'kay?"
Before Ford had the chance to ask any more questions, Stan pushed the glass of water against him and practically forced him to drink it entirely. He smiled, worry lifting off his shoulders.
"Lee?" Ford asked, more lucidly this time. "What did you—"
"It's what the doc told you to take, Sixer."
"But where'd you…" His eyes widened before he shook his head. "Nevermind."
"What?" The doubt which Lee had brushed off in the pharmacy hit him again. "Oh."
Ford pulled at his ear and looked away for a moment. "It's wrong, Lee."
Stan remained silent. He knew what to say, but… he couldn't lie to Ford.
"I'll be fine, Lee. But this"—he grabbed the pills on the end table—"you can't just take what isn't yours! It could get you in big trouble. And it's not us."
"I'm sorry, okay?!" Stan threw his hands up, turning his back to Ford. "What else was I s'posed to do? You know Ma and Pa had to pay off that guy they owed a-and they had no way 'ta get it, so—"
"Lee." Ford sighed, rustling the covers and climbing out of the bed.
Lee looked back. Without warning, Ford's arms wrapped around him.
"I love you. And because'a that, I don't wanna think what's gonna happen if something goes wrong. Please."
Stan felt his eyes sting. He knew it'd come to this, but when he stormed off at the blink of an eye, how he'd explain himself to his brother wasn't something that had even crossed his mind. All that mattered was he'd be fine.
"D-Do you forgive me?"
Ford laughed tersely. "What choice do I have?"
He pulled away, his hand still on Lee's shoulder as their eyes met.
"I just… I can't help seein' you like this," Lee admitted, flicking off a tear from his eye. "It's like something's makin' me wanna do anything to help you. It's in my blood! Wasn't there a word for that?"
Ford sniffled. "There's a word for everything, Lee. Doesn't mean I can read your mind."
"Aight, smart guy." He elbowed him lightly.
"Tell it to the extra finger."
They shared a laugh before a soft bell rang.
"Sounds like your soup's ready. I'll go get it." He approached the door. "Stay right there or I'll nail ya to that bed!"
Ford rolled his eyes.
"And… bro?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks."
One beep.
"He's waking up!" a squeaky voice said.
Another beep.
"Oh man," a less squeaky voice said. "Wait. Calm down. Don't do anything rash."
And another beep.
"Ugh…" Stan groaned, adjusting to the sharp whites and blues around him. "This doesn't look like hell."
His vision cleared out, and he saw more by tilting his head to the left. He was in a room with walls which were painted a vapid blue. There were machines, a nightstand with books and medication, and a half-opened window which had drapes flapping against calm wind while projecting a sanguine sunset.
Man, his back hurt.
"Wait." He felt things. Gripping a metal railing, he realised he was laying a very specific type of bed, too. "Oh."
"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper and Mabel, whose voices he realised were the first he heard, shouted and jumped up on the bed from his right side.
"Kids…" he said before recollection flashed through his eyes. Fear grappled his relief as he slightly pushed the twins away. "Wait, where is she? Where's that thing?!"
"Careful!" Dipper exclaimed, placing a hand on Stan's shoulder. "Zorya isn't here, Stan. It's okay. Breathe."
"Dipper?" He rubbed his eyes. "This ain't a dream, right?"
"Nope," Mabel said, snuggling up against him.
"M-Mabel!" Realisation and joy found its way on his face once he felt his great-niece's warmth. "Mabel, you're okay! Pumpkin', I…"
"I'm here, Grunkle Stan." She sniffled. "I'm back."
A six-fingered hand found its way onto Stan's lap.
"So am I, Stanley," his brother said, sitting on a chair nearby.
"Hey, Ford."
His brother's pained smile was enough for Stan to know the battle raging in his heart. It had to wait, though, as an excited pig also found its way in the reunion line.
"Whoa!" Stan chortled as Waddles found his way on the bed and Stan's face. "Did one'a you use bacon deodorant on me or something?"
Mabel laughed softly. "Maybe."
Stan smirked, setting down the pig as it finished licking him and asking, "What happened? Can tell the hospital part, but nothin' else."
And like the flicker of a light switch, repose fell into stiltedness. The air became thicker, and the only sound was the monotonous beeping of the machine they'd become accustomed to.
"You almost drowned, Grunkle Stan," Mabel revealed. She drew a shaky breath. "Dipper and Grunkle Ford barely rescued you and me."
"You were out for a day, which led us here," Dipper added. "Coos Bay Hospital. The closest place we could dock."
"But… but I saved ya, right?" Stan asked, looking at Mabel longingly. "You were gone. You were in danger. You—"
"Stan," Ford finally spoke, "Zorya did take Mabel. But she was safe the entire time."
"Huh?"
"That's what I quickly realized, too," Dipper mumbled, expression sour. "Zorya had offered Mabel to… what was it?"
"'See how the oceans heal'," Mabel stated plainly.
"Yeah. We both thought it was… okay, but then she took her hand, and…"
"Underwater." Mabel rubbed her arm. "No warning or nothing."
"But Grunkle Ford mentioned it the other day: Moryany can change how people react to being underwater. Mabel was wrapped in a protective bubble, Grunkle Stan, and her life jacket didn't even spring."
"We chased after both of you," Ford said, "but when you caught up to Zorya, you were both going too fast. Eventually, you both went deeper and… and I went in, too, after we deployed the life rafts. I caught you as she sent you upwards."
"N-No," Stan stammered. He grabbed his head, breathing faster. It couldn't have been for nothing. "That's not right. I… I just saw you missin' and I had to act… I…"
"It's okay, Grunkle Stan," Mabel said, voice ever soft with undeserving sympathy. "It's not your fault." She reached out for a hug. "It means the world to me that you jumped in to save me. I would'a done the same."
Dipper was frowning. "And let's not, because… that was scary."
Mabel bit her lip, nodding.
"But what was that thing?" Stan asked, this entire explanation urging him to claw for something he'd missed.
Ford seemed uncomfortable, yet sighed and began, "According to what Mabel said, when she saw Dipper and me deploying the life rafts, Zorya stripped you two from the ocean—sent you into another plane of existence. Making someone breathe underwater is one thing, but disappearing from the fabric of reality is something else entirely, and I saw exactly that on the boat's radar once Dipper told me he'd seen the three of you vanish."
Stan furrowed his brows, unsure where this was going.
"It was no trick or hallucination, and… that leaves only one explanation. Zorya was truly an interdimensional creature; not only powerful beyond measure but possessing the extremely rare ability to create natural tunnels between dimensions. Stan, you two traveled between dimensions in the water."
"You're kiddin'."
"It's true, Grunkle Stan," Mabel said. "Don't you remember the purple asteroids? O-Or the place where everything was upside-down?"
Stan pressed a hand to his chin. She had to have seen different things. "Don't think so. There were only colors. And… words?"
A small pause took hold. Stan knew that couldn't be it.
Dipper broke it and his own silence: "None of it makes sense."
"You're tellin' me."
"I'm serious. If you were following her, Grunkle Stan, why didn't she protect you from nearly drowning, too, like Mabel?" Anger flashed through his features. "What kind of a monster does that?"
Mabel bit her lip. "I don't think she knew he was chasing after us. I'm not sure. It's all fuzzy in my mind."
Stan had no idea if Zorya had protected him, either. But it seemed like she didn't, if he'd needed to be in a hospital right now. It seemed no one had an answer. Or a certain brother wasn't willing to share his theory.
Dipper continued with a harrumph. "Think we should go get some food."
"Oh, nonsense, Dipper," Ford said. "You don't have to go. I can step out and—"
"It's really no problem, Grunkle Ford."
"But…" Mabel frowned, "do we have to, Dipdop?"
"Yeah." Dipper shot her a glare. "C'mon, I'm starving too."
Mabel turned back to Stan. "Be right back, okay, Grunkle Stan?"
"Sure, pumpkin. Oh, and get me the closest thing there is to a Pitt here, aight?"
Mabel nodded and followed her brother, the sound of carts being wheeled and the chatter of medical staff briefly drowning out everything as they stepped through the plain door, taking more than their calming presence with them.
"Wonder what that was all about."
Ford stared at the door as Dipper and Mabel's voices drowned out. Then went back to Stan.
"What? You expect me to—"
Not another thought spared, and his brother yanked at Stan's hospital gown, wrapping him in a hug which could've broken his back.
"I thought…" he murmured, snivelling through quick breaths. "I thought you were… Oh God…"
"I know." He patted Ford on the back. No talking out of this. "I know, Ford."
"How could you do this to me, Stan?!" He pulled away, holding Stan by the shoulders. His eyes were glassy. "H-How could you make me think I would lose you again! Watching you barely breathe and shiver in that bed on the boat? Praying—for the first time in my life after everything I've been through—that we'd reach a hospital in time?"
"Ford, ya know what I did was 'ta save Mabel." He frowned. "Or… try to. You'd do the same."
Ford looked at his shaking hands. "Stan, that's no reason to pretend you didn't hear a word Dipper or I said. If you'd just listened—"
"Don't you know I ain't the best at that? Jesus, Ford, what gives? It's all fine now."
"Is it?"
"Yeah!"
Ford closed his eyes. "Doctors said you've had no signs of anything. Not even a simple migraine. I wanted, more than anything in the world, to have been wrong."
"And who said you were? Look, you said it yourself—the doc says I'm fine. I'm cured!" He threw up his arms. "What do you gotta worry about anymore? We oughta get me discharged so we can calm the kids down and get to Gravity Falls already. We've slowed down long 'nuff."
"Of course." Ford chuckled. "I wasn't wrong. Zorya did this."
"Are you outta your noggin? How? Fuck, why?"
"Because I saw her! When I dove in to save you."
Stan gulped. "You did?"
"I… I tried to run. But for the tiniest seconds, our eyes met, and inside my mind, I no longer felt the stabbing; only images—so many, but so deliberately precise that I could piece them together. Without ever even asking her, she answered the question which unsettled me since Neverthenerland." Ford took a long breath. "Her kind never died; not from genocide, or otherwise. They were endangered by something willing to abuse their powers of portal weaving, and in turn, chose to leave this universe."
"Couldn't they stop whatever was after 'em? Who… who was it?"
"Cipher."
To what end that name sent untraceable venom through Stan's blood, he didn't know.
"Every one of the Moryany left our universe. Except for Zorya. She… she'd liked it here, building the natural threads which connected dimensions. But the rulers of the multiverse were angry she'd dishonored her sisters' sacrifice. They punished her, 'the greatest coward', by keeping her on Earth until Cipher was gone, given a mission to heal the wounds of the bravest living being in the multiverse if she were to ever redeem herself." He laughed bitterly. "I wondered why she'd shown me all this. Why would I care what motivation the damned thing that nearly killed my brother had? But as I heard that doctor tell me you were fine, then it made sense: the bravest living being in the universe… was you, Stanley. Her redemption was healing you."
Stan sat, trying to take in that startling revelation and recall what Zorya had said while they were underwater.
"She did mention…" He had nothing more than outlines once more. Wasn't there a name? "Aight, so she 'healed' me. A bit extreme for a couple'a headaches, but that still doesn't change what I said. You don't have anythin' to blame yourself for, Stanford."
Ford drew a deep breath as his eyes went up.
"Do you think I'm an idiot, Stan?"
"W-What? 'Course not!"
"It's never been about the physical, don't you understand? I never worried about any of that!"
"Then what? Whaddya want from me, Ford?"
"Your memories, Stanley!" He got up and started pacing around the room. "Misremembering about our childhood; people we grew up with; things that happened so recently. I knew it wasn't just headaches the entire time, but I was too scared to say it. I should've contained it since Glass Shard—the way you looked at it all, felt about it. But I didn't. And I left the kids with her because I got too caught up in my own regret. Again."
Stan didn't know what to say; he went to the only point which made sense to him.
"You had to 'contain' my condition? So I'm a threat now, huh?"
"Stop." Ford put his hand up. "Please."
"Huh?"
"Stop with the bullshit, Stanley. I need to know."
Stan stared, mouth agape.
"I need to know how much of my brother is still in there."
Checkmate.
He kept silent for a bit. Dropping the mask felt impossible, but could someone wear a mask when they never had a face?
"You can read people better than I gave ya credit for."
"Just tell me."
Stan sighed.
"I did remember a good amount'a stuff for a while. You, the kids, folks in Gravity Falls, and even some extended family. I remembered the gist of what I liked for breakfast, too, which was weird. But I didn't care; I was happy I had anything, let alone more than 'nuff. And then, a day before we were back in Jersey, I… it was the first time I got lost. I forgot the car we were drivin' was mine."
"I… remember. You tried your keys on some stranger's car."
"Yeah, that guy got spared an ass-kickin'." He chuckled. "Anyway, when we got to Glass Shard, it felt like I was supposed to know this entire place down to the floorboards, the smell'a the air, but there wasn't actually anything to grab on to; it was just so empty and unrecognizable." He paused. "Then, it got worse. Stuff started slippin' out. Useless shit kept staying, like how I got that portal running. But mostly… mostly, it became like playin' pretend, Ford. I pick up on little hints you guys drop 'bout who I was, or read random issues of the Gravity Falls newspaper from the nineties with me in 'em to get a grip. It worked at first. I still knew who I had to be and who you all were, but… I dunno what these headaches did 'ta me. It never hurt like it had now, and I've never been losin' details as much as now."
Ford stood still, blinking in disbelief.
"That's it."
"So, all this time," he said, sitting down again, "you never truly recovered your memories? Even after everything we showed you?"
Stan shook his head. "No. Never all of it." He shrugged. "Prolly not even half."
"And yet you still mostly act like how—who—you were. How? That's never been a side effect of the memory gun."
Stan considered it. There was some nerdy explanation out there, but for him, the answer he'd told himself all these months was far simpler.
"Instinct." His voice was weak. It was weird to finally say it out loud. "I didn't wanna throw myself in the water without hearin' you out, but I did anyways. I shouldn't feel like I belong, but seein' you three happy makes me feel like I do. I crack up a new joke I thought of, but you guys tell me it went by ya five times last summer. Maybe that's the way Stanley wants 'ta ride. Maybe that's how he always did things. I don't know myself, Ford. It's… it's been my best guess for 'bout half a year."
"That's different." Ford placed a hand on his chin. "I don't know how we can manage instinct."
Stan formed an empty smile. He realised this was it: the secret was out; the final truth which should've disowned him from the idea that was his family. And yet… it didn't feel like he'd just unburdened himself with the lie he'd been forced to live for months. It felt like a vapid dismissal—limitless apathy. That cold, empty calculation where acceptance or disgust should've taken its place. And that word…
"Manage?" He huffed, feeling a lump in his throat. "What 'managing' is there, Ford? I gave up on that months ago. I'm not gettin' better, and there isn't any point in bein' like this. These memories ain't just ploppin' back into my brain like last time. I haven't recovered anything yet."
"You can't be certain that's because of you. I need more time to investigate why this is happening." Ford pressed his palms together. "There has to be a factor of the subconscious. Please, don't jump to conclusions, Stanley."
"Oh, sure, that's easy for you 'ta say. I mean, what if I'm not even 'Stanley' anymore?" He was choking up. "What if I'm…" He wanted to stop. He felt like he had to. "What if I'm nobody? I don't even know if what I know about you ain't just some… some version of his memory. For Christ's sake, I couldn't even keep Mabel safe! I'm worse than useless: I don't even know who I am, Ford! I do these things I can't explain, but nothin' happens anyway!"
Ford deliberated for a second before grabbing Stan's hand with a firm hold.
"You said you're all instinct, right?"
"What?"
"You rely on it."
"Y-Yeah."
"Well, Stan, my instinct tells me none of it matters. It doesn't matter where the good or bad in you comes from, because…" Ford braced himself. "Because no matter what, you're my brother all the same and I care about you more than anything in the multiverse. And even if instinct is all you got left, there's that one percent of Stanley in you that science tells me is buried in there, and that finds a way to keep me going. And I feel—know—that a part of the person in front of me wants to be my brother; be their grunkle; be the best man you can be. But… whoever you are now apart from my brother, it's not your fault things turned out this way. It never was."
Stan—indeed whoever it was now—squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much.
"Please, remember that."
Stan let a tear flow. "Can I?"
"I'm sure. I have a lot to make up for." He moved from holding Stan's hand to stroking his shoulder. "And by helping you keep tabs, it's the least I can do. I… I know it's selfish, but after you—Stanley—sacrificed himself, I've needed you to feel better about myself. About my own mistakes. So, will you let me?"
He kept quiet, wondering if he was in any position to take advantage of such kindness. Then, he gathered the courage to say—
"Grunkle Stan…"
Mabel. Stan's attention raced to the door.
Even without glasses, he could see Dipper and Mabel had tears in their eyes.
What was left of Stan's heart broke into a thousand pieces once he saw Dipper holding a walkie-talkie.
He scanned everything around him. A backpack.
"Dipper!" Ford shouted.
"You two!" Dipper pointed at them. "We heard everything! You've all been LYING to us this entire time! Again! Why?! For what?!"
"Dipper, hold on," Ford said, approaching them with his palms out. "Calm down. You must understand—"
"Calm down?! Don't tell me to calm down, Grunkle Ford! I never once lied to you about anything the past year. And you."
Stan sat motionless. His mind was still trying to catch up with what was happening—his sentences weren't.
"Grunkle Stan, who are you? Right, don't know. But you just thought it was better to, oh I dunno, play along with the idea that the original name of the shack you founded was an attraction, right?! Our home! Not an attraction!"
Stan winced. That's why Mabel had asked him about the Murder Hut.
"This is why I left the walkie-talkie here, Mabel! You see!" He gesticulated wildly. "I told you: trust means nothing again! And now none of us know who Stan even is!"
Mabel had cupped her hands together. As though she'd been ignoring her brother entirely, she ran past Ford and rushed towards Stan, leaping on the bed again.
"I'm so sorry, Stan," she whispered, comforting him.
"Sweetie…" Stan stuttered out, shocked.
"Mabel?!" Dipper yelled.
"Dipper…"
"Don't tell me you forgive them?"
"Dipper!" she said, facing him. "They're just like us."
"What? You can't mean—"
"Yes, I do! Mom and Dad deserved to know, and that's what I've been trying to get through to you! Sure, we deserved to know everything about what's been going on with Stan…" Her eyes met with Stan's. "But so what? Don't you see? Look at it: we're the same! We should've told Mom and Dad about Weirdmageddon and not made them keep it a secret for us! It only made things worse!"
Stan quickly caught Mabel gesturing towards him and Ford, as Dipper stood stunned. Part of him couldn't believe Mabel was taking pity upon him, of all people, after what he'd done. But Dipper wasn't having any of that. Shooting one last glare branded by confusion and hurt more than anything else, he turned his back, storming off the room as quickly as he'd gone in.
"I'll go," Ford announced. "It's time we talked."
"Wait!" Mabel pleaded, leaving Stan's side.
"I don't think he's the right headspace to hear you out, Mabel," Ford said, his words stopping her. "It's time he did hear the truth. But from me. Please."
Mabel didn't seem certain.
"Let 'im go, sweetie," Stan ushered, trying to get up from the bed but somehow not finding the strength to. How pathetic he felt…
He didn't know if his words were the ichor of her decision, but she allowed Ford to leave, leaving the two alone.
Inaction reigned for the time it took Mabel to walk back up to him with a single question in tow:
"Grunkle Stan… was everything you said true?"
A scorching pain came as he heard those words. It felt like another headache, but it wasn't. Just the realisation of what was going on—who was asking him about this. The kids found out what he tried to desperately hide from even himself, and it all went to shit.
"Grunkle Stan?"
He cupped his face in his hands.
"Oh God… I failed you kids. So much."
His one mission—keeping their summer fun, whimsical, and free of trouble—had all but fallen apart at the seams from this self-inflicted disaster. How could he even call himself a guardian anymore? He couldn't keep himself safe. The dam which had kept all this pain and strife finally broke at the thought of his dear niece seeing him for the sorry excuse he was, and he let it all out, sobbing.
"N-No," Mabel begged, her own voice trembling and getting closer. "Grunkle Stan! Please, don't cry!"
"I… I don't"—Stan felt her hand on his leg—"I don't wanna, sweetie." He gritted his teeth. "But I'm just so tired. I… I can't keep goin'."
"I know it's hard, Grunkle Stan. I know you don't feel like who you were." She sniffled. "B-But I want you to be better. I just… I feel so stupid! How couldn't I tell you were in pain?"
Stan opened his eyes. If there was one purpose left for him, it was washing away any level of guilt Mabel might have felt.
"No. No, it was never nobody's fault but mine."
"Huh?" She held on to her tears.
"Listen, Mabel, I'm the one 'ta blame." He stroked her hair. "You shouldn't have said that to your brother, even if you were right. You got every right to be angry at me and just me. I'm not the person you remember. I did all this 'cause I was afraid."
"But Grunkle Stan, I-I'll never do that!" Her face told Stan he was doing more harm than good. "I care more about you being okay than you being honest with me."
He blinked, running a hand through his hair. "Why?"
"Because I'll never stop loving you. And Dipper won't, too, even if he's mad." She caressed his bearded face. "And Stan?"
He gazed at her with heartbreak and confusion.
"You never failed me. You're our hero. You're Gravity Falls' hero. Heck, you're the hero of the multiverse, if what Grunkle Ford said was true!" She kissed him on the forehead and held his hand. "Please, I need you to believe that."
Instinct told him he couldn't deny her. Instinct wondered if there was some truth to her words.
"I'll try."
They held each other, waiting, and Stan felt a moment's comfort as he tried to think upon his great-niece's words. After five or ten minutes (even without a horrible pain in his head, he couldn't keep a good track of time), the door flew open again, and Dipper and Ford entered quietly. Whatever Ford had told Dipper seemed to have resonated with him, for Stan witnessed Dipper's eyes glistening in the sunset's weak light, revealing the redness surrounding them. With a slow walk, he approached Stan and Mabel from the other side of the bed, taking a deep, uncertain sigh as he reached them.
"I don't think I can forgive you," Dipper said. He glanced at Ford. "Either of you. Yet. But… I understand you. And I don't wanna let you go. So… I'll try."
Stan stretched out his arms. "I'm so sorry, kid."
Dipper seemed reluctant but returned the embrace.
"You're the best damn great-nephew a grunkle can ask for," he said. "Better than I deserve."
A single ragged gasp of vulnerability and Dipper pulled away. Mabel quickly swooped to his side, gently touching him and offering her own hug.
"I'm sorry, bro."
"It's not your fault."
Stan sighed, allowing the two a moment before they were ready. It passed like a breeze as they, along with Ford, looked at him expectantly.
This was it.
"Think it's time I wipe the board clean," Stan said, crinkling his nose. "Um, face the music. God knows I deserve it." He let out a nervous cough. "So, this is me. I'm not the Stan any'a you knew, and I'm sorry. I've been like this for months now, and like… like we saw, it got too much 'ta handle. I'm so sorry I wasn't smarter 'bout this, really. Hell, I don't even know how the people back in the Falls are gonna react. But, uh, anyway, even after everythin', I'm still someone, I think. I… I'm just not sure who."
"Can we help?" Mabel asked, fidgeting.
"I'm not sure."
Ford stepped forth. "Well… now that we're together again, I may have an idea on that front."
Stan raised an eyebrow as Ford revealed an item from the depths of his trench coat.
"A long shot, but an old method from the maestro herself. It's true: a large part of you isn't the person we once knew, Stan." He handed Stan the item. It looked like… a scrapbook, yet emblazoned with fancy patterns and coloured in a pristine red, unlike Mabel's. The cover read, New Babes, New Adventures. "But there's still another life there; the new memories."
"Whoa," Mabel said, starstruck as she moved in to catch a glimpse of the scrapbook. "You made that, Grunkle Ford?"
"Yup." He rubbed his neck. "It was going to be a birthday gift, though I figured it's more important now than ever."
"I can't believe it," Stan murmured. Opening it, he saw so many photos: the time they caught a five-headed fish, the day they went to the beach in Australia, the pranks they pulled on video calls with the kids. "Everythin' here is familiar."
"This is you, Stan," Ford assured. "Not anything you've tried to make yourself believe. Nothing can take this away."
Stan saw more and more new memories, almost reliving them right in the bed. And they were all so fresh, untainted.
"I had no idea ya made this. Thank you."
Ford gave a sheepish smile. "That was the point."
Stan chuckled. "Well, Ford's good for one thing: givin' smart ideas." Funny. He felt like he knew why to say that. "Even if I ain't who I was before, I think I can promise you I can be the guy in this book. I… I hope that's good enough."
"Of course," Ford said.
"Always," Mabel added.
Dipper offered a reserved bow in response.
"Oh, I just had a weird idea," Mabel quickly announced.
"We're up for grabs," Stan assured.
"Well, Grunkle Ford, you always call Stan 'Stanley'," she said and shifted focus to Stan, "and you've also used that name for yourself. So what if… what if the new guy you feel like you are was just Stan? The Stan we've known this year and the Stan we knew during the summer. He'd be here. Always."
He tried to wrap his head around the suggestion… the same name, yet stripping away the foreign.
Not Stanley, the broken child who never had a chance to be loved and find himself again.
Not Stanford, pretender incarnate—the trickster to lay dormant for thirty years and continue on wearing the mask of Stanley.
"Just Stan," Ford finished.
"I… I think I'd love it, pumpkin," the new Stan said. "It's gonna take Ford gettin' some used to, but it's a great idea."
Dipper hummed. "It's a start. Literally."
"That it is," Ford said, nodding along.
"Yeah! And if Stanley comes back, we'll throw a big party! But he ain't kicking out our new grunkle!"
"And if he doesn't," Dipper began, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, "I think we can live with Stan 2.0. That is, if he and Ford 1.0 don't keep any more secrets."
"I promise. I ain't got nothing left to hide."
"Me too," Ford said.
"So…" Mabel began, bringing up her fist. "Pines?"
Oh, he'd remembered this.
"PINES! PINES! PINES!"
With true reassurance from his family, Stan let in a sensation his heart hadn't known for longer than he'd lost Stanley: hope; hope for the man who gave way to himself when his mind shattered him like pale glass and forced what was left to cower in a shadow he could never match.
The four spent the rest of the early evening (actually) getting food and trying to stoke remaining fires, reminiscing through the journey of the past year. Once the kids were fast asleep on the two inflatable mattresses they'd brought, for the first time since the first night of the summer, Ford appeared relaxed to Stan. They spent an hour together with four bottles of beer, trying to define their new normal, before Ford himself gave way to his own needs and fell asleep (of course claiming it was 'just to lay down his head on one of the hospital pillows'). Stan wrapped his blanket over him and got up, going to a terrace outside the room.
A chill bit at him, but he reached for his phone which he'd snatched from Ford's trench coat. Thankfully, it wasn't too late. He let it ring as long as it needed to, something he hadn't often done the past year.
When it picked up, he took a deep breath and began:
"Hey, Carol. It's Stan."
A/N:
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