The Return to Gravity Falls

by EZB

Mabel and Dipper return to Gravity Falls three years after their life-altering summer vacation spent with their Grunkle Stan, to find that Gravity Falls never stops being, well, weird. As the twins encounter old friends and reconnect with the supernatural inhabitants of Gravity Falls, new dangers lurk just outside of the knowledge of Uncle Stanfords old journals.

86. Summerween: The Beginning

Gravity Falls; the year nineteen eighty.

The small, backwater town with spooky tales of monsters in the woods and enchanted forests found itself a visitor not two years ago. An outsider with no ties to the town other than his own interests, this man made a quick building in the deeper hilled woods to the south of the town center. There, he did research.

No one in town ever asked what he did, for he was, as anyone in town would put it, weird. Glasses, messy hair that always smelled like coffee and burnt rubber, and most of all, those six-fingered hands of his, the man was a walking oddity. People didn't like to be near him usually. He always looked irritated when he stepped into town.

Then he brought in two more. The first who came in was a total geek, and the town ignored the small, frail looking man with a long nose. The second who came in was less ignored and much quicker to monitor. He looked like the researcher, Stan, or whatever his name was, but was larger, rash, and quick to act. The three men, in their cabin in the woods, would vanish for weeks at a time, as only strange sounds in the woods would echo out, scaring the children and giving plenty of fodder for the local teens to create ghastly ghost stories.

Such a day as the late June evening where such sounds could be heard. It was the 22nd day of the month, and people could hear it, far off in the distance.

Rumbling.

The skies were clear, and no forecast showed dark clouds coming. It was supposed to be a cooler summer evening, but people now stopped their tasks, watching the distant horizons.

"I'm scared!" A small boy with thick red hair announced, barely nine, muttered next to a light post, before turning to it and striking it as hard as he could. "I'll punch things until I feel better! RAUGH!" He continued to batter the wooden post until one of his parents scooped him away.

A teen, well dressed with his own personalized suit and slicked back black hair snickered as he paused. "It's probably just my family blasting apart another section of woods for a new project," Preston Northwest shrugged, his three groupies around him cackling. "They have been pondering building a shopping mall for town."

"Oh Preston," a girl with long black hair smiled, hanging onto his shoulder, "You sound so smart when you talk about deforestation."

"Yes, I am so smart," Preston corrected her with a glare.

The ground rumbled again.

"See?" Preston said, "It's not random. Every so often there will be a crash. It's all fine," he assured his groupies, who stared at the distant trees.

Yet, some mile and a half away, through woods, hills, and the smallest of valley's, the description of events was anything other than 'fine'.

Darting his way through trees post-haste, a small of frame man in a researcher's lab-coat and glasses ran for his life. With a solid death-grip on a notepad in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. His tawny brown had leaves and twigs stuck throughout it.

BOOM.

Crashing through the tree the massive object behind the reseacher took a step. The ground trembled with the impact, tossing the man off his feet. Sprawling to the ground, the researcher turned, facing the monstrous thing as he crawled backwards.

"W-Wait, this is just a mistake!" Fiddleford McGucket said, trying to straighten his glasses onto his face.

The monster, cascaded in the shadow of the canopy above them, snarled loudly and raised its fist. Fiddleford McGucket screamed, holding his own hands up above him, desperate to shield himself.

"Hey!"

A taller man, with broader shoulders leapt, through the air; striking the lower torso of the monster with his charge. His weight and momentum was enough to knock aside the monstrous hand over. The fist collided with the ground five feet next to McGucket, who squeaked as he was gently lifted off the ground for a single moment. The monster howled and collapsed, seemingly splintering off into many various pieces.

Rushing by him, and dragging Fiddleford to his feet, was the identical look-alike to the man who had just rammed the massive being.

"Fiddleford, up!" the man begged.

"A-All right!" The scientist wheezed as he stood up.

Racing behind his co-researcher, Fiddleford looked behind him. The man responsible for charging the monster was behind him, rushing to catch up.

"Hey! Don't watch me, Egghead!" the man roared, his hair cut short and his face dirty and sweaty, "Look where you're running!"

Yet the man's eyes were not on the man behind him, Stanley, but the arising of the creature. Assembling out of a pile, piece by piece, the monster reformed itself.

From behind them, a shrill order was given.

"Fire at will!"

With the whistling of incoming projectiles, Stanley Pines ducked and weaved around the strangest form of projectiles they had seen yet: Gnomes.

One flew right at Fiddleford, who screamed as he saw it open his mouth. Rows of razor-sharp teeth flashed before him, and the monster latched itself onto his face. Fiddleford had no ability to combat the sudden grapple, and tripped over his feet, pulling his researching companion with him.

Down a hill they fell, rolling off of rocks, branches, wild rose thorns, the occasional possum, and finally coming down to the bottom of the hill. The scientist fell first, and then Fiddleford fell next to him, landing upon the attached gnome on his face. The creature gasped and flailed his arms and legs about, trying to escape his advantage turned prison.

A hand reached down and lifted Fiddleford up. "Th-thank you, Sta-" the researcher started.

"Can it!" Stan Pines rumbled, swiping down next to him to grasp a single gnome by the scruff.

"Hey!" the creature barked, "Lemme go! Lemme go!" Stan pinched the nose of the creature. "Ow!"

"Quiet, you shrimp. Unless you want to get airborne real fast real soon, you better do what I say, or else!" Stan growled, and the confidence and energy in his captive died away.

The scientist stood up, brushing his knees as he did with six fingers on each hand. "Stan, keeping one of their clan captive doesn't seem smart," Stanford said, cleaning his glasses rapidly.

"Yeah? Look behind you," Stan grinned.

Ford turned around. Finally, atop his feet, albeit shaken, Fiddleford also turned. The three stood at the edge of two environments- a darkly woods of thick redwood trees and a thick glade. In the glade, mystic orbs of color distantly floated around at ease, leaving behind trails of sparkling light.

"The Fae woods!" Ford gasped. "Of course! Hand me the gnome!" Ford demanded.

"Please, have him," Stan shrugged, and tossed the worried creature to him. The scientist caught the gnome by the beard, causing it to wince and cough.

"OWWW! My face!" The creature yelped. "Literally grab me anywhere else and I'll stop squirming!"

"As you wish," Ford off-handed muttered, and lowered his hand to grab the back of its neck, causing its eyes to bulge. The three turned to the hill, as a humungous construction stepped out. A form the size of a giant, entirely composed of tiny gnomes, stepped out.

Held by the scruff, the gnome cried out, "They got me, boss!"

At the very top of the walking war-machine of gnomes, a red-headed and bearded gnome pointed down on the three. "Hey!" he shouted in a winey, angered tone, "Give Jackie back! Or else!"

"Or else what, you chump!?" Stanley barked.

"Stan!" Ford yelled, "This situation doesn't need further provocation."

"Yeah right, what it needs is further pro-violence!" Stan barked back, glaring angrily at the monster. "What's your problem anyway!? Huh!? We just asked a few of your guys some questions!"

The monster lifted its hand and pointed at Fiddleford. "Your friend must pay for these crimes against us!"

The twins glanced to the cowering researcher behind Ford. Fiddleford shrugged. "I don't know what I did!" he said through chattering teeth. "I just gone and asked if they had women who also had beards!"

"Rude!" the gnome atop the monster bellowed. "And when it comes to rudeness, we'll destroy you!"

"Ah-ah-ahh," Ford held up the gnome before him quickly, and then lifted him closer to the glades, "As much as I'm sure you'd love to destroy us, as it turns out, we're on the side of the Enchanted glades. You come any closer, and you'll have your own consequences to deal with," Ford grinned.

"Like... like what!?" the gnome atop the monster snarled. "We're not afraid of anyone!"

"I'm certain you're not," Ford said, "But we've seen Fairy magic before. And I don't know if you have, but trust me," Ford shuddered, "Not something you want coming after you. So," Ford cleared his throat, "I propose this simple arrangement. I won't have my brother here punt your friend as hard as he can into the glade to agitate the Fae in the woods, and in return, you cease chasing us, here and now."

"What!?" the gnome blustered.

"Hey, don't ask me how far I can punt your friend," Stan bared his teeth in a leer, "because trust me, I've had a lot of practice in high school with kicking things your size."

The gnome shook with fury. "Doh- very well!" he screeched. The animated structure underneath him slowly withered away as gnomes crawled down one another, shrinking the war-machine they had made until it was just the red-headed gnome. "Fine, you troublesome humans! This day, you give us back your friend, and we let you walk away."

"A wise choice, Joffre," Ford nodded, and lowered the gnome to the ground. Relaxing the grip he had around the creature's neck, he allowed the gnome to rush away.

It only turned once, glaring at Fiddleford. "You're mean!" he snapped at Fiddleford, who gaped at the gnome, before it ran into the foliage with the rest of his kin.

The gnome leader spoke up again, "Mark me, you three humans; you ought to apologize for your rudeness. Chase, or otherwise, your luck will find itself vanished!" he warned, wiggling his fingers through the air mystically.

"Yeah, okay shrimp," Stan laughed, "Whatever."

The face of the gnome became crimson. "You dare mock me further!? Calling me sea-food!?"

"It was actually a crack about your size, but sure, you smell too," Stan chuckled, he turned, and walked away, snickering to himself. "Heh, shrimp."

Ford sighed, and with an uncertain and mildly scared Fiddleford, they walked behind the broad-shouldered man. Left alone to the woods, the gnome shook with rage.

"You think you can just insult the leader of the gnomes and get away with it!? Diminished magic or not, you will see the terror of our darkness hunt you!" the Gnome barked, and shouted up to the sky. "I place a curse upon you, Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford! The shadows themselves will arise and hunt you!" The shadows around him grew dark, and a cold wind whipped through the air. "Until you apologize for your actions, these shadows will-"

"DAD!"

The gnome paused, looking over his shoulder. A younger gnome with a smaller brown beard poked his head out from the bushes. "Seriously, dad? No one cares about ancient, eldritch stuff anymore. Besides, we need to find more acorns. I'm hungry."

The gnome glared at the smaller one. "Jeff, we had a stash of nuts. What happened to them?"

"Uh, I ate them," Jeff the gnome admitted.

"Really!?" the older one barked.

"I was-"

"Hungry, fine, fine. You know what though? Me too. Let's go see if Shmebulock senior has any he's forgotten about so we can steal them instead," The leader gnome shrugged as he and his son departed into the woods.

Yet the shadows in the spot they had just been at coalesced. A puddle slowly formed in the center of the bottom of the hill, of pure smoky shadow. It climbed up, creating a drooping cylinder, until four gangly arms popped out, grasping onto the trees around it. Whispers emanated from it, formless and maddening.

Slowly, it slumped away, darting between the shadows of the woods. It had its quarry to attend.

---

Gravity Falls, the year two-thousand fifteen.

It was late on the twenty second of June. A deep chamber underneath a tourist trap slowly came to light. Raw earth and exposed rock surrounded a dusty, untouched mechanical wonder that stood like a statue in the fading shadows. A wall of metal and glass panel grew brightest first. Voices floated out from the cracks in the wall.

"So, you have a bunker," a woman's voice asked. "Good to know in case of nuclear catastrophe."

"Not just any bunker, kid," a rough voice, belonging to an aged Stanley Pines, said as his outline appeared in the glass panel in the metal wall. Lights flickered behind him, and his form was revealed, covered in fleshy prosthetics. Next to him was a woman in a darkly Jester costume, with long golden hair and a weary look to her blue eyes. Then she turned, and stared.

"What... is that?" she asked. The older man's mouth opened, but she beat him to the punch, "Is it some sort of ancient relic of alien civilization? A secret cloning device made by the army you stole? A time stopping device?"

"Arline, cool it!" Stan barked, and moved away from the panel. She followed, and in the darkness, a door slid open, revealing the two of them in a doorway. "See for yourself," Stan sighed.

The lights inside flickered to their fullest, basking the triangular object in stark relief. The girl, in semi-singed costume whistled. "That's... a thing, all right. What is it?"

"If you won't interrupt me," Stan grumbled, "It's a portal device."

Arline stared, her mouth open, and whispered, "Wow."

"Ohhh yeah," Stan nodded, "That's not the first time someone's said that about the portal."

"How... did you make it?" Arline asked, "Have... you been a mechanical genius all this time?" She pondered, "You really fooled me on that one."

"Trust me, I didn't build this... thing," Stan said with a tense jaw, glaring at the structure.

"Oh," Arline blinked, and looked to him, "Then why is it here? How did you get it?"

Stan reached inside his worn Summerween costume, and removed his glasses. With a quick clean, he pressed them onto the bridge of his nose. "My brother made it. More than thirty years ago."

"Whoa- wait," she turned on a dime and stared at him.

"Yeah," Stan shrugged, "I had a brother."

"Had?" Arline repeated, stroking her chin in thought, "I thought I heard Mabel and Dipper talking about some sort of Grand Uncle," she mentioned, "This 'Ford'?" To her surprise, Stan shuddered. Arline stared; her eyes wide. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't think that was a sour topic."

"Heh. That's just the status of my life with my stupid brother," he chuckled, "Sour. Ever since High school."

"Your brother built some crazy portal, and you're calling him stupid?" she chuckled. Stan glared at her. World-class martial artist or not, and she relented. "Right. Sorry. You're showing me something for some important reason."

"This portal, kid," Stan grumbled, "Is the reason why I'm still in these woods. Why I have to be careful with who I pick as my friends. And why I don't trust people so easily," he said, casting her a quick warning glance.

"People tried stealing the technology or something?" Arline asked, pocketing her hands in her costume, some sort of horrid jester suit.

"Tried using it. Twice. A monster helped my brother make it, pretending that it would help the world grow into a new age. Instead, it could have started the end of the universe," Stan admitted. Arline stared at him, walking over to a large metal barrel and sitting on it. Stan pointed to the metal, "Don't sit there. Radioactive." Arline yelped and flew into the air away from it in a single jump.

Brushing her rear of any remaining rust from the metal barrel, Arline asked, "But... why? How?"

"My brother was a researcher. A dorky, egg-headed scientist who wanted to look into weird things. Sort of like Dipper, you know?" he explained, "And he got this idea to make this thing here," he indicated to the Portal.

"Just like that?" she asked.

"No," Stanley Pines took a deep, pained sigh, and waved his hand through the air, "To explain it, a thing by the name of Bill Cipher met him in a dream. They worked together to make this thing. That monster tricked my brother into making deals with him," Stan clenched his fists.

"The monster's name was... Bill Cipher?" Arline asked, her expression locked onto Stan.

"Yeah. What's worse, is that my brother believed it all up until the end," Stan sighed, walking close to the inactive device, "And then it was too late. He came back one day, changed. I didn't find out until later that he was... possessed. Cipher had taken control of my brother, and was using him to re-build the portal himself."

"But how?" Arline asked, "If he was a demon or whatever," Arline asked, following him, and Stan eyed her, "Wouldn't there need to be a deal?"

Stan sighed, and sat down on the first step of the portal. "I'll tell you. How I found out, and everything I know." Arline nodded, and slowly lowered herself onto the ground in front of him, ready to hear a story. "I discovered this chamber my brother made thirty-four years ago. On this night – the night where my brother, and his assistant and I, created Summerween."

---

It had been hours since their mid-afternoon encounter with the gnomes in the woods. The three, Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford, had their quick blowout in front of the shack. While pointing fingers and angrily yelling at one another, a consensus had been made; they needed something to blow off steam.

So, they had a new plan: they'd go around town, with the idea to scare as many people with their silly costumes as they could.

Stanley had been in his small, upstairs room, the attic, for a few minutes. With a few costume choices he had quickly put together, he had constructed a quick, crude, vampiric looking, tailed tuxedo. Along with his shopping-mall quality fangs, and his own make up on his face (flour), he looked like a primed and ready Dracula.

"Oh yeah," he said with a grin, adjusting his blood-red tie around his neck in the mirror. His deep brown hair was slicked back, and he had done his best to redden his eyes by rubbing them furiously. "Ahh, ahem," he cleared his throat, and then cast his hands over his head, and said in his best vampire-like voice, "I vaaant to suck your blaaad!" He laughed, and then scowled. "Ugh. Maybe just hiss and snarl." He coughed once, and spat a congealed wad of flour on the floor. "Ah! Perfect!" he clapped his hands together, proud of the sounds he made.

After a final look over, he shrugged, and exited his room. Various decorations had already been put up in the past few hours. To his shock, Stan saw sitting on the end of the stairway railing, a carved Watermelon. He lifted it up and carried it with him as he examined it. Walking into the kitchen, he spotted Ford and McGucket working on their costumes.

"Ah, Stan! You look appropriate," Ford nodded, and continued to tinker with what appeared to be a large metal backpack with McGucket.

"Appropriate?" Stan barked, "I look great! Appropriate is what you say to a kid when their costume sucks! My costume is killing it!" he laughed, slapping his own knee. "Get it? Killing it?" he asked the two.

Ford nodded absentmindedly, while McGucket lifted his head and stared, frowning.

Stan glared at him. "Killing it? See?" he sneered, showing his fake canines. "Killing it. Vampires. Kill. Things."

"Yes, I know that," McGucket nodded, "I'm just worried our thematic costumes will not match with your choice as a sanguine cryptoid."

"As a what?" Stan asked.

Ford translated, "A vampire."

"What do you mean being a vampire won't work!?" Stan shouted, "You two are supposed to be the good guy scientists or whatever, who stop the dead from haunting people or stuff! Vampires are undead!"

Feeling the heat, McGucket flinched from Stan's outburst. "I am aware of this, Stanley, my primary concern is your choice of type of undead. I reckon it would been more cohesive had you chosen to be a ghost," McGucket admitted, nervously adjusting his glasses.

"What?" Stan barked. "But a ghost isn't really scary for a costume! I might as well wear something stupid like..." he reached over to a shelf, and drew over a simple yellow and black smiley-face mask, "This ugly thing!"

"Stan, it's fine," Ford sighed, "As long as you pretend to be in serious pain when the light hits you."

"Yeah!? Well tiny here thinks he can tell me how a good costume works! Me! Members one of two of the original Masters of Horror!" He glared at their costumes, and raised an eyebrow while dropping the mask to the floor, "I mean, have you guys even found your costumes yet?" he asked, "You're just wearing what you normally do!"

"A brilliant idea by McGucket," Ford smirked, and was pleased to elaborate, "As they have seen us all in our normal, day-to-day attire, they won't suspect a thing when they see myself and Fiddleford, without costume with strange devices, but they will no doubt be incapable of recognizing you: lending authenticity to this stunt of ours!"

"Ugghhh," Stan groaned, "You two are just being lazy."

"Well," Ford scowled, "I at least came up with code-names for us. I'm Doctor Timey, and Fiddleford is Mister Wimey."

"The heck kinds of names are those!?" Stan cackled. "That's stupid!"

"Uh, well, I guess you'd have to watch it to understand the joke," Ford rubbed his neck as his cheeks reddened.

McGucket smiled. "I thought it was funny enough," Fiddleford McGucket quietly noted.

"Fine, whatever, clever jokes," Stan rolled his eyes, and leaned onto the table looking to them, "So – the plan."

"Simple enough," Ford patted the machine, and spun it to face Stan. A concoction of wires, switches, and small lights lined a complicated looking construct that surrounded a large battery. "Fiddleford and I wear these backpacks. We're 'looking for a monster from the woods', and show this–" he lifted up a reference to Count Dracula himself, "–And get a few laughs from people. Then, Stan, you come in. With the help of your wrist-mounted mist makers-"

"My what?!" Stan gasped.

"These," McGucket lifted to view two large watches that had their hands and faces removed. Instead of clocks, they had small metal tubes connected to a small container that was attached to a separate watch. "You attach them to your wrist and forearm," he pointed to two separate straps, "And activate them to create mist with that button," he pointed to a small button on the first watch.

"And when you press it, you will appear as mist is coming off you," Ford added.

Stan's eyebrows raised. "Huh. I could use something like that," Stan admitted as he scratched his chin.

"And with these grand little light-show backpacks we just made on the spot with what little tools and professional light materials we have," Ford said with a wide grin, "We'll be able to make it seem we're blasting you with high-intensity focal energy beams."

Eying the backpacks, Stan worriedly said, "Ah, neat. You won't actually be, though?"

His brother laughed. "Of course not!" Ford, amused, promised, "Not unless you're suddenly vulnerable to sources of light," Ford smiled easily. A chime went off from a coo-coo clock in the distance. "Oh! Time for my daily meditation," he said, standing away from the table, leaving his welding supplies behind.

Eying Stanford as he left in a whirlwind, Fiddleford asked, "You needin' my annotations?"

"Not this time," Ford waved, "I'll make this one a quickie."

"A quickie?" Stan raised an eyebrow, "I don't get how you make sitting down and doing nothing alone in a room a quickie."

Ford chuckled, walking past his brother, a plastic smile on his face, "Oh, Stan. You're just sooo funny. Hah!" He walked past him, entering a room next to the hallway entrance, and locking it shut.

Stan turned, staring at the door. "Why does he lock it?" Stan grumbled.

Fiddleford admitted, a smidge nervous, "Well, you have gone and tried breaking in once or twice."

"Look, it was twice, and I was afraid you two had gone missing!" Stan yelped, "When the house is quiet and I don't smell burning metal, I feel like I'm missing something! I didn't know you two losers did weird yoga or meditation or whatever together," Stan scoffed, folding his arms together tightly, "At least without me."

"Ford prefers a quiet setting for his, uh, quiet time," Fiddleford managed.

"Why? He's not doing anything," Stan grumbled.

"Gone on and leave him be," Fiddleford managed, and continued to work on the wiring to his device.

That was not certainly enough for Stan. With his jaw clenched and his feeling for attention flaring, he marched away, following his brother's footsteps. The door led into Fords personal bedroom, and Stan had been inside before, just never when he was meditating for some odd reason.

Staring at the door, he made to feel if it was locked, but then he heard something. Voices. Not just any collection of voices, his brother. He leaned closer, frowning. He saw wire phone still out on the counter, so he couldn't be calling anyone. Who was he talking to?

"No, no, nothing severe, I assure you my friend," Ford's voice came through. There was a pause, and Stan was ready to knock loudly, but then his brother spoke. "It will only be this one night. We need a break."

Stan listened closely. His brother sounded odd. Almost... pleading. Of the things his brother was, a subordinate was not one of them. Stanford Pines made his own destiny, and had no bosses to speak of in his life. At least... as far as Stan knew of. He pressed his ear against the door heard, listening closely.

"Yes, yes, I do understand. The construction is urgent, and important: I would never disagree with that. But you must understand that this, uh, delay is one that we need. Being human requires us to take a break once in a while. I'm certain that's odd for someone like you."

Stan blinked. What did his brother mean by... 'being human'? Yet, listening as hard as he could, Stan heard no voices replying to Ford's words.

"Just one night?" Ford's voice asked. There was a prolonged pause. "Yes! I promise to. Thank you!"

Stan stepped away, realization stepping over him as he heard movement coming closer to the door. When the door swung up, Ford jumped; instantly seeing his larger brother before him. "Ah! Stan! What are you– why are you–"

"Ford, listen, it's okay," Stan chuckled, putting an arm around his brother's neck, leading him away from the room, "Look, just because this is driving you crazy doesn't mean you have to hide it from your bro, okay?" he said, giving his chin a small shove with his fist. Ford's mouth fell open. "Hah! Your face!" Stan laughed, walking past his shocked brother.

All Stan could think of was how understanding he was. Best brother there was. He could have teased his brother for going nuts, and instead, he'd let his bro be as crazy as he'd like. Ford was lucky to have him as a brother. That grin of his rode with him all the way into town.

Entering the town in their truck was a tricky process. The small, homely buildings of Gravity Falls did little in the ways of concealment. While a few back alleyways could be used to hide the caped Stanley Pines, a loud truck coming into town would easily be heard. After all, the only people coming through these days were tourists heading to the coast, loggers, and lost souls.

Still, they had a plan. Stanley's idea again, but it was one that Ford amused. Their worry of being spotted while exiting a running truck led to Stan's suggestion that he wasn't even in the seats- lying on his back and facing the sky as they drove into town. Climbing over rocks and rolling down hills was a mess for them, as every once in a while, there would be a loud sliding sound, followed by a 'thunk', and a "Ow!".

Several 'shushes' from his brother later, Stan leapt off the side of the truck as it slowed down by a stop-sign. Giving a single wave back to the car as he bolted into the shadows, Stan made for a quick trash can. The rattle scared away a single thin looking black cat, but he seemed alone. Checking to the street once more, he was alone.

"Hehehe, show time. Now, let's see this thing," he turned away and lifted his sleeve up, giving his eyes a chance to re-adapt to the light. The make shift device on his arm was tight and cool to the touch. "Uhh, three buttons? And a knob thing. Great. Can't just make a one-touch-does all, can they?" he grumbled, and pushed a button at random.

The green button pushed, his arm began to rumble, the machine shaking.

"Ah! Bad!" Stan punched the machine, which turned on another red button. As the button activated, the rumbling stopped, and mist began to pour out from it. "Oh... ok. That's better."

He pulled his sleeve down, and stood up. As he looked around again, he just then noticed that he was not alone.

A boy, not even six or seven stood at him, his eyes slightly too far apart and growing a clear and dark unibrow. They watched each other, stan rising up from a dumpster and careful to make no sudden movements.

"Mister," the boy said in a thick hick like tone, "Are you a vampire?"

"Uhhh," Stan looked both ways, ensuring he was alone. When he found the answer pleasing, that he was alone, he looked back to the gangly boy. "Yes. I am."

"Oh. Why is you sitting alone in a dumpster?" he asked.

Stan's eyes squinted down at the squirt. "Look, sometimes a vampire's gotta get desperate for a meal!" he shouted, and reached back, pulling out a half-eaten burger, dripping its contents all around him, "See? Mostly raw! Probably an ounce of blood somewhere in this."

"That's mighty far you've fallen," the kid noted.

"And I'll resort to eating bratty children if you don't get out of my sight!" Stan roared, grasping the cape behind him to great effect, splashing fog around him. "BE GONE!" he screeched.

The boy screamed and ran away. "I'll get the poe-leese! They'll know what to do about you!"

"Hahaha!" Stan smacked his knee, "Sure you will. Stupid kid," Stan snickered, and turned away from the street.

Skulking down the alleyway in his best Dracula prowl, Stanley rounded a corner, and saw the target: A small pop store that was open later than usual on Saturdays. He looked to the nearby parking, and true to the plan, the red truck was nearby. Now all he had to do was make an entrance and spook some people.

He snickered, and found the knob on his wrist, and twisted it to max. With a poof, a volumetric increase of mist poured out from him. Stan laughed menacingly. Give it to his brother to find the best way to make someone spooky. He began to stroll forward, feeling all powerful in his cloak of fog.

Then he realized he had to cross the road. A simple task while he could see everything, but as he made it to the edge of the sidewalk, he realized that he could only see about five feet in front of him. The fog dampened noise. He couldn't tell what the traffic light color was, and he had no idea if a car was coming.

"I'm Dracula," Stan muttered to himself as he began to sweat a little at the aspect of diving to avoid a coming car, "Who cares? I've got this. I'm all about never really dying. They've only got at least six movies with my name on it. I don't know the meaning of... car accidents," he gulped, and stepped forward.

Each step seemed to go too slow, and he hurried himself, faster and faster. "I am the night, I glide where I please!" Stan barked as he felt something on the road rapidly approaching. A whirl of wind and sound passed just behind him. Stan yelped and darted ahead, tripping on the sidewalk edge, and falling into grass.

"Hah! Alive!" Stan grinned, and lifted a fist to the sky, "Take that, Darwin!"

As a terrible screech of tire and horns honking blared behind him, Stan stood. Still enclosed by the mist generator, he brushed himself and chuckled. "Perfect landing." Stan then pushed forward, moving in the direction he assumed the shop was. True to his guess, at the edge of his vision, he spotted the windows. Surely, they couldn't see him inside, and so he grinned.

This had to be slow. A calm execution would get more fear than anything else. And the greater the terror, the better the show. He slowly approached, enjoying every moment of his pace. He could just imagine the faces of terror inside: wondering what was approaching.

Soon the anticipation was too much for him. He found the door handle and-

It opened. An elderly woman stepped out. "S'cuse me, mister," she shakily said, walking past him.

Stan stared at her. She had missed his entire appearance. "Hey! Genuine vampire coming through!" Stan grumbled. The old woman seemed not to notice. "She better be legally blind not to notice how cool I look," he grumbled, and finally stepped forward.

The mist billowed in the room with him. As he stepped in, he let out a booming laugh. Whatever little commotion had been inside ceased, and attention turned onto Stan.

"I smell," Stan said after sucking in a long breath, "Fresh blood. Yes. YES!" he bellowed, "Delicious, fresh, drinkable-"

"Close the door, sir!" the shopkeep called.

"... What?!" Stan turned onto him.

"I pay good money for air-conditioning. It's the middle of the summer, and I don't care what you smell, please close the door!" the middle-aged man barked, cleaning a glass. "Also, stop all that smoking!"

He paused, incredulous. Did no one care about the mist-covered vampire walking around!?

Soured, Stan slammed the door shut, and reached in his sleeve and prodded the button. His eyes stuck on the man behind the bar, ready to give him a verbal lashing no one would forget, but then Stanford's voice echoed in the back of the shop.

"Oh no!" he cried out, drawing the room's attention. "It's the legendary count Dracula!"

Stan's screams actually got a few people to stand out of their chairs and off their stool seats. He looked back to the man behind the bar. The man had gone pale, and was slowly stepping back. Stan chuckled, and took a large step inside, opening his arms out, and flooding out mist.

"Yes! I, the great, magnificent movie star, Dracula," Stan roared, sneering around, "Have come to Gravity Falls – for blood!"

Stanford grumbled and put a heavy hand to his face, but said nothing.

"You, sir," a snarky voice called out, "Are no Dracula."

Stan froze in place. Any soul that would dare mock him in the middle of a performance was about to realize the world of pain were entering. "Who dares!?" Stan whirled about to the source, and cringed.

The teenager stood, adjusting his tie and patting his slicked back hair. He knew the kid just by accounts of the dress, the tone, and of course, that darn N.W. button on his dress jacket.

"I would," Preston Northwest sneered as he walked closer, looking to his nails as he walked from his more frightened friends. "You see, I know a thing or two about class, mister not-really Dracula."

"Why you little-" Stan grumbled. He nearly lunged forward, but saw his brother in the corner, who gave him a signal and mouthed a phrase.

'Simmer down.'

"Ugh," Stan rolled his eyes, and turned back to the spoiled beyond words teenager. "Yeah? Who are you to tell me about who I am, you northwest child!?" Stan said in his best Transylvanian accent.

"Ahh, even the phony undead of distant past are privy to my family name. Not surprising to say the least," Preston Northwest smirked, "Regardless, I am a far, far more dressed man than you will ever be. I am Preston Northwest."

"Hah, if you could be called a man," Stan chuckled, breaking from his accent. "Er- I mean," he coughed and opened his posture up again and re-began his accent, "You shall suffer for your insults!"

"Insults? Please. It's insulting to think that someone with such low-quality fabric could be considered as high class as Dracula. I mean, really," Preston reached forward to grasp at the tie-on Stan. With his finger and thumb, he gave the fabric a quick rub, and he sneered.

"Yeah!?" Stan snarled, pulling the tie away, "What, can't handle a working-class Dracula tie?"

"Working Dracula? Hah!" Preston snickered, and wiped the tips of his fingers and thumb away with a clean handkerchief. "That tie is surely fifty percent nylon, and clearly only five percent cotton. Hardly even something that could be considered a tie."

Stan's mind buzzed. Was the kid just throwing... numbers at him? Percentages? "First of all," Stan grumbled, "This tie is perfect. It's red!" he said, "That way when I get blood on it, it doesn't get ruined."

"Please. Dracula is class enough that to merely touch a nylon piece of fabric like that requires a quick wash, but to wear is simply a sin," Preston snorted. "To think he would wear a tie like that, let alone that suit."

Stan's ears felt hot, and his jaw tightened. "What's wrong with my suit?" he said, daring the boy to answer.

Preston let his opinion widely known. "I've seen shabbier suits for donation from trashcans," the boy snickered.

Stan lurched forward. "Say that to my face, punk!" he demanded.

"Oh no, a vampire," the teen lazily said, leaning away, a hand to the back of his head, "Whatever shall I do?" he then sniffed Stan, who leaned away, "Did you forget to wash your face of the flour, vampire? Or did some baker just turn you away with his rolling pin?"

"I'll bake you unto a pie, you miserable runt!" Stan said, grabbing the boy by the scruff. The teens around him gasped and stepped aside, shocked that any adult would lay a hand on the boy between them. Yet, the kid seemed unfazed.

"That'll be assault, a lawsuit I'm sure my parents would love to file against your pale rear. Tell me, should I have them send the letter to your coffin, or your flour bag?" he grinned.

Stan raised his hand, ready to drive his fist deep into the kids face until he could tickle brain (assuming this brat had any). This would be probably the most gratifying violent thing he'd ever done to another human being.

Then, from across the room, "Hey! Night-spawn!"

Stan whipped around to see the two scientists. "C'mon," he begged his brother, "Just one punch?"

Fiddleford clicked a button on what looked like a nozzle attached to the backpack. A very focused, very bright and colorful beam of light zapped out and struck Stan. Not one to break from his character, he dropped the kid and stumbled back. He acted injured, holding his gut as he panted. All the while he stared at the kid next to him.

Pointing to Preston, Stan grumbled, "We're not finished, you spoiled mortal spawn," attempting his best actor's voice. Again, he was blasted by the light, and he stumbled back, hissing.

The boy eyed Stan, adjusting his tie as he stared in clear disbelief. "I'll have you! My family line will crush yours until everything you've stood for lies in ruins!"

Ford and McGucket both blasted him simultaneously, and Stan let out his best, blood-curdling scream. The walls shook with his roar, and he jerked back and forth as he let his lungs echo into the air. When he opened his eyes, he fought hard to suppress a smile. Nearly all the shop had become pale, staring in his direction with wide eyes.

Then he saw his brother and the egg-head. They had stopped blasting him, and were also staring.

"Is that all you got!?" Stan barked at them. They continued to stare. Stan felt the eyes of the shop on him, waiting for more excitement. "Hey! Doctors!" Stan snarled, attempting to remind them to continue the show, "C'mon! Keep at it!"

The teen before Stan rolled his eyes. "Very impressive display, I'll give you that. The moving shadows in the background are a nice touch."

Stan blinked. "Huh?" he asked, and spun around.

A figure, standing nearly seven and a half feet tall, gangly and fluid like in movement, stood behind him. It was just outside the glass panes of the shop. Stan had, for the past year, seen quite a lot of monsters and anomalies in his life, and he had grown a certain sense for when things were not natural. Whatever he was looking at triggered that sense. He reached up to his sleeve and pressed the button again. Whatever this thing was didn't need the mist all around for it to look... creepy.

One tentacle like arm made of nothing but shadowy smoke smashed through the windows with the loudest shattering of glass since the car crash not five minutes before. The kids in the back screeched, and the workers panicked, moving away from the windows.

Yet the proud teen stood his ground, even as Stan stepped back, uncertain as to what he was staring at. "I must commend your commitment," the teen chuckled, "Breaking an entire store front like that must mean you're ready to pay the-"

The shadow snapped out with a hand, and the teen fell silent. A large tendril of the same material as the creature had wrapped itself around his neck, and lifted him into the air.

Stan whipped around to Ford. "What do we do!?"

"Uh-uh-" Ford stammered, dropping his own nozzle and pulling out his second journal, rapidly looking for notes. "I don't know what this is!" Ford shouted as the teen's face went from red to blue.

Stan did what he knew always worked; he punched at it. His entire fist soared through it, leaving only the shivers of freezing temperature against his knuckles. Stan stepped back, aware of the thing's other limb, and just in time. It swiped out for him as well, and he weaved under it and stepped away. As he did, he noticed a strange feature; it had no shadow.

"Huh," he muttered, and looked up to it. The being, holding up the flailing, clearly panicking teenager in its hand, made the sounds of whispers and echoes of many voices. "It's made of shadow?" he guessed.

"What was that?" Ford asked hurriedly, looking up from his book.

"Made of shadow!" Stan said, pointing to the monster as it swung Preston Northwest around like a club. "Like it's cold, and un-touchable, and things!"

"Curious," Ford mused, quickly flipping to a page and scribbling down notes, "Made of shadow, seemingly incorporeal, and cold to the touch."

"Can we write nerd stuff later please?!" Stan snapped, ducking underneath a swung about teenager. Those at the bar gasped and ooh'd at each combative moment, on the edge of their seats or toes as they watched the fight unfold. Stan grumbled after he threw another punch, only feeling the same cold rush through his body. He looked up to it, aware of its lack of particular facial features. "How do we deal with this thing?!" he barked.

"Made of shadow? How do we stop-" Fiddleford said, but Ford gasped, grabbed Fiddlefords light ray, and pointed it straight at the arm of the monster. He turned on the nozzle, and the light blasted out.

The entire arm vanished with a blast of smoke. The bratty teenager screamed as he flew through the air, slamming into a poster on the wall for police patrol recruitment, and slid slowly to the ground. "I'll... sue... shadows..." the teenager mumbled, crumbling to the floor.

The creature stared at the vanished limb, and only a moment later did a new shadowy appendage slowly emerge.

"Fascinating!" Ford gasped as Fiddleford and him stared at the regenerating monster.

"Hah! You're telling me!" Stan said, grabbing a shaded lamp, and swinging it at the monster. "Back, you cloud of burnt-bacon smoke!" Stan said, sweeping through the creature with the lamp. Each strike of the lit bulb ate away at the monsters frame, causing it to shrivel and contort. It stepped back, leaving the contents of the shattered shop.

The researcher and scientist followed Stan out, blasting at the monster with their light cannons, knocking it backwards again and again, pushing it away. Stan leapt up, and gave one mighty swing down the middle, cleaving the thing into two with his small wall-socket lamp. As he did, the two behind him blasted the cleaved remains with their light-beams, having the remains dissipate into nothingness. The three stood above the wispy remains of their foe, panting heavily.

The shattered glass remains of the windows behind them cracked and fell, adding to the injury of town property damages. Still, Stan grinned and laughed. "Hah! Yeah! Haaah..." he slowly looked back. "Can we even get a break in our lives without having monsters and weird things find us?" he asked his brother.

"I'm not terribly upset to be frank," Ford shrugged, "That was another journal addition! Smoke monster... or, wait, Shadow Elemental! Or Smoke Elemental!?" he gasped, looking to his notes. "Which to call you..."

Fiddleford grabbed onto Ford's jacket sleeve. "N-Not to spoil the moment, but it seems out victory may be short lived," he said, pointing to the spot behind Stan.

The twin turned back, and growled. From the spot the remains of the monster had fallen, tendrils of dark black mist gathered. Conjoining to a new spot, some feet away from Stan, a ball of darkness formed.

"Lights out for you!" Stan barked, and stepped down onto the ball of shadow, dispelling it. Yet it then swirled into the air, and re-formed somewhere else. Stan growled, and swung at it with the lamp- and ripped out the cord. "Oh. Oops," he said, looking at the torn rubber cord.

Fiddleford directed the nozzle of his backpack and blasted away the orb with a ray of light. True to the previous encounter, it fizzled away.

"Good job, egghead," Stan nodded at Fiddleford, who smirked and adjusted his glasses.

With a proud stance, the ganglier man proclaimed, "Nothing that an experienced computer engineer and robotics expert can't do."

"Except talk to ladies," Stan smirked. The faces of the two before him went bright red. Stan chuckled, "Heh. Dorks."

Ford opened his mouth, but lifted his own nozzle end, and blasted it right at Stan. Barely passing over his shoulder, Stan ducked and turned around.

Behind him, in the shadows of the night itself, the creature had already fully re-formed, and made to attack Stan with his back turned. The blast of light cut through the midsection, and the thing collapsed again, swirling into dark mist and vanishing into the night.

"Man, this thing is persistent!" Stan barked. As he stepped backwards, nearly up against the two behind him, they looked around. Night was falling, and the shadows were growing darker and deeper. The everlasting echoing whispers were all around them, and the smallest trickle of movement in the shadows told them- it was still here.

"What do you want from us?" Ford demanded. Whispers met their demanding call. "Talkative, isn't it?" Ford grumbled.

"More or less," Fiddleford mentioned, looking around them, in the street. The lights in the streets began to shudder and flicker. "I got the distinct impression this here thing is hunting us."

"How do you stop something like this?!" Stan said, "Something that you can't even touch?"

"I'd say daylight may dispel it, but we're not exactly cut on time for bright sources of sunlight," Ford said, as the three of them looked around. "If only we had some sort of high-powered energy source that emitted light in such a high density that..." he stalled, his eyes widening.

"What?" Stan asked.

"Uhh, Stanford," McGucket looked back to him briefly, "You're not considering the-"

"To the truck!" Ford demanded, and he ran forward. The two of them followed in his pace, and just in time: a terrible crunch and crash of sound behind them told them to look back. Leaning off the small diner-like building like a spider, the shadowy creature swiped out, breaking an entire patch of street concrete.

"It's back again!" Stan barked as he ran next to his brother. "Tell me you've got a plan!"

"You might say that. One that I'm not certain will work, but considering our limited options-" Ford yelled as the slab of broken concrete was hurled just above his head, forcing the two scientists to duck.

"You have a plan!? Good enough," Stan barked, and climbed onto the back of the truck. Fiddleford took his time getting in, retreating into the vehicle with wide, shaky steps. Blasting his beams of light at the monster before him, Ford found little time to climb backwards, too busy dealing with the monster.

"Get IN, you nerd!" Stan grappled the scientist backwards, yanking him towards the open door. Fiddleford yelped, and suddenly handed the backpack to Stan. "Huh?" he asked.

"You stay in the back!" Fiddleford demanded as he slammed the door shut.

"And continue to blast the beast with the beams of light," Ford called out as he swung himself into his seat.

"Wait, really?" Stan asked with a faint gulp. Slipping his arms around the backpack straps, he hoisted it into the center of his spine. "Okay. How does this work?"

"Aim and click that red button!" Ford called out as he revved the engine to life.

"Heh, my kind of toy. Simple," Stan adjust himself in his stance, and turned to face the monster. It stood up slowly, recovering from the light holes in its body. Stan added, "And it's efficient!" he took his first shot. His aim off, he skimmed its edges, causing it to hiss and recoil. "Oh, okay, strike one!" Stan grunted, and took another shot.

The car lurched, and he fell forward with a loud cry. "Hold on back there!" Ford bellowed.

Sprawled about, Stan shouted, "Thanks for the warning ahead of time!" He rolled to his back. Just in time too, as he saw the monster coming for him. A huge hand reached out, ready to snatch him from the truck just as he pulled away. "Eat beams of light you unholy monster!" Stan yelled, shooting upwards.

The truck sped away, thrusting Stan's head against the back of the truck lid. Unfortunately, it slid open. All his momentum carried him over the lid, and Stan found himself falling over and out.

"No, no, no!" Stan yelled. His arm desperately reached out, trying to hold onto something.

"Stan!" Ford's voice called out. Of all things to save Stan, the mist watch was the last thing he had expected. It snared on a sheet of metal from the truck, and held Stan in place. A small click later, Stan was trailing a large volume of mist behind the truck. "Stan!" Ford shouted again.

"Just keep driving!" Stan shouted over the rush of wind. They passed by people, who pointed, shouted, or cheered as they passed. Held in place temporarily, he looked back. He gulped. His mind took a very subluminal idea of what fear could feel like, as he experienced it again.

The seven feet tall creation had taken to the chase. On all fours, the four knobby and eerily skinny legs, or arms, or whatever they were, rapidly gave chase. It still had no such face or features that would define a face, but it's head definitely looked towards them. Those shrill, maddening whispers still echoed in the air.

"Yeah?" Stan grunted, and reached for the dangling nozzle on his backpack. "Try some of this!" he shouted, and turned it on. He missed. The bright beam of light streaked just over it's form, lighting up the side of a building they drove past. "Dang it, stand still you oversized dust mite!" Stan roared, and shot again.

It reacted to what would have been a great hit. Leaping high into the air and to the side, Stan gasped and recoiled as it soared into the air; aspect of a giant jumping spider. It landed onto the rooftops next to the truck without a sound, and continued to chase him.

"What gives!?" Stan grumbled, turning, and pulling himself back up into the truck. "Stan," he rushed to the back mirror, waving the mist now endlessly pouring, "What the heck is this thing!?"

"I still haven't quite figure that out myself," Stan called over his shoulder to his brother, "It is almost elemental like, but it seems to have no other purpose than to chase us! That sounds very driven, almost like a spell or curse. That could imply a various, many possibilities, maybe even-"

Stan roared to his brother, "Boil the answer down!"

Stan whipped around and glared at his brother. "I think someone may have cursed us! Also, turn off that damn mist machine, I can't see out of the back mirrors!"

"Right," Stan grumbled, and tossed off his jacket, letting it flap into the wind. "Dang thing was only five dollars anyway," he muttered, and turned to his wrist watch. "Uh, it's jammed!" he shouted, realizing the button on his wrist had not come out from it's activating position.

"That's not good," Fiddleford poked his head out of the window, "It could overheat!"

"What!?" Stan yelled at it, "You gave me a machine to strap to my arm that could melt my arm off!?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Fiddleford rolled his eyes, "It won't melt your arm! Catch fire, maybe, but-" he looked up and shrieked, "IT'S COMING AGAIN!"

Stan whirled around and turned on the light contraption. The monster had made a lunge right for them, diving off the rooftops to smash into the truck. Stan's beam met at its 'head' and sliced all the way through the body, severing it into two pieces. The truck passed through one and ran over the other half, leaving behind the dark Smokey creature in the side of the road. Adults in the town panicked and ran from the sight of the monster sliced in two, but teens and kids rallied, cheering and hollering with the exciting show.

Stan roared with laughter, and raised his light contraption over his head, "How's the taste of the light cannon five thousand for you!? Too much!?"

"Light what?" Ford asked aloud.

"Five thousand?" Fiddleford also asked. "Hardly. More like 'improved backpack flashlight'-"

"LIGHT CANNON FIVE THOUSAAAND!" Stan bellowed into the night sky as they drove down the road. Laughing to himself, he took a deep breath of the mist, and ended up gaining a coughing fit. "Ack! Done with this stupid watch," he grumbled, and slapped the end of the truck with the wrist, snapped it into two.

With a twangy whine, Fiddleford cried, "Oh, my invention!"

"Don't be so glum," Ford patted his shoulder, "Mist isn't that hard to replicate. I'm certain you'll have more chances to make theatrical inventions like that." Ford glanced over his shoulder. "Stan, is it gone?"

Stan looked back at the distant street. Though it was empty, he saw it. Swirling in the shadows of the trees. Moving about like animate trails of vapor. "Yeah, but it's not done."

"Then we continue with the original plan," Ford exclaimed, turning back to the front.

"Which was what, boneheads?" Stan asked, stepping over to the back windows.

"Well, uh," Fiddleford looked nervously from brother to brother.

Stan had sensed it before, and he felt it stronger now than ever. "Egg-head, you not telling me something?" Stan growled.

"Leave Fiddleford alone," Ford barked. "Stan, I explained to you, when I decided to let you stay temporarily, that there were many things going on in Gravity Falls that defied my explanation. I told you that there were some that needed to be explained, and shown immediately-"

"Yeah, yeah, undead are real, monsters prowl the night, and some people aren't people, I know, I know," Stan nodded his head.

Glancing at his brother again, Ford added, "And then there are some that must be shown over time, rather than immediately."

"Ah... yeah," Stan nodded, squinting his eyes. That was not a pronounced a memory for Stanley. He admitted, "I think I remember something like that. So?"

"Stan, I think it's time I've shown you the most important secret of them all," Ford decided.

The truck turned down a street that spun away from town. Going up a hill, the sound of scraping gravel drowned them out for a while. Stan could see inside the outlines of the two docs talking. He couldn't hear a word they said, but it concerned him.

Stan knew he was tough. Considering the life he had to lead, after he and his brother had split their ways, Stan knew he could handle anything. As long as he had muscle power and wiggle room to squirm away, he could handle it. He had dealt with monsters he thought only mythical. He'd dealt with crazy science stuff that had (nearly) blown his mind.

Yet, with the way he saw his brother turn, and the glint in his eye, Stanley saw his twin worried. More worried than being chased by an indestructible shadow-monster.

As if cued by the thoughts in his brain, Stan heard it. He whirled about, and saw, high in the canopy, it crawling through the trees. It dropped down again, a shrill shriek of wind announcing its attack.

"Not today, darkness incarnate!" Stan bellowed, and fired the light beam up at the sky. Again, he cut it into half, but it slipped back into the night around them. It had vanished as quickly as it had come. "It's back!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Saw the flash!" Ford shouted, twisting his grip on the wheel, steering the car towards the lonely, woodland path towards the shack.

Stan grasped for life again. Though more readied for the sudden change in direction, he still felt the burn in his muscles, the tugging on his bones as he fought against his very momentum. He pushed himself upright and turned to the night sky. It was there again already, pulling itself forward, effortlessly climbing after the three of them.

Stan began to fire, again and again, up into the night sky. Beam of light after beam of light missed, but it kept the monster at bay. It couldn't get closer to them without risking being blast apart yet again. It maintained distance, but never was far from the truck.

Stan felt the car slowing down, and glanced behind him after shooting again into the sky. The lights of the shack were ahead. He was almost there. "Hurry up! If you've got a plan, we need it fast!" Stan called, feeling the power of his light machine dying.

"I'm aware of their batter life, Stanley, thanks!" Ford growled, driving them right up to the front entrance. The truck stopped, and the three hopped out. Stan turned, and blast again, again, and for one more time. The four clicks of the button had no result.

"It's out of juice!" Stan bellowed, staring at the woods, where the tall figure began to materialize slowly, taking to its tall, gangly form. Stan looked to his brother, and grabbed at the backpack. "Gimme! I'll fend it off!"

"Stan, wait, it's delicate material!" Ford barked, resisting Stan.

"Stop struggling you idiot! We need to use this thing before it-"

"I can use it myself, Stan! Stop grabbing-"

The two grabbed at the end nozzle simultaneously, and pulled away. The high-powered light emitter snapped into two.

His face red, Ford cried out, "Y-you broke the last one!"

"I wouldn't have broken it if you had just given it to me! I could have fought this thing back while we get our next plan going!" Stan yelled back.

"Fellas," Fiddleford gulped, stepping backwards to the shack, "While I too feel passionately for this topic, I reckon there are worse things happening!" he yelped and turned, rushing indoors.

The twins both looked at it. Its head had finally grown a single facial feature.

A mouth with razor sharp teeth. With its mouth open, it bellowed into the night. The noise sent owls and animals in the trees fleeing for their lives. The outdoor lights flickered and pulsed with energy as it screeched, and the twins held their palms to their ears.

"We resolve this later!" Ford shouted, and pushed Stan towards the doors. The two ran towards the door.

There was a loud 'whip', and Ford grunted and fell to the floor.

Stan turned, and saw a long, smokey hand grabbing his brother's leg.

"NO! STANFORD!" Stan bellowed and ran forward from the hallway. He grabbed onto Fords hands and tried pulling. Yet, he slid forward, the might of this creature indomitable.

"Stan, just go!" Ford begged, looking behind him. The maw of the monster was leaning closer, waiting to do nothing other than eat him.

"Get away from my brother you-" Stan slipped, something papery sliding out from under his foot. As he fell to his back, he saw it float up- the stupid, smiley, yellow and black face mask. While light, it was made from hardened cardboard. "Eat this!" Stan shouted, standing, grasping the still floating mask, and whipping it like a disc at the mouth of the monster. It flew in-between the teeth, and the monster recoiled. It let go of the scientist as it clawed at its face.

"Stan, I told you-" Ford grumbled, but his brother was already tugging him up.

"Where are we going now!?" Stan demanded.

"Down!" Ford yelled, and pulled him into the large research lab. Stan nearly tripped over a desk and a small chest, surely filled with wonders, but he pushed on. By a large paneling of wall, the twins spotted Fiddleford.

He waved them closer. "Inside!" McGucket shouted.

"Wait, what?" Stan blinked, and stared. "Since when did we have-"

"Secret doors, I told you Stan," Ford pushed him inside, "There are some secrets that needed to wait."

As the door closed behind them, they descended a small flight of simple steps. It was all wooden in here, with no signs of decoration. When they came to the end of a short hallway, Stan stared as Ford approached an elevator with the strangest password he had ever seen.

He pressed the buttons so quickly, but Stan saw each symbol light up, and he made a mental note that he would recall those symbols.

"Let's get down, quickly," Ford said as Fiddleford stepped inside the opening elevator hurriedly.

"Down!?" Stan barked, "You mean where there are more shadows and-"

From far behind him, something smashed into the part of false wall.

"Going down sounds great!" Stan yelped and leapt into the elevator.

The doors behind him closed, and they descended deep into the earth. Raw stone lay before them, rising above them as they felt the air become stuffy and filled with a gritty taste. The earth seemed to shake, and the elevator shook.

"It must be in the shaft already!" Fiddleford gasped. "This thing is terribly persistent!"

"It's mistake," Ford remarked.

"Yeah!" Stan agreed, and turned to his brother, "Why, though?"

"Because, down here, we're going to kill it," Ford declared.

Triumph flooded Stan's mind. "Nice! How?" Stan asked.

As the elevator stopped and the gate doors opened, Ford smiled. He said, "Let me show you that secret I was telling you about." He pushed out, trailed by Fiddleford, and an anxious Stan.

The next room seemed to be a series of control booths. Stan gasped. He'd seen some cool tech from his brother and Fiddleford, but this stuff was military grade-equipment. Energy readings, radioactive measurements, all sorts of gadgets. A panel of windows overlooked a dark, near pitch-black room. Then Fiddleford snapped a series of switches.

A huge platform was revealed, with a triangle and a huge circle. Stan gaped. He'd read enough science fiction magazines and seen television enough to know what he was looking at.

"What the – what is-"

"Inside!" Ford said, tugging at his brother.

Stan was yanked, still in shock, into the very massive room that housed the device. Fiddleford rushed over to a series of key locks, and began to turn them. A loud whirring started.

"Stan, here's the plan," Ford turned his brother about, facing him, "This device will be on in a few minutes. When powered, it conducts huge amounts of power – enough to possibly destroy this thing be removing all sources of light, possibly being so bright that it will cause all shadows within the vicinity to be extinguished. When that happens–" Ford gasped as Stan threw out his hands and grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"You had something like THIS hidden from me!?" Stan demanded. "A freakin' portal!?"

"Stan, I understand your anger, and maybe even resentment towards me," Ford pleaded, "But we are kind of in the middle of something right now!"

"Uh, you two oughta get away from the opening of the device!" Fiddleford cried out. "Ahh! It's coming!" he shouted.

Stan focused on his brother. "Since when did you ever trust me, huh?" Stan barked.

"What?" Ford gasped.

"This! This just shows me that I've been living here, under the idea that you trusted me, and you never have!" Stan yelled. "If this monster hadn't ever shown up, would you ever have told me about this!?"

"Of course!" Ford shouted.

"Before it was working fully?" Stan growled. Ford's face went red, and his eyes looked away. Stan barked, "You wouldn't have!"

"I'm sorry Stan, I made a promise not to tell anyone about it! He was only comfortable letting Fiddleford know about my projects!" Ford pleaded.

"Yeah, well you can tell your-" Stan froze.

He and Ford both slowly turned towards the glass paneling. There used to be lights within the control room. All they saw was a swirling, smoky entity, as it slowly slid out from the tiniest of cracks in the walls and panels. The two gulped.

"All we need to do is get it to be between the activated portal and those lights," Ford mumbled, pointing to the wall above the control room, where a row of de-activated lights awaited. "We'll turn those on very bright- so it can't leave the space, and then when the portal turns on, it will flood the area with pure, bright energy."

"It sounds like you've seen it on before," Stan growled.

With a shake of his head, Ford admitted, "It's, actually, all just a theory I have."

Before them, it re-collected itself. Standing up to its tallest, it turned its head from side to side.

The three gasped as the whispers faded and it spoke. "Stan... Ford... Fiddleford," the voice of a deep, eerie, and somehow mischievous voice called out. It was like it spoke with the distant, cool winds of an autumn evening.

Fiddleford slowly squirmed behind the platform he was working on. Stan felt cold sweat on his face, but his brother stepped forward.

"Y-You can speak?" Ford asked.

It nodded. It twitched, as slowly, something began to emerge from it's face. Stan gasped as he saw it materialize out from its body, a stupid looking yellow mask, placed exactly where a face should be.

"I have come... for..." it's tall figure then whipped forward, the huge mouth of razor-sharp teeth emerging out just underneath the placement of the mask, "YOU!" it roared.

A huge shadowy hand soared out. Stan rolled aside, but Ford gasped, and was slammed to the earth.

"Ford!" Stan yelled. He got up and ran to his brother, but another hand reached out and slapped his body airborne. He flew far and collided with the solid earthen walls. Coming to slid to the ground, he shook his dizzied head. Ford was being lifted, drawn closer to the gaping, pointed maw. "No!" Stan cried out, and pushed himself upright.

He looked to Fiddleford, hiding with his hands over his head. "Egghead!" Stan roared. The scientist cried out and looked up. "How do I turn this on!?"

"Th-that last key needs to be turned on-" Stan reached out to it, and gave it a twist as Fiddleford cried out, "Wait! The plan!"

"Plan or not," Stan strongly said as loud gears and strange whirring sounds began in the distance, "I'm saving my brother!" he reached out and grabbed the man, "Anything else!?"

Shaking with fear, Fiddleford pointed behind Stan. Stan looked around, and saw it: a large lever in the middle of the room. Dropping the scientist, he rushed for it. He wrapped his hands around the top, and looked up, seeing his brother still struggling to free himself. "HEY!" Stan bellowed, pausing the two.

"Yes?" They said simultaneously.

"Wanna know what's behind door number one!?" Stan shouted as he pulled the lever.

"B-But the plan, Stan!" Ford cried out.

The huge circle behind Stan shimmered with blue and white. The shadow creature hissed and Ford fell, striking the ground with a heavy whack. Stan rushed forward as the shadow creature slowly lifted upwards, wind in the room beginning to stir. "Stanford!" Stan shouted as he arrived by his brother's side.

"I'm okay," Ford gasped, "Just sprained an ankle. Where did it–" he gasped as he looked up to his brother, and pointed.

The two turned, and found the gangly being struggling in mid-air trying to reach out to them. Yet, suspended in mid-air, it could not move closer. They watched it, almost as if it was suspended in a realm with no gravity.

"Huh. That's weird," Ford noted, and added a note into one of his journals, "It can fly, but does so poorly."

"Huh, stupid. If I could fly, I'd do it right," Stan mocked. "Hey," he looked around, feeling a tremor in the earth, "Anyone else feeling a little light headed suddenly?"

Then, without warning, his feet let the earth.

"Whoa!" Stan yelled as he and his brother found themselves suspended in a similar fashion.

Hugging onto the dashboard of the key locks, Fiddleford cried out, resisting the tug of anti-gravity. "This is a bad sign! A negative result! Stanford! What do I do!"

The being turned itself towards the brothers. "You cannot escape me. I shall... hunt you... HUNT YOUUU–"

The portal let out a loud, deep, percussion like wave of energy. Whatever else the being had to say was drowned out by a wailing shriek, as the two airborne men and the being were slammed against the wall. Twins both gasped, as Stan held his gut and Ford his head. The creature fought its way, trying to grasp out and grab Stanley.

"Hey, bug off!" Stan said, managing to push himself off the wall, and away from the monster, step by step.

The pull of unseen forces changed. While the twins were still pinned, a new gravimetric force entered the scene. The monster was lifted into the air. The portal grew even stronger and brighter. The closer the being floated, the more its appearance seemed to ripple and singe. Ashes fell away from it, flittering around it like a typhoon.

It roared, "I will not fail my mission!" It then extended its arm and snatched at Stan. He dodged, but Ford had only just recovered from his headache. The long fingers of the creature wrapped around his middle-section, and Ford was pried away from the walls.

"Hey!" Ford gasped, "Let go!"

"Even if I am destroyed by the light, I will accomplish my mission. This light... will... not... extinguish me yet!" it shrieked.

The blood pulsing through Stan's body froze. The portal behind them trembled. Flashes of rainbow stars and nebulous colors swam like a river of madness. Whatever his brother had tried to make with that portal, it was not what he had hoped. Every instinct within Stan's body told him that if his brother even touched that portal, something terrible could happen. But the monster was going to take him in with him!

He needed time for a miracle.

With all the bravery he could muster, he pushed off the wall, and drove a kick forward. "Get your slimy claws off my brother!" Stan roared. His foot met against the mask of the creature, which recoiled from the impact. A foot-sized imprint on the face, the being reeled back and let loose Ford.

It collided with the opened portal.

Huge bursts of electrical energy soared around. Air singed. Earth boiled. Rock vaporized from the trails of electrical current darting all around the portal. The being shrieked, and squirmed, and clawed at the air as it seemed pinned to the portal, but unable to pass through it. The shadow of its formed was pulled into the color like a vacuum, draining the creature of its appearance.

"Stan! You need to jump away!" Ford stated.

"Heck no!" Stan yelped.

"We're both floating into the portal!" Ford shouted. "If you use me as a springboard, you can escape! Don't be an idiot!"

Stan grabbed his wrist. "No! I'm not going anywhere without my brother!"

Ford stared at him, the light of the portal growing brighter still. There was no silence in their space- for all the energy roiling around them caused their ears to burn and stiffen with pain. Yet all Ford could do was stare at his brother.

"Stan, I'm sorry about-"

From the distance, someone shouted, "Got it!"

The portal's shocks stopped, and the humming in the air died. The twins fell to the ground with a loud yell, and both landed with hard thunks.

"Aww, oww," Stan groaned, sprawled out onto the floor.

"That... could have gone more gracefully," Ford admitted, pulling himself up slowly.

"I did it!" Fiddleford said, stumbling over. His jacket was half-off, dangling from his arm by the sleeve he wore through it. "I'm sorry it took so long, but my strength versus the new pull of anti-gravity took some accustoming. Took me some time to reach the switch to de-activate the main power. But – aha! The portal is off!" he clapped twice. "Oh, and what a trial that was, right Stanford?!" he ran over and helped his partner up. "We'll need to take into the account of what we've seen! The forces we've witnessed today show an immersive gravimetric pull. Shadow, and light, and material? Total universal attraction! Just think of the ramifications for-"

"DORKS!" Stan shouted and shot up like a rocket. Fiddleford yelped and leapt a foot away, shielding himself as best he could. Ford cringed, but stared at his brother. Stan, having successfully cut their chat, cleared his throat. "Did we win?"

The three turned to face the portal. At the base of the circle, a dusky looking pile of ash smoldered in the dim light of the room. The single smiley mask sat atop it, surprisingly unharmed.

"I reckon we did?" Fiddleford guessed.

"I mean, I thought so too," Stan shrugged, "But I'm not the expert on the matter."

The two turned to Ford. He gave them both a quick look, and then straightened his glasses.

"Now, in this case, we are faced with only one real possible course of action. This creature, as we have seen, is entirely born of malice and shadow. While our plan seems to have worked, I would not doubt that there is some buried power within those ashes. While I would love to try some alchemy with that material, my worries for practical safety procedures tell me we shouldn't. Instead, we're going to remove it's remains, and put them in the only safe place we can." He looked to his two friends. "That's right-"

"-Behind a random bush in the middle of the woods, where no one else would go," he concluded, fifteen minutes later, with a shallow hole dug by his brother. "Well, Fiddleford, go ahead and dump it."

Fiddleford McGucket, holding the ashen remains with nothing but a small cardboard box, looked to the small hole in the middle of the woods. He looked to the twins and cringed. "I... I don't know, fellas. If we're truly worried that it could return, is just burying it in the middle of the woods the best idea? What if someone were to build a home atop it? We still have yet to disprove Indian burial grounds."

Ford paused, scratching his chin. "I'll be honest. Hadn't considered it. I think, uh, honestly... hm," he put a hand to his wearied face and turned to his brother, holding the shovel. "How about you, Stan? What's your take on this?"

He groaned. "I'm pooped, guys. I just fought a monster, dug it a grave, and now we're having second thoughts? Let's get this over with!"

"Fine by me," Ford shrugged, and nodded to Fiddleford. The smaller man dumped the contents into the hole, and then quickly tossed the box aside. The ashes, and the foot-print covered mask, fell into the hole. A few pushes with the shovel later, Stan buried the contents of the box within the earth. "There. Like new. Still... residual energy resurgence is possible. I worry we should put up a sign so people know not to come here."

"We are in the middle of the woods, Stanford," McGucket shrugged, "I mean, who's going to come out here? And what they use this ground for, huh? Tossing junk?"

"Maybe bad candy," Ford suggested. He spotted his brother staring at him, a frown on his face. "Speaking of bad candy," Ford snickered, "Stan, you look rather sour for someone that just managed to defeat a shadow creature."

Stan stared at his brother. The silent message was enough to break the grin on his twin.

Ford cleared his throat. "Ah, Fiddleford, we'll meet you in a bit," Ford waved behind him.

McGucket looked between them, and nodded, his gaze falling. He passed behind a tree, towards their truck.

"Stan, I imagine you're feeling quite angry at me," Ford managed.

"Angry?!" Stan barked. "You've lied about holding a huge, and clearly dangerous portal underneath where we sleep, and you think I'm just angry!?" Stan gasped for air, leaving Ford crestfallen, holding his six-fingered hand behind his neck. Stan continued, "Look, I'll let this slide, but for now on, I'm in on the loop with everything!"

"Stan," Ford sighed.

"No if, ands, or buts! If you want the same labor muscle I've given you for these past months, you keep me in the loop on everything, starting now."

Ford stared at his brother. The expression read to Stan as... thoughtful. Secretive? Stan was ready to point at him, and call him out on whatever he was planning, but too soon Ford nodded.

"Very well. Stan, I'm building a trans-dimensional portal."

"I noticed," Stan rolled his eyes, "By the way, is it supposed to cook you like a thanksgiving turkey?"

"Ah, no," Ford sighed and shook his head, "That's all part of the process of trials. Fiddleford and I had yet to test it. Today was our first run."

"Yeah right! That thing reads more dangerous than anything else I've seen so far!" Stan barked.

"Stan, please," Ford pleaded, coming closer, and putting his hands on his shoulder, "I've almost made things work, Stan. I want to make the world a better place, not blow it up. Please, this portal looks scary because it is not fully tested or complete. I swear, I mean for only the best."

Stan gulped. The sincere worry in his brother's eyes and voice unnerved him. "But-"

"Consider letting me try first, okay?" Ford said, and then stood up fully. "You owe me that much, Stanley."

Stanley stood there, the memory of breaking the perpetual energy device ringing fresh in his brain. Closing his eyes to what even he could see as seemingly fair, he nodded. "Okay, fine. I'll letcha do whatever with this thing. But you tell me right now if there aren't any other secrets I need to know about!"

Ford smiled, and rested a hand on Stan's shoulder, inviting him to walk. "Of course not. No more secrets, as long as you just let me work on the portal, okay?" Ford asked, a smile growing across his face.

Stan watched him, and then mirrored the smile. "Course!"

---

"I felt him cross his fingers together, on my back," Stan said, speaking to Arline as she sat on the edge of the portal's platform. "So, I crossed mine too. I never stopped checking in on the portal, and I never stopped listening into Ford. What I ended up figuring out was wrong; I thought he was going crazy. Didn't think a demon monster was having him build this machine."

"Stan..." Arline said, her voice soft and quiet, "I'm so... sorry. That's pretty-"

"Rough, yeah," Stan nodded, scratching the back of his grey hair. "I always wanted to really go up against him, you know? Tell him I didn't buy it. But... he seemed so excited!" he groaned, "I mean, he held that thing I did in high school over my head every time I got closer to calling him on his bull. If I had just stood my ground again like I used to..."

"But, if you didn't," Arline said, "What really happened?"

Stan gave her a strong look. "We tested the portal. Fiddleford got his head tossed inside, but we yanked him out. What he saw wasn't good. He left, and wanted nothing to do with us. Started going crazy soon after. Ford tried going on, but we got into a fight. During that fight... I accidentally knocked him into the portal."

Arline, eying the old man, asked carefully, "And... you pulled him... out? Like with your friend?" To her words, Stan said nothing, his eyes catching more shadow than light. Arline closed her eyes. "Oh," she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"The next time I'd see him, I'd try again to be his brother. But he was puppet. A minion under control by Bill Cipher. He got the portal to what it was supposed to be – some sort of reality cracker, not a portal. If it wasn't for Mabel and Dipper... our world might have been toast," he groaned. "All because I let my brother push me around."

"Family's important, Stan," Arline said, "Sometimes we do… crazy things for family," she admitted, looking to her own hands, which she balled into fists.

"Yeah? Good," Stan brushed his shoulders, "Then you understand why if I think, for a moment, you're even considering yourself over my grand-kids, I'll punch your lights out."

Arline stared at him. Her soft expression had hardened at his words, but only for a moment. She then smiled, and nodded. "I read you loud and clear, you old bull."

"Hah! Yeah right you do," he smirked, and rubbed his back. "Ahh... gettin' too old for this 'saving the world' crud."

"Well, Stan," Arline stood up, "I'll be upstairs, okay? Just in case the twins come back early and wonder if everyone in the shack just vanished forever."

"Hah! Vanished," Stan sighed, "Riiight."

She waved to him as she passed, and he patted her shoulder. A few quiet moments later, Stan stood in the room, alone, staring at the Portal.

Step by step, he approached the lever, resting his hands on it. But he slid past it, and stared at the empty space between the two sides of the portal device. Then he rested a hand on the cold metal, and sighed softly.

"Hey brother," he softly muttered, "Still can't hear me, right?" His words were so quiet they would not echo in the silent chamber. "You know, I still don't blame you, okay?" he said, awaiting a reply. "I really don't, bro. I messed up for you once, just once, and look what it did. Made you obsessed with proving to people you were worth something, something truly great."

He turned away, leaving the cold, dark portal be. Each step echoed with a grittiness as gravel scraped against metal and under his shoes. At the door he turned around, staring at the portal once more.

"You... you never had to prove a thing to me," he said, a terrible somberness wracking his heart. After his final words rang in the room, he turned away and flicked off the lights, plunging the portal into darkness.

---

Just one of many alterations of the past. Having a specific turn of events, while not in the original series, is actually still... canon. HOW, you might ask? Well, I'm glad you ask. Because soon, you'll find out. Like in the actual series. Yeah. I know I've been making some promises about that stuff, and I'm going to see those promises pay off.

Hope you guys enjoyed this! Writing Ford/Stan/McGucket was a weird change for me. Young McGucket is a hard character to nail since we only really have two legitimate clips of him before going nuts, and both portray different aspects of his character. Hopefully you liked it, anyway.

Anyway, we're going back to the main gang in the next upload! They've moved quite a bit since the debacle in the south with all those ghosts, and Mabel being possessed again. Where, you might ask? Well, they've figured going north is the right idea, and they've made it into Yank territory. The land, or burg, of Pitt is where they head. The title? 'Fight or Flight'. Hope you know what that means... ;)

Anyway, glad to be back.

Uh... You know what that means.

Yeah. (EZB clenches himself in his arms) be swift, death!

The Grim Reaper: Yeah, okay, sure. (He takes a nice, quick swing with his scythe, beheading EZB in a bloodless display. The body of EZB collapses. The Grim Reaper gives a thumbs up.) No mess! No Fuss! Call now to order your very own personal 'Soul-Slicer Two-Hundred'! Only available for a short time, at nineteen ninety nine! Shipping free!

---

(Vigenere)

Oyxx rfs, psbcczs me pli csmf, mvv si? Xusn iar'k zs, ql xluqruo. Rsj, A'g zax du fvblbqd, flp xlnl dgex nkr'x qg. Sag fvox orwj yazzjk jbjqmdh ceoi gzy sasu hmxgdy euqghi pvfymd qlhxm-pwfxgprn wecayzf fverk lgo mdi sajsew C pqgzzi xb euwq ee wpxrjufuse kr cbml bmwk. Plmf am kayi hewg oudzmec fc Lglq.