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!

Chapter Summary:

EnneaQuote: "Eights have enormous willpower and vitality, and they feel most alive when they are exercising these capacities in the world. They use their abundant energy to effect changes in their environment—to leave their mark on it—but also to keep the environment, and especially other people, from hurting them and those they care about. At an early age, Eights understand that this requires strength, will, persistence, and endurance—qualities that they develop in themselves and that they look for in others"—Don Richard Riso

Author Commentary: Everyone knows one when they see them: headstrong, assertive, and with a powerful presence. An Eight looks to be known as an impactful influence—someone who challenges preconceived notions for those who do not have the heart to do so. These are people with immense determination and willpower, rising to any obstacle that calls to them because it is their purpose to do so and live life to this full extreme.

But why? Why are some people drawn to this role of a challenger embodied by one of the rarest types (if not the rarest type)? Why are some so inclined to be protectors of the innocent, ensuring themselves a life fighting a fight without anyone at their side?

The core thing to understand about Eights is that these are people who, more often than not, act as defenders of the victimised because they know what it's like to be them—alone, without support. Many Eights are broken idealists who have felt the injustices of life, the undeserved suffering of people, and the pain they or those whom they love have gone through—and in seeing that, they aspire to be those who break the wheel; to be the ones fighting for a better, more beautiful world even if part of their soul ebbs away as they continue on an endless, nigh futile struggle. They realise they may never erase past suffering and can't always protect others from experiencing the same trauma they have, but no one is going to ever stop them from trying.

Granted, that sometimes leads to their short tempers and bouts of anger, which can lead people to perceive them not as defenders, but as attackers—hence the dualistic nature mentioned above, that of a challenger and protector.

Through it all, it's still the defiance and absolute willpower to go on despite the struggle to find themselves which identifies the true spirit of an Eight. They would stand against hell itself if it meant bringing one more second of peace to those they care about.

Type Eight: Into the Ocean... (Part 1/2)

"Stanley, wait up!"

"No way, Jose!" Stan shouted, setting down three boxes as damp air from the Jack London dock billowed out his fluffy grey curls. "Either run the marathon or imma make the old man that's possessed ya gimme back the real Ford, ha!"

Ford's arms trembled. "STANLEY, WE'RE BOTH OLD!"

"Yeesh! If ya put as much backbone into walkin' as you did into yellin', you'd have made it already!" Stan tapped the rim of the boat. "C'mon, they're gonna be here any minute now!"

Ford, although appearing to be stuck in a game of 'What to do first: breathe or look down at feet?', finally overcame the pier's walkway. He climbed up the boat.

"Look, would"—he took a long breath as he set down two other boxes—"it matter if we set this stuff in the cabin later? You do know they'll still recognise the boat, right? We don't need to be up in arms about—"

"Oh, what's that I hear? You want your nephew's second time seeing you to have you strugglin' to carry a box two feet? Well, look, I ain't gotta problem with that—'snot like we had to show him we could take care'a two kids for another summer or anything. Sure, yeah, let's just take a nap over here and—"

Ford put a finger up. After a few seconds, he gathered the supplies again and went inside the cabin.

Stanley chuckled under his breath before following him. "Typical."

With the same gusto one would've expected from Olympic runners at the finish line, the two trudged across the confines of the compact yet cosy cabin of the Stan'O-War II, taking care to not impale themselves on the horn of the Hydrotaur hanging from the wall (it turned out that species was a very, very distant cousin of the Manotaurs but by the time either Stan or Ford had learnt that, well, it was too late for pacifism). Stan accidentally kicked up some empty cans of food and drink next to the mini fridge and countertops, his other foot nearly doing the same with some of Ford's scattered notes.

A jolt ran up his spine when his eyes brushed over the laptop under his brother's cot—a gateway to an unpleasant memory his mind yearned to jump over; so it did.

"I just realized something," Ford said, bringing Stan out of his stupor. Sticking out of the supplies was a large inflatable yellow life raft which pushed down against the lifebuoy and several small lifejackets. "Looking at the recommended safety equipment that should be brought for ocean travel, I'm surprised we haven't drowned yet."

"Psh, 'equipment'. Sixer, New Jersey blood's all ya need 'ta survive! If Oakland sailors were half as good at boating as they were with chargin' a fortune for a spot at the docks, then I'd take their 'recommendations' more seriously!"

"Yes, let's ignore the fact we're also taking two thirteen-year-olds with us." Ford wiped the buildup of condensation from his glasses (perhaps he did that so that Stan could see him rolling his eyes). "I'm sure even we would've had some trouble in the Pacific Ocean if we were their age, Stanley."

"Hey, I was their age the first time I properly punched Crompulter! If I could do that at thirteen, there ain't nothin' that could stop me!"

"You mean Cramplelter?"

"Uh… yeah, sure." Stan rubbed his neck, ignoring the tingle in the back of his head.

As if by some coincidence his brother would call a 'major disruption in the nerdy quantum what-have-you', a car horn hollered from outside.

"Oh, ho!" Stan clapped his hands, turning his head towards the opened door with a force which nearly made his bandana fall off. "Gravy train rollin' in! Let's go, Ford!"

He snatched his brother by the arm, ignoring his vain protests about 'the likelihood of that sound just being a random angry morning driver'. In a bombastic display of finesse and luck (Stan wasn't sure if he'd miss the door from all the sunlight in his eyes), the two burst through the creaky door and found themselves outside.

It appeared the tides had a knack for combing alongside conventional tone, for a cool, excited wind ushered in their entrance and breezed over Stan's skin; the gale swirled towards the end of the pier, past a few meagre boats and the occasional canoe, but surely not daring to miss the olive-coloured car parked some fifty feet away from the waterfront square.

Stan took in the view from the deck, a strong yet childlike nervousness gripping his heart much the same way his hands did the worn railing. Blurry vision focused on faint signs of movement: the car door opening and an adult figure wearing muted colours stepping out; a flock of seagulls flapping away as the silhouettes faded into the reaches of the quiet dock.

"Wait a minute," Stan murmured. "Ford, you see 'em?"

Stanford, ever the nerd, was already peering through a Prunonian spyglass—one of the many futuristic trinkets Stan had endured hearing a long story about during their many nights at sea.

"No… I don't think so. That's definitely Alex making his way here, but I can't really—"

"SURPRISE!"

Stan wasn't exactly planning to have heart attacks soon, but if something was going to push him over to thinking he would, surprises with a flavour of 'ear-piercing screams' was that thing. And if he didn't feel any sharp pains from that, two teens and a pig leaping onto him and Ford—and knocking them off their feet—was sure to seal the deal.

Thankfully, luck had rolled in his favour today.

"Yes! I can't believe that worked!" Mabel squealed, her arms pressed around Stan's neck like the fabric of her purple T-shirt against his cheek. "It's been a YEAR, oh my gosh! We missed you two geezers!"

"Not sure if it's a good thing I almost forgot how wrinkly you guys felt!" Dipper said, next to Mabel. "But seriously, you should really start watching your backs!"

Waddles gave a significant oink of approval.

"D-Dipper," Ford whispered where Stan hadn't the heart to. "I… I think you're both—"

"Whoops!" Mabel backed up a few paces with Dipper and Waddles, allowing Stan and Ford to breathe again.

"Kids!" Ford exclaimed amidst low coughs, regaining his footing and nearing the twins as Stan took laboured breaths. "I can't believe it! Well, actually, I can. Probably should've expected—"

"You knuckleheads!" Stan lunged, laughing as he took up all three of them with his burly arms. "Pulled a fast one on us oldies, eh?"

"Woah, guess someone missed us even more than we missed them!" Mabel exclaimed with a wide grin.

Stan chuckled but gave no answer; yes, it was good to go for the dance of new adventure with those whose hearts rested within a piece of Gravity Falls. Yet he loosened his grip to get a better read on the kids, raising an eyebrow as he did so. Maybe it was the occasional pimple on Dipper's otherwise baby-skinned face or Mabel gaining yet another 'millimetre' or what have you in height, but to Stan, they both seemed far more grown-up while still being those same runts who'd changed his life.

"As I was going to say," Ford noted with a harrumph, "I had a feeling you two wouldn't let us be the ones to surprise you. And while that does make me very proud… how long were you here for?"

Mabel's lips gave way to a cheeky smile. "About an hour. We hid in that boat over there!"

She pointed to one about several walkways away. It didn't surprise Stan when it came to how fitting it was for two thirteen-year-olds and a pig's choice of cover: a clean, blue yacht of modest yet respectable size—probably much like the bank account of its owner—which had The SS Lubo written on the hull.

"I am curious how you two got on board without anyone catching you," Ford said, rubbing his chin.

"Actually, there was a security system," Dipper admitted, adjusting his hat to cover his eyes from the sun. "I barely got Mabel to be quiet while I used the EMP saw you lent me."

"Duh, Dipper—that's because I can't WAIT for our second summer back in Gravity Falls!" Mabel shouted, climbing aboard a small neighbouring sailboat and pointing at the water. "With Cap'n Mabel at the helm, we'll sail the world and beyond! We'll go bigger! Be better! The sequel, baby!"

"I personally think any sequel should start with the correct boat," Ford mused in a soft voice. "Though I guess it's too late for that."

"Yeah, kiddo," Stan said while going next to the sailboat and placing his foot on it. "Hijackin' for a surprise's one thing, but we totally wouldn't wanna go sailin' on someone else's wreck." He slapped his forehead, pointing at a random spot inside the craft near Mabel's feet. "Aw, Ford, I told ya to paint your high school sweetheart on the outside, not the inside!"

A series of hearty laughs followed from all but one person.

"Very funny, Stanley." Ford looked down. "And Waddles is already chewing on my leg. Great."

"Guys!" another voice called, causing the four to turn around. "I told you to meet me and get your stuff when you were done!"

Once Stan tied the voice to a face, there was no doubting who the newcomer dragging a suitcase and two duffel bags in a pained frenzy was: lean as a breadstick, hair bristled with familiar brown locks, and wearing a grey sweatshirt and red shorts one size too large.

"Oh, right!" Dipper said, rushing out of the Stan'O-War II. "Sorry, Dad!"

"Junior!" Stan yelled out as Dipper took the luggage from Alex with little strain. He spared Dipper a glance before turning back to his nephew. "C'mere, you!"

"Uncle Stan!" Alex squirmed, trying to resist the playful noogie. "Fine, you win."

Stan chuckled before releasing him from the noogie. "Runts turned ya into a pack mule, eh?"

"The joys of parenthood." Alex shrugged. His eyes slightly widened. "Uh, Mabel, darling, what are you doing?"

"It's alright, Dad!" she answered, dragging her bags with her… leg? The strap was tied to her ankle. "Just helping Dipper take these inside!"

"She's trying to win a dare…" Dipper murmured. "Mabel, you can't climb back that way."

"Quiet, disbeliever!"

"Does anyone want me to bring out the first-aid kit already?" Ford asked.

"Charming as always, Uncle Stan, but this is nothing unusual," Alex added. He paused for a second before turning pale. "O-Oh, Uncle Stanford!" He waved at him without much confidence. "I meant, uh, you, not Uncle Stan. Still getting used to the whole thing..."

Stan couldn't resist putting an arm over Alex's shoulder and watching this free comedy tour.

"It's no trouble," Ford said, disembarking with a benign smile and shaking Alex's hand. "Stan and I are twins, after all. Plus, I've been confused with a kangazillo in another dimension, so this is actually an improvement."

"Wait, wha—"

"Ey, is Carol 'round here, Alex?" Stan asked. It was best not to let his nephew ponder on that too much. "Don't tell me she's hiding in a boat, too!"

"N-No, not exactly." Alex frowned. "Uh, gimme a sec, would ya, guys?"

"Sure," Stanley said.

Stan squinted his eyes as Alex began trotting over to the car. Something resembling him getting back in the vehicle ensued.

"Well, this is interesting," Ford said. "She was quiet when we laid it all out at their house, but I thought the occasional half-truth would smooth things out."

"It's nothin', Poindexter," Stan reassured. "Just weirded out. I'd be too if two identical old men randomly showed up while my kids were on a road trip."

"I hope you're right." He darted his head back. "They appear to have settled in."

"Damn, they're fast." Stan bumped Ford with his elbow. "Hey, it's the C-to-the-L: Carol! How's it hangin', toots?"

"H-Hi, Stanfo"—Carol put a hand on her chin—"Stanley."

"Mooom!" Mabel yelled from nearby. "Just go with Stan!"

"It's okay, sweetie," Stanley said, rubbing his arm. "I get how confusin' it can be. Heck, your dad just made the same mixup."

"That I did!" Alex affirmed, an arm draped over Carol's shoulder.

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Old people."

"Okay, smart-mouth," Stan began, "how's about the youth start putting those life vests on before I glue them to ya?"

"S-Speaking of which, could Carol and I check the boat out, Uncle Stanford?" Alex inquired. "Last I was on one was with Dad and Grandpa when I was five. I'm wondering if you guys have a better setup than that old wreck."

"I'm sure Stan would be glad to show you around," Ford said. "I'll get Dipper and Mabel strapped up in the meantime."

Stan shrugged. "Leave it to the professionals, brother."

Without further debate, the Pines split up on the Stan'O-War II. It took Stan pointing out the sails and the navigation lights for Alex's enthusiasm to dip drastically which, very swiftly, made his nephew go into the air-conditioned cabin with the others. Of course, that coincidentally left Stan on the deck alone with Carol. If those two's earlier stunts were 'interesting', what they were getting at now was 'shifty' at best.

Stan tapped his fingers over the rim of the bow. Other sailcraft took off under the gentle hand of the waves crashing against the rocky shore and aided by the motivator that was the port smell of freshly caught fish.

"Looks… relatively safe," Carol said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah, this baby's survived her fair share'a tumbles." Stan knocked on the wooden cover before realising that wasn't something to pride the boat with when Carol was around. "Hey, Carol, look, I know part of this must feel, erm, a bit strange—"

"Just… strange?"

Stan wasn't sure how to answer that. And not just because the question was confusing to answer, but because part of his head felt like it was rumbling, as though rocks were being banged against it. Pressing at his temples, he hissed as quietly as he could.

"That migraine…" she whispered.

Stan's pain had subsided fast enough for him to see she did not meet his eyes; hers were shot to the floor.

"Meds need time, I told you." He huffed. "Nothing to worry about."

"Right, time." She folded her arms. "And how much of it have you spent thinking about how safe everything is for the kids?"

"Plenty." Stan gritted his teeth. "What, not the answer you were bankin' on?"

"No. Exactly the one I expected."

"A'ight, howsabout we skip the Perry Mason act and cut to the chase? What's the deal here, C?"

"You want to 'cut to the chase', Stan?" Her eyes pierced through Stan. "You really do?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. Let me put it this way: I get Alex; he's always trusting others. More than that, really, he knows you better than I do." Her scowl deepened. "But what do I see after all this time, Stan? A story about finally settling a property dispute with a twin you never mentioned? Thinking I don't see that same twin looking away from us when you start talking about these 'migraines' that haven't gotten better for days?"

Ford did what. "I…"

"The kids being distant one day and fine the next? Overhearing them whispering about stuff I can't even understand like it's real? Mabel sure, but Dipper…"

Stan's rebuttal had already vanished at the mention of the kids.

"I didn't know." Stretching the familiar lie tugged at him; yet that was their plan—how else could the four explain any of it? Here? Now? "I'm sorry I can't speak for the kids, but believe me, what I told you ain't a lie. I had bad blood with my brother and I thought sparin' everyone the details was safest." He frowned. "Those knuckleheads let me know how wrong I was for doin' that."

Another pause. Then a soft sigh from Carol.

"When the two of you came, I hoped you'd have the answers for why they've been like this. Hell, maybe you don't and the kids just miss Gravity Falls that much." She stroked her hair. "Listen, Stanley. If you need anything, call us. Keep in touch. That's how I'll start knowing you're really telling us what's on your mind." Her voice was shaky as she turned to the cabin. "Same goes for them."

His jaw clenched; there was no distracting her from not believing any of this. He did the only thing that felt right. Carol didn't hesitate when he motioned to clasp her right hand with his own.

"I know none'a this is much comin' from a guy like me, but I promise you, Carol: I'd give my—"

He was interrupted by the tumult of four people exiting the cabin. Stan let go of Carol's hand; switch from one bravado to another and already have trouble holding his laughter in.

"What's so funny?" Dipper asked.

Stan chortled. "Man, you guys look like obese goldfish!"

"Stanley…"

"I'm kidding." He raised his arms. "I ain't much better, anyway. So, we ready to head off?"

"Yes!" the twins shouted.

"Congrats, ya both just failed your first test of the summer!"

Mabel raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"You knuckleheads may be officially teenagers now, but that don't free you from saying goodbye to your folks!"

"What?" Dipper asked. "We were obviously gonna do that, Grunkle Stan, you just—"

"Ah, nope! No excuses!" He lightly shoved Dipper and Mabel in the direction of Alex and Carol, receiving a smile from one and a lessened frown from the other.

"Watch each other's backs," Alex said, nodding at Stan. "And your Grunkles'. Remember what we talked about the camera too, okay?"

"Use it even more…" the twins murmured.

"As usual, I'll have to go over the important stuff," Carol began. "Always have your life vests on you and always wear the Sunscream sunscreen we bought you. Oh, and don't leave your stuff when you get off the boat. There's no telling—"

"Yeah, yeah, Mom," Dipper interrupted. "I told you Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are expert sailors, so there's nothing to worry about!"

"I… I know. Be safe, alright?"

The teens nodded before hugging their parents. Stan's heart swelled. So this was what watching a Pines farewell was like.

"Love you too!" Mabel said. "Tell me if the mailbox breaks from all the letters again this time!"

The parents laughed before kissing each twin on the forehead and disembarking. Doubt marked Stan while Ford hoisted the anchor, but none as to why it just felt so good to be with the kids again—one unit; one Pines. As the four (and Waddles) waved Alex and Carol goodbye, they set off, the Oakland cityscape growing distant, replaced by the expansive view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the vast ocean ahead.

Mabel's eyes were lit up with the force of the sun. "I can't believe we're moving, ah!"

"Yeah, it's almost like we're on a boat," Dipper deadpanned.

"I've always wanted to say this!" She dashed towards the port. "Full steam ahead, helmsman!"

"Mabel, this boat doesn't run on steam." Dipper eyed the surroundings with binoculars.

"You're right," Ford said, hands steady at the wheel. "It's actually uranium."

"Wow, who knew both your grunkles had a thing for usin' toxic chemicals to power stuff?" Stan added.

"As much as I don't want to be 'that grunkle'," Ford began, "I suggest we go over the game plan again. First, we—"

"Ugh, do we have to, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel asked, coming up next to Ford. "Ride across the waves! Find the lost city of Beedsport! Epic drive to Gravity Falls!"

"That's my girl!" Stan shouted, grabbing a Pitt from the red cooler near the stern. "Knows 'er stuff."

"With one crucial error," Ford replied. "It's Reedsport, not Beedsport."

"Oh." Mabel pouted. "Welp, guess I'll be using the bee net in Gravity Falls then!"

"Just try not to cut the number of bees down to critical levels, dear," Ford requested. "Oh, there's one more thing to take note of."

"Yeesh, we get it, bro," Stanley protested, leaning on the safety railing next to where Waddles was lying. "We can't use a plasma net to catch fish. Don't need'a tell us forty times."

"That… wasn't it. It's something I didn't mention to your parents."

Stan's eyebrows perked up at that. He couldn't have been talking about—

"When we last traveled near here around January, I witnessed something spectacular when I woke up and looked out the cabin window. It was a powerful pink light unlike any I'd seen in my travels, almost… magical in how it went by. The source—a maiden of the sea; a Moryana."

Stan's gut dodged a bullet yet still felt as though it had a hole in it.

"Moryana?" Dipper asked, focus shifting from trying to find signs of some metal-eating monster he'd talked of being near the big bridge. "Isn't that a creature from Slavic folklore?"

"Exactly, Dipper." Ford took off his black sailor hat. "Daughters of the mythical King of the Tides, the Moryany are known to control the flow of all water nearby and allow others to breathe underwater for long periods. While I don't think she saw me, I did see her. I could understand she was alone, wandering in confusion."

"Woah," Dipper said, eyes wide.

Stanley huffed. "Yeah. Incredible."

"Oh, it gets better: years ago, in the libraries of Neverthenerland in Dimension OX, I'd read about extinct creatures from multiple dimensions which could emit such energy. Crossing my holo-disks of those illustrations and records with newspaper clippings of a 'phantom' migrating between oceans every half-season, I believe—"

"Ugh, boring!" Mabel cut in. "All I heard was 'sea maidens' and that was enough for me to get the gist already! After all, we all know how good Grunkle Ford is with those ladies!"

"Oh snap, Poindexter!" Stan high-fived Mabel.

Ford sighed. "Never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

Dipper chuckled. "Dating a siren is something you've probably only done, Grunkle Ford. But this is different. I think?"

"Yes, yes, nothing to do with romance. As I was about to say before your sister gently cut me off, because of my findings in the library, I believe the Moryany and those creatures are the same."

A certain great-nephew lit up at that. "Which would make her interdimensional!"

"Precisely! If I'm, er, wrong somehow, she's just the Slavic myth. But if I'm right, I'll want to know who she really is and how she's become interdimensional, because I've no answer for that myself. Whatever it is, if you all want, we could keep an eye out for her."

"Sign me up, Grunkle Ford!" Dipper insisted, forgetting about whatever he was doing five minutes ago.

"Horaaaay," Stan said, gulping down his Pitt. "How'd I miss that thing, anyway?"

"Well, Stanley, I guess you missed her long, flowing hair, four eyes, and sign with your name on it. Oh, actually, you were still sleeping and the sun had barely risen."

"Very funny."

"For the record, two of those were accurate."

"Aw, Grunkle Stan, how could you sleep in?" Mabel asked. "I'll have to personally wake you up next time!"

"Sure," Stan said. "And your date's safe to be around, Ford?"

"My—? Ugh, yes. The Moryana didn't give me… problems, to say." Ford wrinkled his nose. "O-Of course, I think you of all would find it boring, so I'd skip it if I were you."

Stan knew a suspicious answer from his brother when he heard one. Though he'd learnt that sort of behaviour could come both from plain awkwardness and a desire to hide something.

"Welp!" He lurched, picking up the cooler. "The ice in this bad boy is startin' to exist as much as my tax returns. I'll go fill it up."

"Let me help you," Ford suggested with a hushed tone in his voice.

Stanley paused. "Ain't a geriatric yet, Ford."

"Just getting close!" Dipper added. "Don't worry, guys, we'll man the ship until you come back."

"We'll do our best not to crash!" Mabel added.

Stan shrugged, hailing Ford to go with him. Inside the cabin, he quickly found the bigger freezer and grabbed a pack of ice.

"So," Stan said while filling the cooler, "guessing I have to get what you wanna say outta you or…?"

Ford was frazzled for a second. Obviously, Stan would be on to him—what did he expect?

"Yes, well," Ford began, bearing the expression of someone choosing their words wisely, "while it's like us to leave things last minute, we never got something important clear."

"What?"

"Are we going to tell them? About, y'know?"

"Look, Sixer, I thought we already talked 'bout it: we let the kids enjoy the trip and when we get to Gravity Falls, then… then we'll help Soos talk about it when he's ready."

Ford took a deep breath. "All right. I believe you. I just hope the kids don't feel guilty for not being there when it happened."

"Well, we weren't there either, Ford. But we paid our respects to his Abuelita. They will too, and we'll work from that."

"He looked a lot better last we saw him. But you know best, I trust?"

Stan was uncertain for longer than he liked; he was supposed to be good with uncertainty, right?

"See, all I'm guessin' is that Soos wouldn't wanna lay all that on the kids from the get-go," he said after a few seconds. "Is it for the best? I dunno. Just gotta wait."

"Okay, Stanley." He bit his lip. "How have the pills been treating you?"

Stan huffed. Was it ironic that Ford drilled him on the one truth he couldn't tell in front of Carol?

"Fine." Now wasn't the time. "Ronald forges good prescriptions, don't he?"

"That he proved capable of. Even up to when I took the pills."

"Hey, what're ya two oldies doin' in there?!" Mabel shouted. "Come out or I'll start a mutiny and make Waddles the captain!"

Ford smiled, creaking open the door and gesturing for Stan to follow. "Time's up."

Stanley hesitantly nodded. Yeah, the clock was ticking. He just hoped it wouldn't catch up to him.

By the time the crew had departed from the comforts of the city and were well into the Pacific, they'd been sightseeing enough to become sick of seeing. Wanting to let their other senses work a bit, they turned on the small gas grill and carried the scent of cooked meat around the deck as part of a multi-hour-long mini-barbeque (complete with a water balloon fight, courtesy of Mabel). In turn, their conversation nosedived into sharing stories from the past year they couldn't ramble on as easily via video call; be it momentary romantic flings in school, confronting a long-time bully with the power of the left hook, or showing the kids how many push-ups a Sea Spartan could do underwater, the levity in their tone grounded midday in the bark of the early evening.

Now, in the interior of the Stan'O-War II, silence reigned—a silence not caused by boredom or by the family waiting to trap a sea monster which had snuck on the ship, but simply a food coma. Stan, relaxing on his cot, didn't care, of course; there had to be calm days, too, where nothing exciting happened and family could just get together to be.

He opened his eyes and saw the cabin was empty, yet the door was open to three silhouettes lined by fresh moonlight. The sound of calm waves thrashing against the boat blended in with murmurs, though they did not distract him as he walked up towards the deck.

"What'cha nerds up to?"

"Just talking," Mabel said, turning to smile at Stan. She shot a thumb at the others, who were looking up and down at the sky. "Those two are tryna predict where the wind is."

"No, we're trying to determine our approximate location without the help of a GPS," Ford said, one eye closed. "Just as a challenge, of course. We know where we are."

"It's quite fun, actually," Dipper admitted, holding some kind of device. "I haven't used a sextant in a while."

Stan snickered. "A what?"

"Funny, Grunkle Stan." Dipper sighed. "It sounds like that thing you think we probably still don't know about."

"Wha"—Stan huffed—"Well played."

"Aha!" Dipper scribbled in his pine tree journal with his other hand. "I think latitude is around forty-point-nine thirty-seven!"

"And longitude should be"—Ford eyed a chronometer in his right hand while also writing on a scrap of paper—"Taking our latitude, an altitude of zero, declination of…?"

"Fourteen degrees and two minutes!"

"Jeez, would ya—"

"And applying it to PZX, we have… this!" Ford announced. "Comparing that to Greenwich, it appears our longitude is at around an offset of one-hundred and twenty-six!"

"Matches!" Dipper shouted, high-sixing Ford.

"Ya two done?" Stan asked.

"Um, yes. Yes, we are. Great job, Dipper."

Stanley shook his head, though he couldn't hide the underhanded smile on his face.

"Stars are bright tonight," Mabel mused before anyone else could.

"Quite, uh, starry," Stan said, leaning next to her.

"Only time I've seen them this clear is back in Gravity Falls." The chirp in her voice was struggling to hold.

"Light pollution is a sad thing, sweetie," Ford added, sighing. He pointed at one of the stars. "But there's always our guide in it all. We can't forget that."

"Polaris," Dipper said.

Stanley chuckled. "If ya don't know that one, you shouldn't be on a boat."

"True!" Mabel hummed, her finger shooting up as well. "I mean, it's right next to Dipper! Get it?"

"Mabel, you've pulled that joke seventeen times in the past three years."

"I know!" She laughed. "And it still rocks!"

"A favorite of mine's always been Libra," Ford noted. "Latin for 'weighing scales'."

"What a coincidence!" Mabel exclaimed. "It's my favorite too!"

"Really?"

"Yup! I broke one of those in the supermarket. Put too many oranges."

"Wait, you mean…" Ford paused. "Y'know what, I don't think I need the details."

"I just thought of something, guys," Dipper said. "Isn't this just like last summer?"

"When we were up all night?" Ford asked.

"We watched the sky on the roof," Mabel continued. "And slept there."

"Yeah."

Stan saw Ford smile weakly.

"Indeed it is. I still remember my dream. I never figured out why we all experienced one that night, though…"

"But aren't you grateful for what it led to anyway, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel piped up.

"Of course, dear. I think we all realized a lot of things then." His brother looked at the three, though he kept his eyes longer on Stan. "For me, it was that you don't need to know everything about something or someone to appreciate them fully. Sometimes, things, people just… happen."

Stan wasn't sure if he should say anything, but the kids' expressions—softened by the dim moonlight—made him think his input wasn't needed. Ford was right, in his way, although difficult feelings stirred inside Stan once he could tell towards whom that righteous sentiment was directed.

"What about you, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked directly. "Do you feel the same way?"

Stan bit his lip before answering, "Well… yeah, kiddo. It's a bit like the dream with Ma I had then. Made me feel closer to her when she wasn't there at all."

Dipper paused. "I don't remember that. Didn't it involve great-grandpa?"

"Yeah, I think so too," Mabel said. "When'd you have a dream with great-grandma, Grunkle Stan?"

"I'm jokin'!" Stan shouted, slapping the rail and letting out a forced laugh; should've spared the details. "Jeez, I can throw the bait on the other side of the world and you'd still go running after it!"

"Interesting joke," Dipper muttered.

Stan shrugged. "Can't win all of 'em."

A brief silence came down upon the four, unnerving Stan to no end. Was Mabel's slight frown real or just a trick of the light?

"Anyway, uh, I think I'll go check if Waddles hasn't already eaten through my stuff before I go to sleep," Dipper said. "Mabel, I'll need your help if he has."

"On it!" She giggled. "Or not!"

"Alright kids, don't break the boat too hard!" Ford said as the younger twins went back to the cabin. He let out a small yawn. "Are you coming, Stanley?"

"Nah. I'll be with ya guys in a few."

Ford nodded slowly and left Stan to his devices, which included him running a hand over his face in a quiet attempt to take in his situation.

Throughout the day, he'd had two major migraines—one while with Carol and one while setting up the grill alone. Those would've been fine on their own, but confusing two memories as he did now was a step too far; his hunch for the dreams was different then from what it was now—what it had to be—and he had no explanation as to why. He'd made sure he wasn't shooting blindly, yet the information still came out muffled and lost. While it didn't make any sense for his two problems to be connected in any way, that didn't stop the fear from clamping down over him, present like a tremor in his limbs. When would they all stop being seen as harmless clumsiness and when would—

Stan sighed. He was tired—too tired to think straight; too dumb to stop his hand from reaching into his Hawaiian shirt's front pocket. Funny how people were; he already brushed past the handles of his glasses hoisted on the fabric and took hold of the damned painkillers.

He narrowed his eyes. Were they even helping him?

Doubt guided him to a place where trust had sealed his eyes—and there, on the bottle's label, a small piece of it which had peeled upwards. Stan pinched it, almost wishing the label had torn off instead of revealing the faded one underneath, the name of the real medication scribbled off with black ink.

Had there been anything to read there, the weight of this anvil upon his heart might have crushed him. His surroundings blurred into mush as an avalanche of possibilities ran through his mind. Was he even taking something meant to help his head? Did it make it worse? No, no, Stan had to have done something wrong—seen something that wasn't meant to be seen from a packaging mistake. Ford was a smart guy and wouldn't… wouldn't…

Not unintentionally.

Strained eyes hung for calm on the horizon's edge as numb fingers tried to dig deeper. Water bubbled up with the fervour of Stan's own realisation, middling stillness cascading the dark blue mass rising from inside the labyrinthine ocean—all aiming to hunt him and him alone.

"Lee...?" an unknown voice called.

A hand snatched him by the chest.

"Stanley!"

Stan's head shot back, a laboured gasp escaping him. He swung, feet shaking in a fight to keep balance. Another hand kept on his back, and soon his face was pulled against his will.

"Stanley, can you hear me? Are you okay? Stan?!"

Stan was out of it for a few but eventually jerked his face out of his brother's hands.

"I… I'm fine, Ford," he said, trying to control his shaky breathing while gripping the railing. "The kids. They—"

"Fine? Stan, y-you nearly fell off the boat! Do you know what would've happened if I hadn't come out?" Ford grabbed at his hair before lightly shoving something into Stan's chest. "Here, have some water. A-And let me check your pulse, your blood pressure—something isn't—"

"Stanford. The kids."

His head shot up. "Sleeping. Oh, thank god." He yanked Stan into a hug. "Don't do that. Gone for half an hour… I thought something horrible was going on."

"Hey, hey, relax. Just felt a bit dizzy." Stan clicked his tongue. "Ain't that a laugh."

Ford pulled away. "What…?"

"Well, it's funny, y'know: a Central Jersey type of thing." He took a sip of water from the opened bottle. "If you think somethin' don't exist, just make fun of it! No point in fixing it."

"You're sure you're alright, Stan?"

"Are you sure you are, Stanford?" Stan wiggled the pills which had been sealed in his fist.

"I…"

"I told ya to get Imitrex. I know you heard me telling you to get Imitrex and I know Ronald wrote that down on the slip." He put the pills in Ford's hand. "What the hell is this?"

"Stan, you need to understand—"

"You switched 'em? Bought me candy?"

Ford gulped. "I did what I did only because you didn't want to go to a doctor."

"I told you!" Stan hissed before taking a quick breath. "We didn't have time."

"But we did for your old buddy to get you a fake prescription?"

"Stop avoidin' the question, Ford. I know it's not something that's gonna hurt me; you're not drugging me with idiot pills."

Ford frowned. "It's just Ibuprofen."

Stanley looked away, crossing his arms.

"Anything more would've had worse side effects, Stan! Those medications are for serious, medically diagnosed—"

His gaze shot back at Ford. "Oh, you think I'm just faking?"

"No, no, I didn't say—"

"It's not just that, okay? I know you ain't no 'social wizard', Ford, but Carol was up on my ass thinkin' I'm lying about the migraines because'a how you acted when we told her."

"How I acted?"

"Yeah, all fidgety and worried. Like what we were telling her was a lie when it wasn't."

"Well, I thought that was when I should—"

"Nah, don't even try that. I've seen you get better at bluffing, but you ain't at the level where telling the truth is harder." Stan squeezed the nearly empty water bottle. "Thought you were on my side for this."

"I am, Stanley. Look, I admit I should've told you what I did, but everything's been happening so fast that I couldn't do something this rash for my own brother's health." He rubbed his forehead. "There's nothing else I'd want to believe about these headaches other than them just being migraines. But we need to think about the possibilities."

"Possibilities?" Stan wasn't liking where this was headed. "Lemme remind you that you probed my mind last year for that thing. If you're sayin' what I think—"

"No!"

"Quieter, Poindexter," Stan reminded.

"I'm sorry. No, I don't know. I'm… I'm just worried. Let's face it: we're old. Life itself is out to get us. Including our minds."

"So I'm crazy now, that it?"

Ford pressed his temples. "That's not what I meant." He eyed the cabin. "Think about them, Stan. What would happen if you had one of these episodes in front of them?"

Stan gulped. That wouldn't—couldn't—happen.

"It's just a headache. So what?"

Ford put a hand on his shoulder. "It's enough to get them worried. We're already deep enough as it is because they asked us to keep quiet about Weirdmageddon, and we both know why that is. To add on this? We can't."

Stan hesitated. If it were anyone else talking with him, he'd think they were using the kids as a distraction—a weak spot to get their point across. But this was Ford. They'd both worry themselves to the point of nausea if it meant the kids would be safer.

"And considering the number of close calls we've had, it's best we ease in the summer."

"Are you sayin' we're about to have more of those?" Stan asked, trying to shift the subject to mull the rest over. "With the Moryana thing?"

"I'm guessing you picked up on my hesitation earlier."

"Still have a long way to go before you lie to me, Sixer."

Ford sighed. "See, I don't know. I mentioned her because I'm not even sure what kind of anomaly she is."

"Why not?"

"The Moryany… there's no reason a species like this would be on Earth. Or be native to it. Beings with such powers would've been the biggest myth in humanity's history, not a footnote in Slavic mythology. This Moryana's presence on Earth is the only hole in my theory that she's of the same creatures from the books in the Neverthenerland libraries. And yet… "

"Go on."

"The books mentioned them having suffered a cataclysmic genocide many years ago. There was nothing tied to who did it, but I fear that was intentional. What if, for this Moryana, Earth was never a home, but a refuge? A place to be forgotten—become a myth?"

"How's getting here even possible without a portal?"

"There are ways, like pocket dimensions and rift disruptions, but they're all artificial or, in the case of Weirdmageddon, localized." Ford sighed. "The one question I want to ignore, and my findings won't let me. I'm not sure anymore."

Stan paused. "What really happened when I was asleep, Ford?"

Ford shook his head. "The light, her presence—they were majestic but overwhelming. I felt them stabbing me, trying to find out something about the boat or myself that she needed. Even if she's interdimensional, she's different and I want to know why." He placed a hand on his chin. "But not at your expense. We'll get another shot. I'll be careful and divert course to avoid her trajectory until we hit Reedsport."

"Careful." Stanley shrugged. "Man, you're the one that's sick."

"Is that an 'okay'?"

"Close as you can get to it." Stan put a hand on Ford's shoulder. "Look, you're my brother, and I believe you. But 'careful' is how ya get put in a retirement home, y'know?"

Ford let out a sardonic laugh. "You'd know best. Prisons are like retirement homes."

"Eh, someday it'll be you."

Two soft chuckles rang out in the quiet recesses of the night.

"And just to be sure," Ford said, going to the wheel and recalibrating the primitive autopilot he'd developed for the boat (involving rope, gears, some insulated circuits, and a GPS), "when we get to Reedsport, you promise you'll—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine, I'll go see a doc. I'm goin' to sleep, anyway." Stan yawned, making his way past Ford. "Gotta be the grill guy again somehow."

He turned around exactly when a relieved yet sad expression crossed Ford's face.

"Thank you, Stan."

He hung near the door. "I'm doing this for the kids, y'know."

A soft snort, followed by his brother's footsteps behind him.

"Oh, I know. And yet I think we'd all sleep easier if you tried doing something for yourself once." Ford brushed past him and went inside. "Good night, Stanley."

Stan had no answer, and neither did the dark clouds looming above.

A/N:

Thank you for reading! This is part one of two of this chapter and the second part will be published a day after this one. Cheers!