"No amount of training could've prepared us for it," Sammy recounted sadly. "We knew it was going to be bad… but it was worse than we imagined. So, so much worse…" "...What even happened there?," Dipper asked hesitantly. "How did Hutch… you know…" He didn't really want to know the answer to that, but his curious and rather morbid nature craved answers.

Sammy looked down at the ice cream tub in his lap, but the look of sorrow in his eyes made it clear that ice cream was the last thing on his mind. He appeared to be thinking deeply, then shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "No, I shouldn't tell you. It'd be too much…"

"Come on, Sammy!," Mabel urged. "You don't have to keep it all bottled up inside. We can handle it!" But Sammy shook his head again. "I'm sure that Mister Pines could handle it," he said. "Maybe Wendy. Soos… I'm not too sure about. But you and Dipper definitely won't be able to handle it." "Yes, we can!," said Dipper. "Remember all the crazy things we've gone through for the entire summer? We got chased by gnomes, fought wax people, went back in time, switched bodies, saved Stan from a dream demon–" "Wait, what was that last part?," asked Stan. "–and so much other weird stuff!," Dipper continued. "Whatever you have to say, we can–"

"NO!," Sammy suddenly yelled, bolting to his feet, causing the bucket of ice cream to fall off his lap and spill onto the floor. "Listen to me, Dipper! All those supernatural creatures that we encountered are nothing compared to enemy soldiers firing their rifles and throwing grenades at you! Ghosts and ghouls and Summerween tricksters are nothing compared to bullets whistling past your head and hitting the person right next to you! Video game characters and pterodactyls are nothing compared to planes flying above you and dropping napalm bombs onto your head! Evil clones and crazy psychics are NOTHING compared to hearing your friends screaming and crying out in agony as their intestines–!" He managed to stop himself in the nick of time, but the damage had already been done. The twins were hugging each other and staring up at Sammy with wide, terrified eyes. Soos was protectively holding his large arms over them with the same look in his own eyes. Waddles was curled up in Mabel's lap, quivering in fear. Wendy was in a frightened and tense stance, ready to tackle him down if he tried anything. And Stan was tightly gripping the armrests of his chair, ready to get up and act in spite of his broken leg.

Realizing what he had done, Sammy slumped back into his chair and covered his face with his hands shamefully. "I'm sorry…," he whimpered, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean to scare you guys. I just…" He began sobbing again. "Goodness, I'm such a wreck…"

The others calmed down, though they were still on their guard from the sudden outburst. "That war really messed you up, did it?," asked Wendy, before wincing at how callous she must have sounded. "You have no idea," Sammy sniffed, wiping his red eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. He looked down at the spilled ice cream on the floor and winced. "Oh, geez… I'm so sorry about the mess, Mister Pines…" "Nah, it's fine," Stan assured him. "Look, Mabel's pig is already cleanin' it up for me." Sure enough, Waddles had crawled out of Mabel's lap and was greedily licking the ice cream from the floor. Then, to everyone's surprise, the pig jumped up onto Sammy's lap and snuggled up against him like a cat curled up on a soft bed.

"Awww, look at that!," Mabel cooed. "Even after you scared him, he still wants to make you feel better, dude," said Soos. "He's a good pig," said Stan, crossing his arms. "Heh. Yeah, he really is," Sammy chuckled, stroking Waddles' neck and back. The small smile on his face vanished quickly, however. "Again, I want to apologize for… you know…," he murmured. "The war changed me. It changed Carlson, too." "How did Carlson change?," asked Dipper. "Well… He used to be pretty nervous and antisocial," said Sammy, continuing to stroke Waddles. "His life was difficult, even before the war. He had low self-esteem, he was afraid to speak up about anything, and he was kind of a mess, though I'm the last person to judge him for that. But after the war, he became more… ruthless. Bloodthirsty, even. Kind of like… how I used to be. To be honest… he scares me a little…" "...Oh," said Dipper, awkwardly rubbing his arm.

"I-I'm making this sound way worse than it is, actually," Sammy said quickly. "Things are still fine between myself and Carlson. Like I said, we still keep in touch… sometimes."

"...I guess that explains why you have the Medal of Honor," said Dipper, trying to change the subject. "And also why you sometimes speak Vietnamese." "Hold on, what?," asked Wendy. "Kid, you speak Vietnamese? Since when?," asked Stan, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, what are you talking about, bro-bro?," asked Mabel. "Mabel, don't you remember?," said Dipper. "Every time Sammy gets frustrated, he speaks Vietnamese! Like when Gideon shrunk us and trapped us in a jar, and he hurt his hand after punching the glass." "Huh. You really are full of surprises, aren't ya, kid?," asked Stan. "Oh, yeah! I remember now, dude!," said Soos. "And I don't think that was the only time either!" "What the heck? I am so confused," said Wendy, scratching her head. "I've never heard Sammy speak Vietnamese before. Or I don't think I have…"

"I'm not surprised that you didn't know, Wendy," Sammy said sheepishly. "I only speak Vietnamese when I'm super frustrated, or when I need to say something that I don't want other people to know about. And Dipper, I'm impressed that you were able to figure it out. I guess you really took my little challenge to heart, didn't you?" Dipper shrugged with a proud smile. "I mean, you did tell me I should figure it out on my own," he said. "So did you learn Vietnamese from the war?," asked Wendy. "From my training," Sammy corrected her. "Sergeant Brute wanted us to be prepared for anything. He believed that understanding our enemy was the key to defeating them. That was why he placed just as much importance on learning a new language as training in hand-to-hand combat and firearms. He was unorthodox, but very perceptive."

"What about the Medal of Honor?," asked Dipper. "I heard that it's only given to people who've performed certain 'acts of valor' in wartime." Suddenly, a bitter and miserable expression formed on Sammy's face. "Acts of valor, huh?," he muttered. "If that's not the most vague thing I've ever heard in my life… That stupid thing doesn't even belong to me…" "Wait, it doesn't?," asked Mabel, tilting her head. "If it's not yours, then who does it really belong to?"

Sammy shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Sorry. That's not what I meant. I guess, technically, the medal is mine. Both Carlson and I were each awarded one after the war. But they didn't know the full story. If they knew what happened over there… if they knew how much of a coward I've been… they would've known that I didn't deserve any medal. The only reason why I still have it with me is because it serves as… a reminder, I guess. A reminder of Hutch… and how I let him d-die…" "Hey! That's enough of that!," Stan said harshly, suddenly slapping the back of Sammy's head. "You didn't let your friend die! And you're no coward, either! So quit talking about yourself like that, got it?" "Got it, Mister Pines," Sammy mumbled, rubbing the spot where Stan just smacked him. "Listen, guys… I-I'd rather skip this entire part of what happened during the war. Aside from having to revisit and unpack all that trauma, it's… not something that kids your age should be hearing about. So let's not talk about it anymore. Please?"

After the emotional outburst that Sammy just had, none of the others even dreamed of forcing him to revisit whatever awful memories he had from the war. They apologized profusely and told him that they had no issue at all with him skipping ahead in his story.

"Thanks, everyone," Sammy said gratefully, a sad smile on his lips. "It means a lot to me that you're all so understanding. Anyway, I… wait, where was I?" He laughed sharply. "Leave it to me to lose my train of thought even when I'm telling my own story." "It was after the war," said Dipper. "You and Carlson were both awarded Medals of Honor. Then, judging by what you said earlier, the two of you… went your separate ways?" Sammy nodded. "Yeah, we separated not long after the war. We did see each other again at some point, but that's for later…"

"Right," Dipper said with a nod. "So the two of you separated, and then…" His eyes went wide in realization. "Wait, I just remembered. Didn't you and Isabelle promise to reunite after the war was over?" "Oh, yeah!," Mabel cried excitedly, eager for a happy ending. "You guys agreed to meet… Wait, where were you and Isabelle gonna meet again?" "We promised to meet in front of the old elementary school that we went to together," said Sammy. "It had been closed down and abandoned for years, even before Hutch and I were shipped off to the military. I think it was because of a huge spider infestation. I don't know much about it other than what I heard on the news, but apparently, one of my old teachers there, Mister Smith, went insane. They found him outside in his underwear, running around and screaming that Principal Hopkins was really some giant, man-eating spider that tried to eat him. He made such a fuss about it that the local police had to investigate just to shut him up." Sammy rolled his eyes. "Obviously, the principal turned out not to be a giant, man-eating spider, but they did find countless little spiders crawling around in the vents, underneath the floorboards, in the school basement, and even in the food! And no matter what pest control did, they couldn't get rid of them, so they had no choice but to shut the school down. I don't know what happened to Hopkins after that entire mess, though. I hope he did alright…" Then, upon realizing how off-track he was, he blushed and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I was supposed to be talking about my, uh… 'reunion' with Isabelle…"

"Yeah! Come on, spill all the juicy details!," Mabel said excitedly. "Was it as romantic as you imagined? Did you guys run to each other and kiss? Did Isabelle swoon into your arms and let you carry her home in the rain?" As Mabel went on and on, listing all the things that the two of them might have done, Sammy's smile slowly slipped until it was fully replaced by a gloomy frown. Finally, he decided to simply blurt it out. "There was no reunion," he said.

Mabel froze. She stared at Sammy in disbelief, her eyes wide with shock. "What?," she squeaked in a quiet voice. Sammy sighed heavily and looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "There was no reunion," he repeated. "Isabelle and I… never saw each other again."

"Whoa, whoa, hold the phone!," said Wendy. "What about that promise of you and her meeting each other in front of your old elementary school once you came back from the war? What happened to that plan?" "...I wrote her a letter, telling her I came back," Sammy said in a slow and melancholy tone. "She never replied. So I sent her another one. And another one. And another one. She didn't reply to any of them. So I kept sending her letter after letter, until finally, while I was staying in a motel, they were all sent back to me. And every single one of them was marked 'RETURN TO SENDER.' You can guess how that might have affected me…"

Dipper couldn't help but gasp, feeling both sorrow and pity for Sammy. His quick and sharp mind immediately connected the dots. As a little kid, Sammy kept sending letters to his estranged mother, pleading for her to come back. And every single one of them came back to him, marked "RETURN TO SENDER." Years later, the same thing happened to him, but instead of his mother, it was Isabelle, the love of his life, the person that he went through a terrible war for, just to see again. Dipper couldn't even imagine the mental anguish that Sammy must've felt at that moment, when he got back his letters to Isabelle… "But that makes no sense!," shouted Mabel, standing up with tears in her eyes. "You and Isabelle loved each other! How could she just… just…" "It made no sense to me either, Mabel," Sammy said sadly. "In fact, I refused to accept it. I started asking around. I went to the people that knew her. Her friends, her family… but I never got a concrete answer. So I went to the school anyway. The school where we were supposed to meet. I waited there for years. I slept on the sidewalk in front of the building, with cardboard as my mattress and wet newspapers as my blanket. Anyone who saw me would've mistaken me for a homeless person. I waited and waited… but she never came."

Everyone else was silent. None of them knew what to say at the moment. None of them were even sure if they should say something. Finally, it was Soos who broke the silence. "I still don't get it, dude," he said, scratching under his cap in confusion. "Why would Isabelle… you know… leave you hanging like that?" The handyman was pretty certain that there were much better ways of saying that last part, but at the moment, he just couldn't think of any.

"Well, I did get one answer," said Sammy. "I went to talk to her parents at one point, to ask them if they had any idea where she went. They didn't know the answer either, but they did note a few things that were kind of… harrowing when I first heard them. When Isabelle came back home, she was… not doing too well, considering she had to see me go off to war the day before. She was constantly crying, didn't come out of her room unless it was to get something to eat, and for a while, she even gave up on pursuing her career as a psychologist. She got better eventually, and began attending a postgraduate psychology institution that wasn't too far from her home, but still… hearing how much she went through definitely… you know…"

Sammy cleared his throat awkwardly and continued. "Anyway, her mood began to improve, but then… she started bringing home a fellow student… some guy." Though he tried to hide his disdain, it still managed to seep into his voice. "Isabelle's parents didn't know much of what was going on between them - they were being very secretive for some reason - but the things that they did notice was… worrying. The guy that Isabelle brought home with her was extremely… controlling. And he was very arrogant too, always going on and on about how he was going to become the 'richest man in the world' and how 'lucky' Isabelle was to have met him. He was… I'm going to use a bad word here, he was a complete and utter bastard. Keep in mind, those were all the things that Isabelle's parents told me. I've never met the guy in person before, and I'm thankful for that." Sammy glared down at the floor, as though he was trying to set the carpet on fire with his eyes. "Isabelle's parents tried to warn her," he continued in a low, quiet voice. "They told her that he was a 'bad egg' who only cared about himself. But that guy… He had Isabelle in a stranglehold. No matter what they said, Isabelle would always defend him. Her parents even asked her, 'What about that Sammy you told us about? Aren't you waiting for him to return from the war?' To which she responded…" Sammy's breath hitched mid-sentence, and he had to stop for a moment to gather his emotions, wiping his eyes again.

"T-to which she responded… 'Sammy's not coming back from the war. He's probably dead by now. I have to move on.' That was what she told them." Unable to contain his sadness, Sammy was openly crying in front of the others for what felt like the hundredth time. "And it had only been a few months since we last saw each other! A few months! How does that make any sense? How could she have moved on so quickly? Who was that guy?!" Then, upon realizing that he was about to make another scene, he quickly reigned his emotions back in.

"Like I said, Isabelle and… and that guy… were very secretive. Even after she brought him home with her multiple times, her parents couldn't even get his name. That was how little they knew about him. And Isabelle… changed before their very eyes. She grew thinner, more pale. She ate less. She became more dependent on this guy, practically clinging to him when they were in the same room together, mindlessly agreeing with everything he said. And there was nothing her parents could do. And then, one day… they were just gone. Gone from the house. And all the money in the house was missing. Her parents called the police, and there was a small search party, but they didn't do much else. It was a different time, back when the police didn't take these things as seriously as they should. They told her parents not to worry, that teenagers ran away from home all the time, that she was probably fine." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Probably. Obviously, that didn't make her parents feel any better."

"But did they ever find out what happened?," asked Dipper. "Did they ever find out who that guy was? Or where they went?" Sammy couldn't help but shoot Dipper a somewhat harsh what-do-you-think look, but quickly reigned it back. "No, they never did," he sighed. "Even today, it's remained one big mystery. For a long time afterwards, I thought over what Isabelle's parents told me, trying to piece it all together. And… I think I have a theory." Everyone else in the room couldn't help but lean in, eager to hear it. "I think whoever took Isabelle… was a conman," said Sammy. "See, Isabelle's family wasn't exactly rich, but they were pretty well-off, probably in the top ten percent. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that whoever Isabelle met decided to use her to get to her family's assets. It would explain why all their money went missing."

The others nodded and murmured amongst themselves, somewhat agreeing to his theory. However, the only one who remained silent was, ironically, the only conman in the room. Stan kept his eyes on the floor, his face twisted into a scowl, and his hands tightly gripping the armrests of his chair in anger. Then, he felt another hand touching his own, and looked up to see Sammy comfortingly holding his hand, a look of concern on his face. "It's alright, Mister Pines," Sammy said softly. "I know that you would never do something like that. Well, even if your business practices still leave much to be desired." Stan quickly calmed down, but he was still understandably miffed about what he heard. "I'm definitely no saint," he grumbled. "And I've swindled my fair share of rubes in the past. But even I've got some standards."

"I know you do," said Sammy, giving him a small smile. "Do… Do you hate Isabelle now?," Mabel suddenly asked worriedly. "Are you mad at her for… leaving you?" Sammy turned to look at Mabel, then sighed and shook his head. "No," he said. "I could never hate her, even if I tried. I still love her. I just have to accept that whatever happened to her… was something that she had no control over. It doesn't make it hurt any less though…" He sighed heavily.

"Anyway, once I realized that she was not coming back, I sort of became… a drifter. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple of bucks in my pocket. I just wandered wherever, with no set destination in mind. Those were probably the slowest and dullest years of my life. Without Isabelle, Hutch, or Carlson, everything felt… meaningless. It was almost funny in a way. As a bully, I used to have no issues with being all on my own. But after the war, with nobody by my side… I've never felt more alone in my entire life. And it didn't help that I had to lay low for a few years. Back then, soldiers weren't treated the best, even after the war ended. I've had people call me all these terrible names, names like 'monster,' 'devil,' and 'baby killer.' Whenever I met a stranger on the street, I couldn't be sure if they would ignore me, chase me away, or spit on me as they passed by." "Okay, that is bullsh*t!," Wendy suddenly yelled as she bolted to her feet. "Wendy! Not in front of Dipper and Mabel!," Sammy said sharply.

Wendy winced. "Right, right, sorry. Let me rephrase that." She cleared her throat. "Okay, that is baloney! So you came back from a literal war, all traumatized and stuff, and that was the welcome people gave you?! Calling you names and spitting on you?! I mean, what was wrong with those people?!" "Yeah, I agree!," Dipper cried, just as angry as Wendy. "Why would they treat people like that, after all the things they've been through? It makes no sense!" "I-I-I don't get it, dude!," said Soos, trying to wrap his brain around it. "Like… why?" Meanwhile, Mabel looked like she was about to start crying again, and Stan looked furious at just the thought of one of his employees being threatened and harassed, glaring down at the floor.

"Guys, please calm down," sighed Sammy, getting ready for another history lesson. "I'll explain everything." After everyone calmed down, he continued. "The Vietnam War wasn't… quite the same as the ones before it. Of course, I'm not saying that any war is more or less terrible than the others. But this was a time when technology was practically skyrocketing. So many new things were being made all the time. Computers, microwave ovens… and televisions. The Vietnam War was the first war in history to be broadcast to the public through television. For the first time, people back home could actually see what was going on in Vietnam. They saw the deaths, the atrocities, the killings… You can imagine the backlash that came from it all. The war was extremely controversial, and many people were against it. Unfortunately, that also meant… that anyone who participated in the war, even soldiers, were often looked down upon as these heartless, mindless killing machines." "But that's not fair!," Mabel finally cried out.

"...No. You're right, Mabel. It's not," sighed Sammy. He began petting Waddles again, but his mind was far away. "Hutch was the sweetest, kindest, and most gentle person I've ever met in my life," he murmured. "He didn't have a choice. None of us did. We were all drafted. And yet, there are people out there who think he's a monster, even though they don't even know him. If he had survived the war and came back home with us, only for all these people to treat him with such hatred and disdain… I don't want to imagine how that would've affected him…"

"What about Carlson?," Dipper asked curiously. "How did he handle all of it?" Sammy was deep in thought for a moment. "Carlson was… a different case. It turned out that he had resources. A lot of resources. If anyone despised him for fighting in the war, they couldn't lash out against him without facing some… severe repercussions." He noticed the confused looks that everyone else was giving him and proceeded to explain further. "So it took about a decade or so before I finally noticed my, um… non-aging problem. Nobody I came to could explain my condition - no doctors, no medical specialists, no lifestyle gurus… On top of losing Isabelle and the trauma from the war, this just felt like another needless complication to my miserable life… Then one day, I received something that I wasn't expecting. A letter from Carlson, inviting me to his weapons development company. The next day, a limo came to pick me up…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Sammy stood outside the motel he was currently staying in, his fingers clutched the letter he received from Carlson, someone he hadn't even spoken to in more than ten years. His thoughts were running a mile a minute. Since when did Carlson own a weapons development company? Why reach out to him now? What else did he not know about his old friend?

After a few minutes, a long, black limo suddenly pulled up on the street in front of him. It was sleek and spotless, without a single visible dent or mark on it. It looked brand new. For all Sammy knew, it really was brand new. The black-tinted window of the driver's side slowly went down, revealing a rather intimidating man wearing dark sunglasses and a black suit.

"You Samuel Finch?," the driver asked in a low, gruff voice. Sammy nodded wordlessly. "Get in," said the driver, before facing forwards and closing up the window. Then, the door to the back opened on its own, beckoning him in. Sammy would have made a joke about getting into strangers' cars, but he felt that this was an inappropriate time. So without saying a word, he got inside the limo, and the door closed behind him. As the limo started driving, Sammy could not help but look around curiously, having never seen the inside of a limo before. It was a bit small, but still quite comfortable. The seat he was on had soft, leathery cushions. The floor of the limo even had a fur rug for some reason. As for the driver, Sammy couldn't see him, since there was an entire wall separating him from the driver. Maybe for privacy or security reasons?

After a long drive that felt somewhat short to Sammy, the limo finally stopped, and the door opened on its own. Sammy stepped out, letting his eyes slowly acclimate to the sunlight, then gaped at the massive building in front of him. Actually, calling it a building would've been far too much of an understatement. It was more like a skyscraper. It loomed over him, casting its shadow like a mountain does over a valley. It was so tall that as Sammy craned his neck to look up at it, he felt a deep sense of vertigo, causing him to nearly trip backwards. On the front of the tower was a large billboard, with two letters printed on it in bright neon lights: DI. For…

"Doomsday Industries," Sammy let out a gasp. Doomsday Industries was the largest, most powerful, most influential, and most controversial technology company in America, if not the entire world. They were responsible for providing half of the U.S. military's budget, and also led numerous advancements in missile technology, firearms, and even nuclear bombs. As for the controversy, Doomsday Industries also had a reputation of putting money and resources before human lives, for the purpose of "advancing the prosperity of the human race."

Their name was a little bit on the nose, though. Could've used some work.

"There he is!," a voice suddenly cried out. "The man of the hour! Sammy boy!" Tearing his gaze from the building, Sammy saw a young man running towards him with open arms. He was holding a cane in one hand, and wore a white suit with coattails. He also wore pearl white gloves, black dress shoes, and his chin was covered in rough stubble. His eyes, though kind and welcoming, were also wide and bloodshot, and he had dark rings under them.

Though he was definitely older, Sammy immediately recognized him. "C-Carlson?," he asked in disbelief. Carlson ran up to him and scooped him up in a big bear hug. "How long has it been, eh, Sammy?," he laughed, ruffling Sammy's hair and putting him back down. "Too long, if you ask me! Why, I… Hold on." Suddenly, Carlson leaned towards Sammy's face, staring at him unnervingly. "Strange. If I didn't know my eyes weren't deceiving me, I could've sworn that you don't look a day older than when I last saw you…" "Oh, that," Sammy murmured, feeling a little bit embarrassed. "It's… a medical condition. I… think? Nobody can really explain it…"

"...I see," said Carlson, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Ah, well! Let's move on, shall we? I didn't invite you here just for small talk, after all." He suddenly grabbed Sammy by the hand and began pulling him along in a rather rough manner. Sammy had no choice but to follow Carlson to the building, even though he didn't really want to. Despite there being nothing to worry about, since he knew that Carlson would never actually hurt him, he still couldn't help but feel a sense of dread, almost as if… something was going to happen very soon. In fact, he was almost sure of it. Whether it was going to be good or bad remained to be seen.

As they walked towards the building, Carlson proceeded to explain everything. "I have some explaining to do, don't I?," he sighed in a somewhat dramatic manner. "Yes, I hid some things from you and Hutch. However, I did not tell a single lie! Only… withheld some information that I felt you weren't ready to learn. But now that it's been years since the war finally ended, it's time to come clean." "Thanks, but I was able to piece it together by myself," said Sammy. "Your full name is Carlson Vermilion. Your family owns Doomsday Industries, one of the most powerful technology and weapons development companies in the world. They are the wealthiest people in the world, and you are the heir who is next in line to inherit Doomsday Industries."

Carlson stared at Sammy in bemusement, blinking rapidly. Then, he laughed again and thumped him on the back. "I always knew you had a sharp mind in that head of yours!," he said. "You almost got it all right. My father passed away last week, and all of his assets have already been signed over to me. So I'm no longer the heir of Doomsday Industries. I am the new CEO! Pretty cool, huh?" "Uh, yeah, pretty cool," said Sammy. "I'm sorry about your father."

"I'm not!," Carlson snorted, a bitter expression forming on his face. "He was a harsh, cruel, and overbearing son of a b*h! Always going on and on about how important it is to be a man, how I'll never matter in this world if I don't live up to his impossible standards! Kind of like your father, Sammy. Why do you think I had to fight in the war? I didn't want to, and nobody in the world had the authority to make me! Nobody but my father, anyway. He didn't want a wimp for a son, and thought that sending me to hell on earth was a good way to toughen me up. He was a b*d! The world's a whole lot better without him in it, I can tell you that!"

Sammy stared at Carlson in shock. This… was not the same Carlson he remembered ten years ago. This was an entirely different person. Carlson quickly got his anger under control and gave Sammy a disarming smile. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "The war's changed me in more ways than one. My father grooming me to become the new CEO over the past decade definitely didn't help matters." His expression turned to a more guilty one. "Listen, the reason why I never told you or Hutch about any of this… was because I didn't want you guys to treat me differently. That's why I never told you my last name, or anything about my family. I've had plenty of people pretend to be my friend, only for them to reveal themselves as the despicable, vile, bloodsucking, backstabbing, two-faced serpents they really were! But you and Hutch were different. You saw me for who I am, not for my status. And I'll always be grateful…"

Then, Carlson gazed downwards and frowned. "I also see that you're, uh… wearing the sweater that Hutch gave you for your birthday," he said uncomfortably. "Oh, yeah," Sammy said with a sad smile, looking down at his sweater. "I never leave home without it. And I also wear the glasses that you gave me on that same day." He took off his glasses and held them up for Carlson to see. "I never realized how much I needed them. So… thanks for that."

"You're welcome," Carlson muttered, glaring ahead. "Come on, I've got a lot to show you." Sammy noticed the sudden change in Carlson's mood once Hutch was mentioned, but chose not to say anything. Instead, he silently followed Carlson into the building, which seemed so much larger than on the outside that it was staggering. The inside was like a laboratory, with the walls and floor being completely white and clean. And it was far from empty. Everywhere he looked, Sammy saw dozens of people in white lab coats marching like an army of ants.

"Let me show you around," Carlson said with an excited grin, dragging Sammy around the premises. The place was absolutely massive, so it took a while for the two of them to get from one point to another. As Carlson dragged Sammy around, he showed him all kinds of new technologies and weapons that they were currently developing. Glue that could hold up a truck. Hoverboards that could support the weight of a grown man. Lasers that could cause intense pain without damaging the skin. Projectiles that could track the body heat of a target. Ice rays that could instantly freeze people where they stood. Nanoscopic robots that could burrow into a person's brain and kill them from the inside. So many dangerous and terrifying weapons that, up until now, Sammy thought had only existed in science-fiction movies and novels.

After the "tour" was over, Carlson took Sammy all the way to the top of the building by elevator, where his new office was. He sat down behind his mahogany desk, in a black swivel chair, with his arms crossed behind his head, and eagerly smiled at Sammy. "So what did you think?," he asked. Sammy, whose legs were sore from all the walking, as well as frazzled and worried from everything that was just shown to him, could only stare at Carlson. Then, when he realized that Carlson was waiting for an answer, he quickly said, "Uh… It was… interesting… I guess. But… you still haven't told me why you showed me all of that…" Carlson blinked, then laughed and rapped his head with an enclosed fist. "You're right! Where's my head? I haven't even told you why I brought you here in the first place! Sammy boy, I have an offer for you…" He stood up and held out his arms in a grand gesture. "How would you like to become the new COO of Doomsday Industries?" Sammy stared silently. "Wait… what?," he gasped.

"I think you heard me just fine, Sammy," Carlson said with a grin. "With the two of us working together, we could become the kings of the world! Doomsday Industries will become more influential and more powerful than ever before under our leadership! And you… You will have unlimited access to all of DI's assets and personnel! Of course, you'll still have to answer to me, since I'm the CEO and all… but as the new COO, you will be the one in charge whenever I'm not in the picture! Doesn't that sound great?" "W-wait a minute!," cried Sammy as he shook his head, overwhelmed by what was happening. "Why me? Why do you want me to be the COO of your company? Don't you have other candidates who are way more qualified than me?" "Aw, don't be so modest, Sammy!," said Carlson, waving off his concerns. "Why, I can't think of one person who is more qualified than you! Besides, this is the least I could do for you. I wouldn't be alive right now if you hadn't saved us from the jungles of Vietnam. Consider this as a thank you gift in return." He sharply clapped his hands together. "So, then! What do you think?"

As Carlson stared at Sammy with a wide smile, eager to hear a yes, Sammy sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Carlson," he said. "I can't accept your offer." Slowly, the wide smile on Carlson's face vanished, and was replaced with a cold, stony expression. "...What?," he said in a voice that chilled Sammy to the bone. The latter winced, but remained firm.

"I… I can't be a part of this. Everything you've just shown me… D-don't you see what's wrong with all of this?" Carlson slowly sat back down and narrowed his eyes. "I don't see what the problem is," he said in a low, angry voice. "So why don't you enlighten me?"

"Carlson, you and I have been through war together," said Sammy, his voice slightly trembling. "We've encountered men who tried to kill us with guns, fire bombs, flamethrowers, planes, and all kinds of other sh*t! There's already more than enough weapons out there, and now you're trying to make more of them?! What if the military starts using your heat lasers and freeze rays in future wars? What if more people die from these weapons? What if… W-what if Hugo gets his hands on some of them?!" For a very brief moment, Carlson's face turned pale with fear upon hearing that name again. "Do not say his name!," he hissed. "Never, ever, ever say that name in front of me again, do you understand me?!" He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down, then glared at Sammy. "I think you're the one who's not getting it, Sammy. We are a weapons development company. If we don't produce weapons, we don't make money. And as for… HIM… he's not getting any of my weapons. Not over my dead body."

"I… I'm sorry, Carlson," sighed Sammy. "I just can't. You'll have to find yourself another COO." Carlson glared down at his desk, lost in thought. He had been so sure that Sammy would accept his offer with open arms. This was not how he expected things to go at all. "I didn't want to believe it," he murmured. "But you really have changed, haven't you? The old Sammy would have jumped at the chance to join me." "The old Sammy is dead, Carlson," Sammy said gently. "He died back in Vietnam. Along with Hutch." "I can see that," Carlson snorted. "Do you… Do you have any idea what you've just turned down? Anyone else would've killed for a position like this…" For a moment, Carlson looked like he was about to flip his desk over. But fortunately, he managed to calm down. "Alright," he said in a business-like tone, standing up and straightening his tie. "I respect your decision, Sammy. If this is what you want, then I won't stop you. But after all that you've done for me… it wouldn't feel right to let you leave empty-handed."

To Sammy's confusion, Carlson picked up a nearby phone, dialed in a number, and waited for someone to pick up. In only two seconds flat, someone did. "Hello? Yes, it's me. I need you to do something for me. Yes, his name is Samuel Finch. Remember what we talked about earlier. Yes, make it snappy. Did you already do it? Good." He then hung up.

That phone call barely lasted ten seconds. "Um… Who was that?," asked Sammy. "Not someone you need to be concerned about," Carlson replied. "Anyway, congratulations. You're officially a billionaire now." "...Okay," Sammy said uncertainly. "Is that supposed to lead to some kind of joke or…?" "It's no joke," said Carlson, shaking his head. "I've just had some of my top men make a bank account for you. And they've wired approximately 100 billion dollars to that account. So I say this again: Congratulations. You're officially a billionaire now."

"Heh. Funny joke, Carlson," Sammy chuckled uncomfortably. Carlson stared at him with cold, serious eyes. There was not an ounce of humor in them. That was when Sammy realized that this was no joke. The forced smile slipped from Sammy's face. His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. "Wait… You're serious?" "Hmph! Of course I am!," scoffed Carlson.

"But… W-w-wait a minute!," cried Sammy, scarcely believing what he heard. "You can't just do something like that with one phone call!" "You can if you know the right people," Carlson retorted. "And making a bank account for someone is not difficult at all, as long as you have that person's Social Security Number." "How the hell did you get my Social Security Number?!," cried Sammy. "I have my ways," Carlson said smugly, casually checking his fingernails.

"But… But what about the money?!," cried Sammy. "I mean, 100 billion dollars?! Won't people get suspicious of that?!" "Certainly," Carlson said calmly. "The bank, the IRS, the FBI… Yes, they could give you some trouble… if they hadn't already been either bribed or silenced." "W-w-what?!," Sammy squawked. "You can't just… just…" "Sure you can," said Carlson. "With enough money, power, and influence, anything is possible. Don't go worrying yourself into an early grave, Sammy boy. I can assure you that everything has been taken care of."

"I… I need to sit down… Oh, god…," Sammy gasped, having trouble breathing. Carlson raised an eyebrow and gestured to a spare chair in front of him. Sammy sat down in it and took deep breaths to calm himself down. His mind was racing a mile a minute. Finally, he shook his head and looked up at Carlson. "I… I can't accept this." Carlson scowled. "So first you rejected my offer, and now you're rejecting my money?," he asked crossly. Sammy's eyes widened. "No! No, that's not what I meant!," he said frantically. "It's just… It's too much! It's way too much! 100 billion dollars… That would make me the richest person in the entire world!" "Ah, ah, ah!," said Carlson, shaking his finger at Sammy before pointing at himself. "Second richest."

"R-right. But it's still too much!," cried Sammy. "What do I even do with all that money?" "Whatever you want," Carlson said with a shrug. "Buy a private island, spend it all on girls and booze, use it for toilet paper. But I absolutely insist that you accept my gift. And this time, I'm not taking no for an answer." Sammy sighed heavily, already knowing that this was a losing battle. "Alright, fine," he murmured. "I'll accept your gift of… 100 billion dollars, holy crap. Even when saying it out loud, it still doesn't sound real…" Without warning, Carlson suddenly took Sammy's hand and shook it so hard that his arm threatened to pop out of its socket. "It's definitely a much better gift than those glasses I gave you, eh?," the former asked, laughing heartily.

Sammy smiled through the pain. "Actually… I like the glasses more."

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At that point, Sammy had to pause in his story. Mostly because he just noticed that everyone else was staring at him like they were seeing a ghost. "Uh… guys?," he asked. "Is something wrong?" He felt around his face. "Do I still have ice cream on my face?"

"Dude… You're a billionaire?!," cried Wendy. "Geez!," said Stan, letting out a chuckle of bewilderment. "When you told me a few days ago that you could afford an entire house… you really weren't kidding. You could buy a mansion with that kind of money!" Sammy frowned and sighed heavily. "I was hoping we could skip this part," he muttered. "But yeah, I'm a billionaire. Now you know, big whoop." "I'm not sure what the big deal is, guys," said Mabel, being the only one who wasn't surprised by this new information. "So Sammy has a lot of money. That's not as weird as him being a hundred years old, right?" "Thank you, Mabel!," Sammy huffed. "You are totally right! Sure, I'm rich, but that doesn't mean I'm not the same old Sammy you guys already know and love. Also, I'm sixty eight, not a hundred." "You got to admit, it's still surprising," said Dipper, still trying to wrap his head around what he just heard. "This whole summer, the person who's been sleeping in the same room as us could secretly buy the entire town if he wanted to!" Then, a realization came to him. "Wait a minute," he said with a confused frown. "If you've had that much money the whole time, why did you never say anything when Gideon took the shack away from us? Why didn't you let us crash in a five-star hotel room so we didn't have to move in with Soos' abuelita? No offense, Soos." "None taken, dude," said the handyman.

"Dipper, think about it," Sammy deadpanned. "If someone you thought you knew really well suddenly decided to hook you up with a 'five-star hotel room,' something that you thought that person could never afford, wouldn't you start asking questions?" Dipper pondered over it for a moment, and had to concede. "Now that I think about it, there were actually clues all along," Wendy spoke up, starting to count on her fingers. "You work at the shack for free, you always give Lazy Susan outrageously big tips, you bought Robbie that fancy phone… It all seemed kind of obvious in hindsight." "So, uh, kid…," said Stan, suddenly wrapping his arm around Sammy's shoulders with a giant grin on his face. "Have I ever told you that you're my favorite employee?" "Hey!," Wendy and Soos cried out in unison. Sammy chuckled. "No, I don't think you have," he said coyly. "It's nice to be appreciated… but I'm not giving you any of my money, Mister Pines. You're running your own business, you've got plenty." Instead of getting upset, Stan just leaned back in his chair. "Welp, can't say I didn't try," he chuckled as he crossed his arms.

"So what did you do with all that money?," Dipper asked curiously. "You didn't just leave it all sitting in that new bank account, did you?" "Well, you have to remember, 100 billion dollars is a huge amount of money, even by today's standards," said Sammy. "So imagine having that much money in the 1980s. Back then, even having more than five billion was unheard of, not counting Carlson, of course. I didn't know what to do with that money, and honestly, I was still kind of afraid to touch it, so I just left it alone. I did put it to good use later on, but I'll get to that later. After my… interesting visit to Carlson's company, I sort of went back to being a drifter. I didn't touch a single cent of the money - a part of me honestly thought I was going to have the FBI knocking on my door if I did - so I stayed in this run-down apartment for a couple of years. One day, I got a phone call. It was from a hospital of all places. I can still remember the exact conversation, word for word." To the others' confusion, Sammy started making phone noises with his mouth. "Ring, ring!" Then, he pretended to pick up an imaginary phone.

"'Hello?' 'Hello, this is the Evergreen Hills Hospital. Am I speaking to Samuel Finch right now?' 'Yes, this is Samuel Finch. Why are you calling me? Did something happen?'" Meanwhile, the others in the room watched Sammy's… charade(?) in slight bemusement, wondering what this was leading up to. "What is he doing?," Dipper whispered to Mabel. "I have no idea, but I'm kind of loving it!," Mabel whispered back. Soos shushed them both, also invested in… whatever Sammy was doing. "'I'm afraid I have grave news for you, Mister Finch,'" Sammy continued as he imitated the nurse on the other end of the call. "'It's about your father.' 'M… my father? Why? What happened to him? Is he alright?!'" The twins visibly tensed up. They were the only ones in the group who had the displeasure of meeting Sammy's father face-to-face, and the experience still stuck with them to this day. "'I'm afraid not, Mister Finch. Your father is ill. He only has a few days left to live. We at the Evergreen Hills Hospital have a responsibility to contact the kin of our patients when they are on the verge of death and notify them of the situation. If you–' 'I'll be right over! Just give me the address, please!' 'Alright, here is our hospital address. It's…'"

It was honestly disturbing how much Sammy was getting into the act. He looked and sounded panicked, as though he was actually receiving this news for the first time. "'Alright, I'll be right over! Tell him to hang on and that his son's on the way!'" He pretended to hang up by slamming the imaginary phone down on an imaginary table. Then, he let out a deep breath and looked up at the others' reaction. "...Wow. You were, uh, really getting into it, huh?," asked Stan. "I'm surprised that you still remember the exact words," said Wendy. Sammy shrugged. "Well, it is kind of easy to remember a conversation you've had about one of the few people left in your life dying…" There was an awkward silence after that. Sammy cleared his throat. "A-anyway!," he said. "I got to the hospital as fast as I could. And fortunately, I wasn't too late…"

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Sammy burst through the hospital doors, frightening the few people who were in the waiting room. They gave him dirty glares, but he ignored them all. Instead, he went straight up to the front desk and frantically rang the bell on it. Eventually, a tired and angry looking nurse emerged from the back of the room and walked up to the front desk. "What?!," she snapped at him, clearly in no mood to be nice to anyone. "I'm Samuel Finch! I'm here for my father! He's supposed to be a patient here!," Sammy said frantically. The nurse's face softened. "Ah, you're here for him. Unfortunately, our hands are full at the moment. You'll have to wait."

So for the next ten minutes, Sammy had no choice but to sit in the waiting room until the nurse called him back. The whole time, he was practically on the verge of a mental breakdown, breathing heavily while drumming his fingers on his knees. Exactly ten minutes later, the nurse came back and gave Sammy a pitying look. "I'm sorry," she said. "I spoke with your father. For some reason, he doesn't want to see you." "What?!," cried Sammy, bolting to his feet, much to the alarm of everyone else in the room. "But he's my father! I have to see him!"

The nurse remained adamant. "I'm sorry, but at the Evergreen Hills Hospital, the comfort of our patients is top priority. If he doesn't want to see you, then he won't see you. I'm afraid you will have to leave." Sammy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He came all this way, hoping to see his father one last time, only to be denied when he finally arrived? He racked his brain for ideas, and could only come up with one idea. One very bad idea, which he quickly acted upon as soon as the nurse looked away for a brief moment. He ran right past her, rules of the hospital be damned. "What th– Hey!," she shouted. "What are you doing?! Stop! SECURITY!"

Ignoring the cries behind him, Sammy ran through the halls, looking into each room to see which one his father was in. But there was no such luck. He quickly found himself at a dead end, and when he turned around, he was met with the sight of three burly men in black uniforms running straight towards him. For just a very brief moment, Sammy could've sworn that instead of three security guards, he saw three Vietnamese soldiers covered in blood and flames, aiming their bayonets at his stomach. That caused him to freeze up, which was just the opportunity that the security guards needed to grab him all at once and then pin him against the wall.

To the guards' surprise, Sammy not only began to fight back. He started pushing against all three of them, causing their shoes to slide back across the slippery floor. Then, he sent one of them flying to the ground with a hard shove, knocked back the second guard with a punch to the face, and kicked the third guard's legs out from underneath him. "STOP!," he cried. "I don't want to fight! I just want to see my father!" The guards, though moaning in pain and slow to get up, were about to continue the fight when a loud and authoritative voice rang through the halls. "What is going on here?!" Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and turned their heads. A middle-aged man strode towards them, wearing a white lab coat, brown tweed clothes underneath, and large round glasses sitting on a bulbous nose. He was short and rotund, like a ball with arms and legs, but he exuded an aura of authority nonetheless. Upon seeing the man, Sammy couldn't help but be instantly reminded of Principal Hopkins. The guards quickly stood at attention. Meanwhile, the nurse from earlier was frantically following after the man.

"Dr. Miller, I am so, so, so sorry!," the nurse was rambling. "I tried to tell him he couldn't see the patient, but then he ran past me, so I had to call security on him and–!" Dr. Miller held up a hand to get her to stop talking, his eyes fixated on Sammy. Once again, Sammy couldn't help but be reminded of his old school principal. The doctor's eyes were just as sharp, piercing, and hawklike as Hopkin's. Sammy felt like a little kid again, being stared down by the principal after beating up another student for the hundredth time. "I am Dr. Miller, the administrator of the Evergreen Hills Hospital," the doctor spoke in a calm but angry voice. "And I would really like to know why you've decided to barge in here unannounced and cause such a ruckus."

"I… I heard my father is here," said Sammy, hoping to make a case for himself. "He's dying… He doesn't have much time left… I got here as fast as I could, but the nurse wouldn't let me see him…" "And I already told you!," the nurse snapped in exasperation. "The patient does not want to see you! It is our job to put our patients' priorities first, and furthermore–!"

"Please, you don't understand! I have to see him!," Sammy pleaded. "I-I-I have so many questions for him, and I… I just need to know why he–!" "Enough," said Dr. Miller, holding up his hand again. "No matter how you feel in this situation, Nurse Harriet is right. Our patients come first. You three." He snapped his fingers at the security guards. "Get him out of here."

The three guards grabbed Sammy by the arms and began to drag him away. "Wait! No, please!," Sammy started pleading again. Ignoring his pleas, Dr. Miller and Nurse Harriet began to walk away. This time, Sammy no longer had the drive to resist, and could only let himself be dragged through the hall. Right as they were about to turn the corner, he couldn't hold it in any more. He took in a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'M AFRAID!"

It was as though time itself had frozen. The guards stopped dragging him. Dr. Miller and Nurse Harriet stopped and turned around. A few other staff members and patients also poked their heads out the rooms to see what all that noise was, but a stern look from the doctor made them go back inside. Slowly, Dr. Miller walked towards Sammy until he was in front of him, then crossed his arms behind his back. "Afraid of what? Losing your father?," he asked.

Sammy shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm… I'm afraid of…" He sighed heavily. "I'm afraid of being kept in the dark. I'm afraid that this might be my last chance to finally understand why my father… why he treated me the way he did. I'm not afraid of losing him, and I don't want an apology from him. It's too late for that. I just want to understand why. I'm afraid that if he dies tonight… If I don't get the chance to talk to him one last time, I'll…" His breath hitched. "I'll never know how my life became so sh*tty and miserable. I'll never be able to move on…"

Sammy hung his head and didn't say anything more, which prompted the guards to start dragging him away again. However, Dr. Miller stopped them with a raise of his hand once again. He looked down at Sammy with an unreadable expression on his face. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?," he asked. Sammy nodded morosely, not meeting his eyes. The doctor was silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he did something that nobody else had expected.

"Let him see his father." Sammy looked up at him in shock, his mouth wide open. Even the guards were taken aback by this turn of events. The person who was most shocked by what just happened was Nurse Harriet. "B-but sir! Our policy–!," she protested. "I think we can make an exception just this once," Dr. Miller said calmly. He gave a nod to the guards, who quickly let go of Sammy and stood at attention like the soldiers back in the military. "Nurse Harriet, please escort him to his father's room. And as for you, Mister Finch." The doctor gave Sammy a stern glare. "If you make another scene in my hospital, I will have you thrown out. Understood?" Once again, Sammy couldn't help but draw parallels between Dr. Miller and Principal Hopkins from his old school. The similarities were downright uncanny. "Y-yes sir. I understand," he said. Dr. Miller nodded his head, then turned and walked away with his hands held behind his back.

Nurse Harriet snorted in irritation and scowled at Sammy. "Well, you've certainly made a mess of things, haven't you?" She sighed. "Follow me. I'll take you to see your father, although I am still not in agreement with what just occurred." As she began walking down the hall, Sammy made sure to stay behind and make sure the guards were okay before following her. "Hey, um… I'm sorry for shoving you," he said to the first guard. "And punching you in the face," he said to the second guard. "And sweeping you off your feet," he said to the third guard. "But… we're cool now… right?" Two of the security guards simply grumbled under their breaths and walked away, their pride clearly more wounded than their bodies. But the third guard - who appeared to be a bit younger than the others, now that Sammy had a better look at him - gave him a smile and a thumbs up. "Sweet moves back there," he said before following after his colleagues.

Satisfied that he didn't rough them up too badly, Sammy quickly ran after Nurse Harriet, who was impatiently waiting for him. She led him through the hospital building until they finally arrived at a room that seemed oddly… separate from the other rooms. The nurse stopped just outside of the room in the hallway and crossed her arms behind her back, then jerked her head impatiently, silently telling him that he could go inside. Sammy nodded in thanks and went into the room. Immediately, the air felt heavier, and though there was sunlight streaming through a window in the room, it still felt dark and musty. Sammy had no idea if that was actually the case, or if it was just his imagination. He immediately noticed the old man laying in the hospital bed in the middle of the room. Actually, he was more like a skeleton than a man. He was bald and thin, his eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and a plastic tube ran through his nose.

Sammy couldn't believe that this was the same man who used to beat him with a belt.

"Dad," he whispered gently, pulling a nearby chair from the wall and sitting down. "Is that you?" His father simply turned his head and glared at Sammy. Even on his deathbed, the hatred and disdain in his eyes from long ago was still present. "It's me. Sammy," said Sammy. "Do you remember me?" He reached out and touched his father's hand, but the latter quickly pulled his hand away with disdain. He looked over to Nurse Harriet, who was standing just outside of the door. "Why… did you… bring him here?," he asked in a weak, raspy voice. "I told you… I don't want… to see him…" Sammy looked over his shoulder at the nurse and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, can you give us some privacy? I want to talk to him alone, if that's alright."

Nurse Harriet rolled her eyes, but complied anyway and walked down the hall until the clicking of her heels faded away. Sammy turned back to face his father. "So… What, um… what happened?," he asked awkwardly. "I received a phone call from the hospital telling me you were dying, but… they didn't say what it was. Are you… coming down with something? Some kind of sickness or…?" His father continued glaring at him, not saying a single word.

"Right. Not in a talkative mood, got it," Sammy mumbled. After another period of silence between them, Sammy finally decided to cut to the chase. "I… I came here as fast as I could. I want to understand… No, I need to understand why you…" He closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, and began to vent. "You beat me when you were drunk, you beat me when you weren't drunk, you made fun of the letters I wrote to mom, you kept putting me down over and over and over again… You were never impressed by anything I've done, and you've done and said things to me that no father should ever do to their child! Why? Why did you do all of that?"

Sammy's father stubbornly looked away and glared up at the ceiling. "I don't need… to tell you… anything…," he wheezed. "...It was mom, wasn't it?," asked Sammy. "That was where it all started… right?" There was yet another moment of silence. "Dad, you're going to die soon anyway," said Sammy. It was an incredibly harsh thing to say, especially to your own parent, but he didn't really care at the moment. "Just tell me. Or are you really so spiteful that you'd keep it all bottled up, even when you're on the verge of death?" Still, there was no answer.

Sammy sighed in disappointment. At least I tried, he thought, and was about to stand up and leave when his father finally spoke. "We were happy once… Your mother and I…," he said in a raspy voice. "Then, she had you… And everything changed… When you were born… your mother saw you… for who you were… A burden!" He spat out that last word with such venom that it was actually astonishing. "She left… and saddled me with you… Everything changed after that… We were happy once… but you ruined it all…" The old, dying man slowly turned towards Sammy, his eyes filled with disgust and loathing. "Were you expecting… some phony reason… like toughening you up?" He laughed bitterly, but it came out of his mouth in sharp wheezes. "I beat you… and I mocked you… and demeaned you… because I hated you… with every fiber… of my being… And even now… as I look at you… I still find myself… hating you…"

Sammy shouldn't have been surprised. He should've known. He should've anticipated this. He shouldn't have expected anything different. So why did it still hurt so much?

"Thanks for being honest with me, at least," sighed Sammy. And suddenly, for whatever reason, it felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off his chest, a weight that he was not even aware of until now. The pain still lingered… but for the first time, Sammy felt that he could finally move on… At least from this. There were still quite a few other… "issues" he had to deal with, but for now, this was a good place to start. Once again, he reached out and grabbed his father's hand, and when the latter tried to pull his hand away, he refused to let go.

"I'm not going anywhere, dad," he said softly, a sad smile on his lips. "I'll be staying right here, by your side, until you pass on. And although I can't forgive you right now, and I probably never will, I just want to say one last thing before you go… I'm sorry. Things didn't have to turn out like this. I'm sorry…" And for the next few hours, as Sammy held onto his father's hand and refused to let go, the old man growled, spat, and cursed at him, calling him all sorts of terrible names, until finally, after just two hours, his movements began to slow, and he eventually went completely still, with the last words on his lips being a foul insult to his own son.

After what felt like forever, Sammy slowly let go of his father's cold, dead hand, and stood up from his chair. He then looked up at the window, just in time to see the sun setting behind the horizon. And then, he could say only one thing that came to his mind…

"...Goodness, I really need to see another therapist…"

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The air had never felt heavier than it did now. As Sammy stayed silent to let it all sink in, he watched everyone else's reactions, which varied from intense discomfort to downright shock. Dipper was looking down at his lap and playing with his fingers. Mabel had her sweater pulled up over her nose and her knees tucked inside, rocking back and forth. Soos had his cap pulled down, and he was taking a sudden interest in the floor. Stan's face was twisted into a grimace, occasionally opening his mouth as though to say something, but changing his mind and closing it again. Wendy was rubbing her arm and looking up at the ceiling. Even Waddles let out a quiet oink and worriedly dug his snout into Sammy's sweater, offering him a head scratch.

As the minutes ticked by in silence, Sammy finally decided to continue. "After my father died, I decided to see another therapist. I wanted to see Dr. Fitzgerald again, but… he passed away a while ago. It was from a heart attack, I think. Fortunately, he happened to have a close cousin who was also practicing as a therapist. His name was Dr. Orwell, though I started calling him Brian as time went by. He was definitely more… loose and carefree than his cousin, though he took his profession just as seriously. He was easy to talk to and very understanding."

Then, Sammy sighed and gave everyone an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, everyone. I'm sorry for putting you through all of this. My story is almost over, I promise. I just have one more thing to explain, and then… you can all decide if I'm worth keeping around or not."

The others went tense and glanced at each other worriedly. They didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. "What are you talking about?," asked Dipper, almost afraid to know the answer. Sammy sighed again, his breath loud and shaky. "It started off as a normal session…"

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"...and I still have nightmares about it," Sammy recounted, laying on a sleek, black couch while staring up at the ceiling lights, his hands folded across his chest. "Nightmares about them burning alive, or being riddled with bullet holes, or grenades blowing them into little chunks right in front of me. On top of that, my best friend is dead, I have no idea where Isabelle is or if she's even alive right now, my body just stopped aging for whatever reason, and on top of that, I saw my own father pass away in front of me only a few weeks ago! Seriously, if there's anyone out there who somehow has it worse than me, then I would really love to meet them!"

"Calm down, Sammy. Remember to breathe," said Dr. Orwell, or Brian as he insisted on being called. He had a similar appearance to his deceased cousin in many ways, but unlike Dr. Fitzgerald, Brian was noticeably younger, with far less wrinkles, red hair, and softer eyes. "Don't stress yourself out any more than necessary, alright?" Realizing that he was starting to enter yet another moment of hysteria, Sammy did as he was told and took deep breaths of air.

When Sammy and Brian first met, the latter rather naively assumed that the former was going to be no different than any of his other patients. During their first session together, he was proven wrong. Sammy was going through hardships that Brian could never have imagined were possible. Nevertheless, he was determined to help him to the best of his abilities.

This was their tenth session at the moment, and Brian already knew almost everything about Sammy: his checkered past as a bully, the abuse at the hands of his father, his eternally youthful appearance that no medical professional could explain, his participation in the Vietnam War and all the horrors he had witnessed there, and a list of mental health issues that were long enough to fill up an entire textbook. PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression, you name it.

"I believe the best thing to do is to tackle your issues one by one," said Brian, who was sitting in a red velvet chair across from Sammy, one leg crossed over the other while holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. "Yeah, I agree," sighed Sammy. "But where do we even start?" "Well, what better place to start than at the beginning?," asked Brian. He clicked his pen and leaned forward, preparing to jot down notes. "You said you used to be… a bully, right? Tell me, how do you feel when you look back on that part of your life? Do you feel any shame? Anger? Sadness?" "Try all of the above," said Sammy, with a little bit of snark in his voice. "I'm ashamed just thinking about it now. Ugh, I was such a little psycho back then…"

"Now, now," Brian said admonishingly. "I won't have a patient of mine demeaning themselves like that. You are not a psychopath. The fact that you feel remorse over your past actions proves it." He leaned back in his chair. "Let's start with some basic information. Where did you go to school?," he asked. "Redwoods Creek Elementary School," said Sammy. For a moment, Brian paused and raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That's… interesting…," he murmured to himself. Sammy lifted his head up from the pillow and gave Brian a questioning look. "What do you mean? Interesting how?," he asked. Brian blinked rapidly, shook his head, and smiled at him disarmingly. "Sorry, I didn't know I said that out loud," he said sheepishly. "Just an old man lost in his thoughts. Please ignore that." Sammy slowly placed his head back down.

"Let's move on to the kids you once bullied," said Brian. "Do you remember anything about them? Their looks or personalities? How about their names?" "I… It was all a long time ago," said Sammy. "I'm not sure if I can remember them all." He winced, hating how callous that sounded. "Just try. There's no pressure," said Brian. Sammy looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember. "Well, the names I can remember off the top of my head are Michael, Rudy, Harriet, Boris, Pablo, and… There was one more. What was his name…? Oh yeah, Darren."

SNAP! Sammy jumped, startled by the loud sound. He turned to face Brian and saw that he had snapped his pen in half. His face was frozen into an amicable smile, but his eyes told a different story. They were wide and horrified, like he had come to a terrible realization. Slowly, he looked up from his clipboard at Sammy, seemingly regarding him in a new light.

"Brian?," Sammy asked worriedly, sitting up. "Are you alright? What's wrong?" For a long and tense moment, Brian seemed to stare at Sammy as though he was actually seeing him for the first time. His smile grew bigger, but it was clearly forced. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, with a clear edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "Uh… Listen, Mister Finch. I'm afraid we'll have to cut our session a bit short today." Now Sammy knew that something was wrong. The two of them were already on a first name basis, so for Brian to suddenly revert back to being so formal set off alarm bells in Sammy's head. "What's going on? Did I do something wrong?"

"No! Not at all, not at all!," said Brian, trying and failing to sound reassuring. "It's just… I just remembered that… something came up, and it's going to take up the rest of my day. Sorry about that, but we'll have to cut our session short. But I'll see you at our usual time next week, alright?" "Um… o-okay?," Sammy said uncertainly, slowly getting up. "Brian, if I did something wrong, you know you can tell me, right?" Suddenly, Brian seemed to change into a completely different person. He bolted to his feet and glared at Sammy with hate-filled eyes, even baring his teeth like a rabid dog, his hands clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Don't call me that name!," he growled. "Do not call me Brian! To you, I am Dr. Orwell, not Brian! Only friends call me Brian, and you… You are no friend of mine!" "W-w-what?," Sammy stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing. "I-I don't understand. Where is this coming from?!"

"Don't act like you don't know!," yelled Brian, the dam finally bursting. To Sammy's shock, tears of anger began pouring down the therapist's face. "Why are you even here?! Why did you come to me?! Haven't you ruined my life enough?! I want you out! OUT!"

Before Sammy could even process what happened, Brian grabbed him and angrily shoved him out of the room before slamming the door shut between them. Sammy just stood there in the hallway, too shocked to do anything. A minute later, he heard Brain start sobbing loudly in his office. As Sammy stared at the door, he could only say one thing.

"...I don't understand," he murmured. "What did I do wrong?"

As much as Sammy wanted to go back into the room and confront Brian, he knew that this wasn't the right time, so he decided to head back to his apartment and allow his therapist to cool off. Waiting for their next session, counting down the days, was like torture. Finally, about a week later, Sammy returned to Brian's place of business for their therapy session. To his worry, Brian was not there. Fortunately, Brian was also one of those bigwig therapists who had his own receptionist, and she was kind enough to give Sammy her boss's home address.

Later that day, Sammy arrived at Brian's house - it was pretty average, much to his surprise - and knocked on the door. There was no answer. His worry growing tenfold, Sammy frantically circled around the house and found a window that had been carelessly left open. He climbed through the window into the house, and searched for Brian. The search didn't take too long. He quickly found his therapist in the living room, facedown on the dirty carpet.

For a moment, Sammy was afraid that Brian was dead. But looking around the room told a very different story. The floor was littered with dozens of empty beer bottles, and there was a half-full beer bottle clutched in Brian's hand. He was snoring loudly, and his appearance exactly mirrored the state of his living room: gritty, filthy, and in dire need of a good cleaning.

Gently and carefully, Sammy tiptoed over the bottles and shook Brian's shoulder. "Hey. Bria– I mean, Dr. Orwell. Are you okay?," he asked worriedly. It took a while, but eventually, he was able to shake Brian awake. The therapist groaned and slowly sat up before clutching his head in pain, clearly suffering from a severe hangover. He stared at Sammy with dull, bleary, and bloodshot eyes. "Sammy? What are you doing here? How did you get into my house?," he asked. "You left your window open," said Sammy, helping Brian to his feet. "I'm sorry for… you know… breaking into your house. You wouldn't answer the door, so I got worried."

"Go home, Mister Finch," muttered Brian. "I'm not up for it today." He then lifted the beer bottle up to his lips and was about to drink from it, before Sammy grabbed it from his hand with a worried frown, and kept it far away in case he tried to reach for it. "Lister, Dr. Orwell," he said. "You're obviously going through something rough. And you've helped me a lot these past few weeks… so let me help you for a change. Please, won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Brian looked at Sammy with an unreadable expression, and one could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, then walked over to a nearby coat rack - rather drunkenly, of course - and put on his hat and coat. "Follow me," he said. "You and I are going to take a little walk outside." Confused, Sammy didn't say anything as he followed him out the door and began walking alongside him through the town. It was a bright and sunny day outside, but the mood between them couldn't have been more different. After about ten minutes of walking, Sammy asked where they were going. Brian didn't bother with a response.

Eventually, they arrived in front of a large metal gate. They opened the gate and went into a large green field. It would've been a peaceful sight… if not for the many tombstones that covered the area. "...Dr. Orwell? What are we doing at a graveyard?," Sammy asked, suddenly feeling a deep sense of dread wash over him. Once again, Brian didn't answer. Instead, he led Sammy through the maze of tombstones, before finally stopping at a rather small one at the far end of the field, separate from the others. On the tombstone were engraved the words: HERE LIES DARREN ORWELL, ONCE A LOVING SON. MAY HE REST IN PEACE.

Sammy's blood ran cold. "You remember now, don't you?," Brian asked flatly. "Now you remember what you've done to Darren. My son." Sammy couldn't even speak. His knees went weak, and his legs collapsed underneath him, causing him to fall to his knees as he stared at the words on the tombstone. He remembered now. He knew what he had done…

Sammy stopped at Darren's seat and, in a flash, swept his school supplies off his desk with one arm, causing them to clatter to the floor loudly. Darren flinched. Sammy grabbed the edges of Darren's desk and loomed over him. "Why did you look at me?," he asked, keeping an unnerving smile on his face. "You got a problem, pal?" Darren gulped loudly and looked around for help, but nobody else dared to make a move. "Hey, don't look at them! They can't help you!," yelled Sammy. "Look at me!" Quivering in fear, Darren slowly looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I-I-I just–" WHAM! Suddenly, Darren found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He felt like someone just punched him in the gut.

Sammy stood over him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and held him up. "You looked at me again! I told you not to look at me!," growled Sammy. "B-b-but you told me to–," Darren stuttered. "Finish that sentence and I'll punch you in the mouth," sneered Sammy.

Suddenly, Mister Smith walked into the room, just in time to see the commotion. "Oh, great. What happened this time?," he groaned. "M-Mister Smith!," cried Sammy, quickly turning on the waterworks. "I-I-I was just getting to my seat, when Darren came out of n-n-nowhere and hurt my fist with his belly! H-he's such a meanie!" Mister Smith only rolled his eyes. "Get back to your seat, Samuel. You too, Darren. Get up and stop crying. You look pathetic."

Sammy sat at his desk, straightened his back, and folded his hands together in front of him with a smug smile on his face. Meanwhile, Darren was on his knees, picking up his school supplies while the other students watched. None of them made any move to help him.

"...He was your son," Sammy whispered. "And I made his life miserable. No wonder you got so angry at me…" "'Angry' would be an understatement, Mister Finch," Brian said in a cold, chilling voice. "I'm not so petty as to hold a grudge over what happened literal decades ago. But what you've done… It still affects me to this day." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Darren… was the kindest and sweetest child I've ever known. His heart was bigger than anyone I've ever known. Whenever he entered a room, he would brighten it up with a smile and a laugh. Almost everyone adored him." He glared down at Sammy. "Everyone except you. You refused to see him for the sweet, innocent child he was. Instead, you saw him as a damn target."

"Every day, he would come home from school with fresh bruises on his face," Brian continued. "Bruises that you gave him. And every morning, he would be so terrified of seeing you again that he would literally be shaking and crying!" He sighed again. "Perhaps I was partly to blame. I should have done more. Instead, all I did was offer him a few kind words and a hug, thinking that alone was enough. I was an idiot! But… it was nothing compared to what you've done. And the things you've said to him…" Brian took yet another deep breath, but his anger refused to leave him. "There was a stray cat that used to live near our house," he said slowly. "Every night, Darren would always go outside to feed that cat leftovers from his dinner. He was just that selfless… One day, the cat was attacked by a group of angry dogs. Darren tried to save the cat by using his body as a shield against the dogs. By the end, he was bitten and clawed up so badly that I had to rush him to the hospital. After he recovered, he went back to school with terrible scars all over his face and arms. And do you remember what you said to him that day?" Sammy was now openly crying and hyperventilating… because he did remember.

"You told him they were birthmarks. Birthmarks from his mother trying to abort him with a coat hanger!" It was too much to bear. Sammy fell over on his hands and knees, sobbing loudly as fat tears rolled from his face and dripped into the dirt. "P-p-please… don't tell me he…" Brian nodded, trying to hold back tears of his own. "One night, I came home late from work. I can still remember that night, clear as crystal. I hollered for Darren. He didn't answer. I assumed he just wanted to be left alone, so I started on preparing dinner instead. I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I had run up the stairs and barged into his room, privacy be damned. Then maybe I could've…" He trailed off and shook his head, then continued. "After I finished making dinner, I called for him again. There was still no answer. That's when I knew something was wrong. I went upstairs and into his room. I… I thought he was asleep at first. But his eyes were open. He was on his bed, facing the ceiling. I asked him what was wrong. I shook him lightly, then harder when he didn't respond. I screamed his name. Then… I saw the empty bottle of pills in his hand."

Darren stopped coming to school one day. That memory came back to Sammy with horrifying clarity. Back then, he was so angry and self-absorbed that he assumed Darren had stopped coming to school because he was a coward in hiding, and Sammy never gave Darren another thought afterwards. To think that the real reason why he stopped coming to school was because… Oh god, he was going to puke. "I-I-I… I'm so sorry. I didn't… m-mean to…"

"Of course you didn't mean to do this!," Brian shouted angrily. "Of course you never intended for Darren to… take his own life! But it still happened! Because of you! No amount of remorse or forgiveness will ever bring him back! And you don't get to feel bad about this! You're not the one who felt so hopeless in life that there seemed to be no other way out for you except death, and you're not the one who lost a son that night!" Still sobbing, Sammy wiped his eyes and looked up at Brian pleadingly. "What can I do?," he asked. "Please, how can I make up for this? I'll do anything!" Brian sighed in exasperation and shrugged in defeat, suddenly becoming more tired than angry. "I don't know," he said in a melancholy voice. "I honestly don't know. I'm not even sure if this is something you could ever make up for…" There was a long moment of silence between them, with neither of them knowing what else to say. Then, Brian wordlessly turned around and began walking away, his shoulders hunched. About ten feet away, however, he stopped and looked back at Sammy, who was still kneeling in front of the grave.

"Perhaps it's best that we cancel all our sessions from here on out," the therapist said in a dead, emotionless voice. "I'll make sure to wire you your refund by the end of the week. Take care, Mister Finch." Then, he started walking away again, leaving Sammy all alone.

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Sammy looked down at his lap, gripping his jeans so hard that his knuckles turned white. He couldn't bear to see the looks on everyone else's faces. They were probably looks of anger, hatred, disgust… They were probably ready to throw him out of the shack already.

"After that, I vowed to change myself as a person forever," Sammy whispered in a quiet, meek voice. "I stopped cursing. I tried to help as many other people as I could. I even started putting all that money from Carlson to good use. I anonymously donated to so many charities, scholarship programs, hospitals, and nonprofit organizations that I lost count. I tried to help the poor and the starving, I tried to help war veterans who went through the same hardships that I have… but Dr. Orwell was right. No matter what I did, no matter how much I've done… it was never enough to make up for my mistakes. I've hurt… s-so many people! I killed Darren! I lost Hutch and Isabelle! And to top it all off, I have this… condition? Curse? I don't know, something that's been keeping me from aging, keeping me alive! It's like one giant, cruel joke!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting tears fall from his face. "And that's the end. There's nothing left to tell. No more secrets. So go ahead and get it over with. Tell me how terrible I am. Tell me to leave and never come back. I'll… I'll understand." He waited for a response… but he heard nothing. Confused, he opened his eyes and slowly looked up, only for Mabel to suddenly run up to him and barrel into his chest. "Wh–! Mabel? What are you–?" He then realized, much to his shock, that Mabel was actually hugging him, her face buried in his sweater.

"Don't leave!," cried Mabel, her voice muffled. "Please don't leave!" Confused, Sammy looked up at the others in the room, only to see that everyone else was staring at him, all with varying degrees of sadness and pity on their faces. Dipper looked like he was about to run up and join his sister. Soos had wet, teary eyes, but was trying to keep a comforting smile on his face nonetheless. Wendy, unbelievably, was an emotional wreck, her eyes red from crying and her face streaked with tears. Stan was the only one holding himself together, but his eyes, which were raw and filled with sadness and understanding, told a very different story.

None of them seemed to be harboring any hatred or disgust towards him at all.

"I don't get it," Sammy murmured, trying to wrap his head around it. "I've hurt so many people. Someone died because of me. Someone… k-killed themselves because of me! Aren't you all… disgusted by that?" "That wasn't your fault, dude!," said Soos, before wincing. "Okay, it was kind of your fault… but you didn't know what was gonna happen!" "Yeah, and you obviously feel terrible over it!," Wendy joined in. "I mean, it doesn't excuse what happened, but… it shows you're not the same person as you were back then! You've changed!" "Does that even matter?," Sammy asked morosely. "Yes, it does!," said Dipper, bolting to his feet. "It's like you said! You've been helping other people, using Carlson's money to make the world a better place! Your whole life, you've been trying to make up for what you've done! And that does matter!"

"But it's not enough!," cried Sammy, gently prying Mabel off of him. "No matter what I've done or what I'll do in the future, it will never bring Darren or Hutch back! Guys, I'm… I'm glad that you all want me to stay. I really am. But… I can't stay. I don't deserve to be here… I'm so sorry, I just… can't." He was about to stand up, when Stan suddenly put his hand on Sammy's shoulder and firmly pushed him back down. "Kid, be honest with me," he said, looking him in the eye sternly. "Do you want to leave the shack? Do you want to leave Gravity Falls?"

"Of course I don't," sighed Sammy, shaking his head. "This place is like… my new home now. I don't want to leave, but–" "Then ya don't have to leave," Stan interrupted him. "Listen, all that malarkey about you not deserving to be here is pure garbage! I don't know how things work back where you're from, but here in Gravity Falls, we look after our own!" "Yeah!," Mabel said adamantly. "And if Hutch, or Isabelle, or even Darren were here right now, they would say the same thing! They wouldn't want you to feel all guilty for the rest of your life, right?"

Sammy stared at Mabel, then chuckled and shook his head. "Right. They wouldn't," he said, relaxing back in his chair. He was smiling now, but it was small, melancholy, and barely noticeable. "I still feel terrible over the things I've done, though. I don't think I could ever forgive myself…" "That's why we think you should stay here, dude!," said Soos. "We could help you." "Yeah," Wendy agreed, smiling confidently. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

Sammy suddenly felt a tugging on his pants leg. He looked down and saw Waddles grabbing his jeans with his mouth and gently pulling at it while gazing up at him with his small, black, innocent eyes. As Sammy reached down to scratch behind the pig's ear, even more tears streamed down his face, only this time, they were tears of relief and joy. "I… I don't know how… I don't even know what to say…," he said, his voice quivering and thick with emotion.

Fortunately, no further words needed to be said. Everyone gathered into a giant group hug, and they stayed that way until their tears finally stopped. After that, Wendy and Soos went back to their homes, since it was already far past midnight by that point. Then, Stan had Dipper and Mabel head upstairs for bed. Although the twins were initially hesitant about it - especially Dipper, who wanted to learn more about Sammy's experiences in the 1900s - they eventually complied and started heading upstairs. Before they disappeared into the second floor, however, Sammy suddenly called out to them. "Wait!," he cried, causing the twins to stop in the middle of the staircase and look at him questioningly. "...I'm sorry about your parents," he said gently. "I hope things between them get better soon." The twins glanced at each other with slightly sad eyes, then looked back at Sammy. "Thanks," said Dipper, giving him a small smile.

After the twins left, it was just Sammy and Stan left in the living room, sitting across from each other. "So I gotta ask you a couple of things, kid," said Stan. "Firstly, what's it like being an old man in a teenager's body? And secondly, should I keep calling you 'kid'?" Sammy chuckled, glad that they were onto more lighthearted subjects. "It's… a bit strange. I'm literally old enough to be in a retirement home right now, but not only do I look like a teen… I still feel like one too. Sure, I've definitely matured a lot over the years, but I honestly don't feel like my real age. I feel almost exactly the same as when I stopped aging at seventeen years old. I don't know, maybe it's because my brain has stopped aging along with the rest of my body. Yeah, that sounds like a science-y enough explanation. So I don't mind if you keep calling me a kid, Mister Pines. In fact, I've gotten so used to it that not calling me that would feel more unnatural to me."

"Heh. Alright, you've got it, kid," Stan chuckled. "But if I'm gonna keep calling you that, then I want you to start calling me by my actual name. No more of that 'Mister Pines' junk. From now on, you're gonna start calling me 'Stan' or 'Stanford', got it?" Sammy smiled. "You've got it, boss. Stanford Pines, it is," he said. Stan gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Alright, you'd better join the kids upstairs," said the conman. "Tomorrow's the grand re-opening of the Mystery Shack, so I want you all to wake up bright and early, got it?" "Got it," said Sammy, before frowning slightly. "But… you're not going to sleep? It's already pretty late." "Eh, I got some more things to do before calling it a night," Stan said casually. "But you've had a pretty emotional day, so I want you to get some shut-eye." Sammy smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mister Pi– I mean, Stan." He stood up, stretched his arms over his head with a yawn - he was a lot more tired than he thought - and went upstairs to the attic for a good night's sleep.

Meanwhile, Stan waited until Sammy's footsteps went silent. Then, he got up, placed his crutches under his armpits, and went to the vending machine. Then, he typed in a secret code on the machine's keypad, causing the entire thing to swing open like a door, revealing a strange passageway behind it. He went into the passage and looked around to make sure that nobody else was there. For a moment, he glanced up at the stairs where Sammy had disappeared to. "Goodnight, Sammy," he whispered fondly, before closing the vending machine.

Because broken leg or not, there was too much important work to be done.

Unaware to those who were in the room, a mysterious figure had been watching them through the window from outside, his black clothing perfectly blending in with the darkness. It was a man wearing a dark hood over his head, concealing his face. He wore a black jacket and pants, with leather gloves, boots, and most alarmingly of all, a 12-gauge shotgun strapped to his back. Nobody could see it if they were there, but there was a sinister smile on his face.

The man took out a cellphone, dialed in a number, and held it up to his ear. The person on the other end picked up the call immediately. "It's me. I found him, Hugo," the man whispered in a soft, slithery voice that could send chills up someone's spine. "It's the boy you have been looking for. The one who never ages. The one you met in Vietnam. I found him…"