Chapter Text
June 2013
The Shack welcomed him home like an old friend. It stood proudly in its clearing, the ‘S’ managed to stay in place for almost a whole year. Almost like the shack knew that its new proprietor was different from its last… regardless; it felt like a needed respite from his travels. He and Stanley weren’t as young as they used to be, and swashbuckling is harder on ones back than one would expect. With their 63rd birthday rolling around in a week or so, Stanford found himself feeling… well- old. Not to mention with the kids arriving soon, with their teenage enthusiasm and endless energy, he was certain he was about to feel a lot older.
As much as he loved the Stan O’ war ii, he was looking forward to sleeping on something other than a bunk bed. Stan claimed his original top bunk spot, but it meant he had to hear him complaining every time he climbed up the ladder.
Stanley was laughing as he walked around the place, pointing excitedly at all the new (horrible) taxidermy attractions and grumbling at the lowered prices in the gift shop. Ford swears he saw him choking up when he saw the wonky ‘Founder’ statue, dust free on a pedestal in the corner, but he got a punch on the shoulder when he asked about it, so he decided to let it be.
Soos and his partner Melody, lovely girl- weirdly into deli meats, had got their own place outside of the shack. Stanley had assured Soos that he was always welcome and that the shack was his now but the g̶o̶p̶h̶e̶r man had said it still felt like the Pines’ home. Ford pretended not to hear Stanleys quiet ‘You’re a Pine’s too now Soos, you know that.’ But their decision was made (Abuelita had already moved her creepy porcelain angel collection, so they had little choice really.) So, for the rest of the summer the shack was theirs!
Ford watched fondly as he could see Stanley’s nervous preparation for the kid’s arrival. Frantically stocking up on pancake mix and a frankly absurd amount of syrup. Stan was a mess fluttering around the cabin- a janky toolbox was thrust into his hands with an order to ‘fix anything that could poke their eyes out’, which to be honest- was an absurd amount of things. After finally fixing those broken steps up to the attic, and the unstable roof tiles that Ford just knows they’ll be clambering over, not to mention the various cracked and shattered windows across the place, by the time the sun was setting- he was beat.
His brother dropped onto the couch on the back porch, two ice-cold beers in his hands.
“Better enjoy it sixer, its the last one you’ll have all summer.” Stan lets out a sigh as he deflated against the couch, the sunlight just starting to dip below the trees. Leaving streaks of pink and golden light stretching out over the sky.
Ford takes the beer with a chuckle, lightly tapping it against his brothers before having a taste. Pig swill, but it was cool to the touch, and he couldn’t deny the feeling of a cold beer after a hard day’s work.
It certainly would be the last one he had all summer; Stanley had already bought enough Pitt cola to last anyone the apocalypse; but it should do Stanley for the next three months or so. His cigars also remained on the boat, now docked at the lake for the time being. They sat in aimable silence for a moment, allowing the day to wash over them.
“I can’t wait to see them.” He admitted quietly. His brother turning to look at him.
“I never expected to- when I got out the portal I- “He struggled with his words for a moment before a hand came to rest on his shoulder. His brother with a soft look on his face, his gold earing glinting in the sun.
“I know, me too.” He takes a pause to take a swig of his beer, looking back over the treeline. “They really grow on you, don’t they?”
“Like a stubborn fungus.” Ford agreed, nodding solemnly.
“Jesus Ford- “Stan choked out a laugh- “you can just say you love them.” He finishes, rubbing a hand through Fords hair aggressively. Messing up his hair. Ford batted the hand away, but Stan could see the smile on his face.
That night, after Stanley had gone to bed Ford found his mind restless and unable to focus on sleep. Being in his former study-turned bedroom, left him feeling twitchy. Itching to leaf through his dozen remaining notes. While journals 1-3 were lost, it didn’t mean his other research was, and with his plethora of new findings from his travels across the Atlantic, Ford wasn’t short for late night reading material.
Sat at his desk his back groaned from the strain of his hunched posture, huffing and leaning back his foot made contact with something under his desk. Leaning down to investigate he found a dust covered, cardboard box. Fishing it out Ford removed the lid to find it chock full of folders, notes and papers.
“Fascinating, I must’ve completely forgotten about this.” He said as he began to rifle through the writings of a much younger, more naïve man. Dated June 1975, the month he moved to Gravity Falls, this was before he even began to keep the journals. The mess of notes and scribbles scattered around his house began to vex him, so he started the journals in a way to keep his research sound and in one place. He must’ve forgotten about this box and its content, when his research picked up.
He chuckled at his annoyance at the disappearance of his car, and the records of the construction of his house. Musings that feel hundreds of years away now. Something catches his eye however, a transcribed conversation with the lumberjack that helped build his house, boyish Dan. Ford didn’t immerse himself much with the locals when he first moved. Preferring his solitude to get on with his research, but the local lumberjack population were harder to avoid, and so full of stories. From rumours of little men scampering around in their trash, to myths such as the elusive ‘hide behind’, their knowledge of the woods of Gravity Falls made them invaluable sources of information. The testimony of boyish Dan brought something new to his attention though. Whispers of an enchanted cabin, deep in the woods of the forest. Never found in the same place twice, you could search for years only to never see a glimpse of it through the trees, but if you knew where to go. If you knew who to seek, the cabin would reveal itself.
A headache tore through Fords head, as a faint memory of an older woman, with wild grey and black hair began to surface. A warning, that cabin.
The memory is ripped from him before he has a moment to process, thankfully the ringing in his ears fade with it.
That cabin, that woman… Ford knew that Bills presence in his mind left it damaged but he’d never experienced a hole in his memory quite this large. If Bill chose to hide this from him, it must mean it was important. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of his former partner. He’s confident that Stanleys plan worked and that he’s gone, but this itch. This loose thread would drive him crazy if he didn’t investigate it. He needs to find that cabin and figure out why Bill didn’t want him knowing about it. He feels months of progress begin to slip away from him in an instant. His shoulders hitch and his breathing picks up. The floor falling away from him as his eyes begin to blur.
Over the last few months with Stanley, Ford found that he’s finally happy. Living a childhood dream that he was all too ready to abandon all those years ago, he’s seeing the world, the sense of childlike wonder that the paranormal used to inspire in him was back at full force. His research excited him again! Bit by bit, his time with Stanley is giving him his life back, with each passing day he is taking back another small piece of what Bill took from him. However, there’s still days where his skin feels too tight and his body aches. The feeling of hundreds of eyes on him never fully seems to dissipate. Stan had to throw anything that vaguely resembled an eye overboard just to get Ford to stop hyperventilating.
The fact that there’s memories that Bill has tampered with, moments of his life that he still has power over, even now. Makes Fords skin crawl.
Alone in his study he holds his own trembling hands. Ford doesn’t get much sleep that night.