Chapter Text
2012
Looking back, Ford wasn't sure when exactly things had started going completely, horribly wrong.
He spent much of the next thirty years attempting to make up for his many mistakes. The process of dismantling of the portal had been difficult enough on his own. It took many years to slowly get rid of the majority of the metal and circuitry that made up its body. Even then, much of the basic framework still lied deep under his home, collecting dust in the dark basement of a laboratory Ford could hardly bring himself to enter.
More than anyone else alive, he knew that Bill Cipher had his fingers in many pies. Ford might had been his primary pawn, his plan A, but he highly doubted that the demon would simply give up on his millennia-long plans because of a momentary defeat.
The portal might have been taken down, but he was sure that there were other ways to rip open the walls separating dimensions. Especially… especially when they were already weakened. After all, the portal had already been fully activated once before.
It was difficult and time-consuming work, researching Bill's previous movements throughout human history and planning, the best he could, against his future schemes. For one, it meant that Ford stayed to himself. The moment he had been foolish enough to fall for Bill's tricks, he had enlisted himself into a lifetime of foiling the demon's plans, in any way possible. There was no point in getting anyone else involved in this mess, especially after what happened with Fiddleford and… and Stanley.
That also meant that Ford had little to no contact with his family. Even before his parents passed, he had maintained only the sparsest of contact - especially after Ma had asked obliviously, just the once, if he had heard anything from his brother.
Now that they were gone, he knew little enough about his remaining relatives to keep in any real contact with them - though they certainly did try their best to loop him into holiday celebrations and family reunions. Emphasis on 'try.'
(The one exception had been when Shermie had called him up specifically and urgently to invite him to see the newest additions to the Pines family.
Twins. Mabel and Mason.
How could he say no after that?)
So when his nephew had left a message on his ancient answering machine asking for help regarding those same twins, Ford wasn't quite sure how to react. The man had practically been begging - there seemed to be some circumstances involving traveling for work and a summer camp going up in perhaps literal flames, and please Uncle Stanford, can you stay with you for just a couple of weeks over their winter break? They really won't be any trouble.
Maybe his first mistake was, in a decision he regretted immediately afterwards, saying 'yes.' Because of course two twelve year olds would be the perfect additions to a solitary, hermit residence on the outskirts of some random Oregon town. Surely, their temporary presence would interfere in no way with his lifelong pursuit of vengeance against the demon who had manipulated him into almost ending the world.
(...But again, maybe he had already lost that particular battle twelve years ago, the moment he felt the warm weights of those identical swaddles of cloth in his arms.)
Perhaps it was when the children stepped off that bus from California, when he finally saw them with his own eyes and - they had grown so much from the last time he had seen them and yet they were so small… small and painfully familiar, from the furious way Dipper reared up in defense of his sibling, to Mabel's wide toothy grin. When he saw the way they acted with each other, how they trailed after each other any and everywhere, constantly searching for adventure.
Or when Dipper had somehow found the journal he had hidden in the woods so long ago, and Ford had been forced to leave his research to prevent the children from getting themselves into more supernatural shenanigans than they had already (Gnomes? Manotaurs? What next, zombie-summoning?)
Or when the twins had drawn him out of his recluse lifestyle despite his best efforts, slowly but surely. In his defense, the two had an uncanny way of attracting strange friends in the local town, many of whom have begun to spend uncomfortably long amounts of time in and around Ford's home. Not to mention, the fact that they attracted supernatural attention no matter what they did, which meant he had to act as constant chaperone if he didn't want injured children on his hands.
But if Ford had to bet, really had to pin it down on one moment… the choice was easy: the exact moment he heard Mabel call out obliviously from the doorway, "Grunkle Ford, there's a guy at the door who looks just like you!"
Ford had never moved so quickly in his life.
There were dozens, hundreds of explanations for what Mabel had just said, from 'clone' to 'shapeshifter' to 'Bill Cipher finally, finally making a move after all these years.' None of them were good, but they ranged from 'minor inconvenience' to 'the brief prelude to the end of the world.' Regardless, no option belonged in any proximity to his niece - who was, at that very moment, smiling brightly at someone who could be a monster in human skin.
As he neared Mabel and the open door, he could just make out the tall form of a human adult - sturdy and strong-jawed, clad in some kind of bright green. His niece turned towards him, sparkles in her eyes, and said, "Grunkle Ford, I didn't know you had a - "
Ford pushed her behind him, as gently as he could. Satisfied with the amount of space between her and the unknown variable, he looked up, a frown on his face and a demand on the tip of his tongue -
"Brother!"
All blood drained out of his face.
Stanley Pines - thirty years older and greyer, with a familiar wide grin that made his heart stutter momentarily to a stop - stood on his doorstep. His eyes shone with tears. His arms were outspread.
He was also, Ford realized numbly, dressed head to toe in what looked like an adult-sized, bright green elf costume - complete with a pair of bright yellow tights.
Ford stared, mouth open.
"After all these long years," the other man said, voice rough with emotion, "it's actually you!" He took a step forward, arms closing in for a hug.
Ford's fist collided hard with his right cheek. Stan went sprawling.
"Oh! Ow! Hot Belgian Waffles!" Groaned the thing in an elf costume pretending to be his dead brother. "What was that for?"
"What are you?" Ford practically growled, fists clenched at his sides, still itching to be used. The roaring in his ears seemed to drown out all rational thought. "Why are you doing this?"
"He's one of Santa's elves, Grunkle Ford!" Mabel piped up. "He said he came all the way from the North Pole to find you!"
There was a long silence.
"Mabel, dear," Ford said, voice strangled. "Go back to the living room. Find your brother. I'll take care of this."
"But Grunkle Ford -"
"...Please."
Mabel nodded hesitantly. "Bye, Stan! Don't forget to warn Santa about the disembodied wax head in our -"
"Mabel."
She waved and ran off.
"She's a really sweet kid," 'Stan' said slowly, the moment she was out of earshot. There was a slight, helpless smile on his face as he watched her leave. "Is she a grandkid? Or a niece, or -"
Ford grabbed him by his ridiculous, furry collar and yanked him forwards - so close that their noses were almost touching. "Is this some kind of cruel joke?" He demanded, eyes wild.
"Uh -"
"Who put you up to this? Do you know what you're doing?"
"Geez," the other man said slowly, leaning backwards as much as he could. He rubbed at his cheek absentmindedly, a pained expression on his face. "I dunno what I was expectin', but this wasn't it. Is this how you greet your brother after what, thirty years?"
Ford's grip tightened. He was angry, he had to be, or else he would be feeling… guilt. Uncertainty. Hope. "You are not my brother."
'Stan's expression went flat and unreadable. "Well, then, I guess -"
"My real brother died thirty years ago," Ford said leadenly, more calmly than he ever thought he could. Maybe thirty years had dulled that particular wound in some ways. But judging by the cold gnawing feeling in his belly… certainly not all. "My mistakes were what killed him. You are not him."
For months after the - accident, he had had a difficult time looking at his reflection. Especially after putting off a visit to the barber for too long, or before he put his glasses on in the mornings.
He and Stan had always looked too much alike.
The man in front of him now was no mirror image. Even the ridiculous elf costume could not hide the additional bulk of his frame. There was an additional squareness to his jaw that reminded Ford more of his father than of himself. What little of his hair that peeked out from under his hat was entirely grey.
If his brother hadn't - if he had had the chance to grow old -
Ford took a breath, one that came suspiciously wet. He loosened his grip. 'Stan' stumbled back a step, grimacing.
"Answer me," he said hoarsely, "before I get the information I need in other ways… what are you? Why are you here?"
The other man grinned apologetically. "I dunno what I can say, really. I'm Stan. And I'm not - y'know, actually an elf. I mean, it's been my job for the past few decades, just not in a species kind of way. That's what I told the kid earlier, if that's why you're freaking out."
"And uh, it's kinda funny that you ask that, actually, cuz…" 'Stan' shrugged awkwardly. "I'm here to find you. You're my brother, aren'tcha? Least, you're supposed t' be. I - I thought you would want to see me."
He paused. "So uh, about that 'killed me' thing - exactly how metaphorical are we talkin' here?"
"You're an elf," Ford repeated blankly. "As in, a Christmas elf. From - Santa's workshop. In the North Pole."
"Well, it was a pretty long walk down here -"
It was this last bit of ridiculousness that broke the dam. "I don't even celebrate Christmas!" Ford exploded, brandishing his hands wildly. "We don't celebrate Christmas! We're Jewish. Stan, what the fuck?"
The other man flinched. "Geez, Sixer, watch the language, would ya? You got kids hanging around here!"
It was as if the world had slowed to a stop.
Ford felt nauseous. "What," he said slowly before he couldn't continue any longer. He wet his lips. "What did you just call me?"
"I mean, with you waving your hands around, I couldn't help but notice that you're a regular ol' Sixer - y'know, with your fingers and all. Sorry if it's, uh, a sore subject or somethin'." 'Stan' paused. "Wait," he said, a slow grin spreading on his face, "you called me Stan, just then! So you do believe me -"
"Get out."
"Wait, uh. Wha - ?"
"Get out," Ford repeated, trembling. There were only two beings who would call him - that, the nickname that his brother had created and his muse had ruined.
One was - was long gone. Long dead. And the other…
He should've known this was too good to be true. How many times had Ford wished for this exact scenario? Dreamed that - one day, his brother would just... come back, as if none of it had happened. Not the fight in front of the portal, not the argument before then (and… not the ten long years of separation before, or the science fair fiasco that had kickstarted it.)
As if Ford had made none of his many mistakes.
But he had. He did. And his brother was never coming back, not from the other side of the portal, not with a miraculously uncracked skull, not grinning at him obliviously, as if Ford hadn't left him to die thirty years ago. No matter how much he wanted it.
Especially not in an elf costume.
But Bill… Bill was all about dreams, wasn't he? (And this, this was exactly his brand of sick humor -)
"Is - Is this about the Jewish thing?" 'Stan' - but that wasn't who he was, what he was, not at all - stuttered. "There's - a whole lot I don't remember, bro. You gotta believe me - heck, I didn't know you existed until you popped up along with those kids on the Christmas list for this year -"
"Convenient," Ford said hoarsely. "That there's nothing I can do to corroborate your identity. Right, Cipher?"
"...I honestly have no idea what you're talkin' about."
"I don't know how you did this," he said blankly, "and frankly, I don't want to. Stay away from me and my family. Go back to the - 'North Pole'. Whatever you're calling the hell dimension you squirmed out from."
'Stan' stared at him, clearly shaken. "Brother, you - you don't really mean that -"
Ford slammed the door shut - or rather, he would have, if not for the adult man in an elf costume pulling on the door in the opposite direction.
"Let. Go."
"Just - just wait a second," 'Stan' begged from the other side, voice slightly muffled. "I - I know you want me gone, and - if that's what ya really want, I'll leave, but there's something I gotta give you. Call it a Hanukkah present or somethin' -"
"I don't want anything from you, Cipher, you've given me enough -"
"Just take it, and I'll leave - I'll go far, far away and you'll never see me again, just -"
"You - you promise," Ford said hoarsely. "Never again. And you stay far, far away from this family."
"...Yeah. If that's what ya want, bro."
He fought up the immediate desire to tell the demon not to, never to call him that again. "Give it to me then."
Something was shoved through the small vertical space between the door and the doorway. A book of some sort, thick enough to get stuck halfway through.
Slowly, resignedly, Ford pulled it through, turned it over, and - saw his own flushed face reflected on the surface of a golden, six-fingered hand. A single bold numeral one marked the cover.
His breath hitched.
Time slowed. Ford could barely hear the speaking from the other side of the door over the loud roaring in his ears.
"So, um. There you go. It's - a journal of some sort. Apparently I had this with me, thirty years ago, when I showed up in the North Pole. Always figured it was mine, read it from front to back trying to figure out who I was - but then I saw your name on the List, and ya got the six fingers and everything, so... here's it back. You're welcome."
Ford let go of the knob, and the door swung open. The man on the other side eyed him carefully. He had removed his elf hat and instead, fidgeted with it in his hands. Now that it was gone, Ford could see the large patches of missing hair on the back of Stan's head.
Because… it was, wasn't it? It couldn't be anyone else. Stan had taken the Journal with him when he had disappeared into the portal, all those years ago. Ford had thought it was gone forever, stranded somewhere in the multiverse with the brother he had lost.
Now, Stan had brought it back.
Ford trembled, and took a step forward. Then, another. Dimly, he felt moisture on his cheeks.
"You, uh, alright over there?" Stan said, slowly, cautiously.
He was closer now, almost within reach. For a moment, Stan tensed, eyes panicked, and -
Ford surged forwards. Wrapped his arms around his brother as tight as he could. Felt the soft green felt under his hands. Soft, but solid.
"Um," said Stan, and hugged him back, albeit a bit hesitantly.
"Stanley," he said slowly, hesitantly, as quiet as a prayer. "Stanley, you're here. After all these years, you're alive."
"...Is that my name? Geez, our parents sure had a sick sense of humor, huh? Uh, I mean…" Stan paused. "Nah, I have absolutely no idea what's going on here."
Ford let go, stepped back, and couldn't help but stare. He had - a lot of questions. Starting with how his brother had survived thirty years in the multiverse, ending with why his brother was wearing yellow tights.
Those could wait. Especially the last one.
"You better come in," Ford said hoarsely, holding the door open. "We can talk more inside."
"You… sure?" His brother asked cautiously. "You're not gonna go berserk on me again, are ya? I'm just checking. Soos won't be too happy with me if I get murdered out here, y'know."
He wasn't sure who 'Zeus' was, but he winced. "I'm sure, Stanley. I'll explain everything I can, inside."
Stan stared at him. For a moment, Ford was terrified - Stan couldn't leave, not now, not with his mind clearly still addled from his time in the portal, not when he had just got him back -
A huge relieved grin spread across his brother's face. "...Don't mind if I do. Though, you might want to keep that door locked and those windows shuttered. Turns out I've got a, uh, whaddya call it... A warrant for my arrest."
"You - what?" he repeated blankly.
"Yeah," Stan said with a shrug. "Turns out you hafta pay for things with real money out here. Who knew?"
In the distance, police sirens could be heard.