Chapter Text
From the moment Stan awoke stitched up like an old shirt, he knew something was off— even if his brother wouldn’t exactly concede what. Every single attempt he made to ask, it was as though Ford were performing mental gymnastics, including as much complicated science jargon as he could pull out of his ass to baffle him. And it was working.
It was all “emergency surgery” this, and “just a basic procedure” that, as if that were supposed to mean anything to him. He had begun to believe his brother must not know the meaning of the word “basic”, seeing as his own home was practically the set of many a sci-fi film of his childhood.
But that wasn’t even the beginning of the bizarre behavior and he’d barely been living under Ford’s roof for an entire week.
Apparently, Ford had a new buddy too― college friend, if he were to take a wild guess― who flitted about like a moth trapped inside a lantern. Going from room to room adjusting little things as though it would make a lick of difference about his current circumstances; though even his rituals didn’t seem to provide him much comfort.
From what Stan managed to pick up from his first night, his name was Fiddleford. But it wasn’t like he picked that up from him, since Stan couldn’t even manage to squeeze so much as a “hello” out of him. He even recalled one particular instance when Fiddleford had been washing the dishes and Stan, having been raised with some half decent manners, was quick to offer his services.
“Can I help you with that?” He had asked, sidling up next to the sink.
No response. Fiddleford’s lips only pursed as he continued to wipe down a sudsy plate.
“Here.” Stan snatched a dry rag off the counter and the soaking dish. “I’ll be on drying duty.”
Fiddleford reluctantly accepted this as he continued to follow this pattern of scrubbing and dunking, then allowed Stan to continue to dry. He huffed, adding another plate to the stack. “Not the most talkative guy are ya?”
Stan began to wipe at an excruciatingly slow pace. “So… How long have you been livin’ here?”
The rag began to squeak against the dry plate.
“... How long have you known my brother?”
He inhaled sharply, setting his self assigned chore to the side. “Good talkin’ to ya.”
After that, Stan decided perhaps it was best for everybody involved if he stopped trying to make conversation.
Ford, however, was practically breathing down his neck. There didn’t seem to be a waking moment when Stan didn’t feel stalked as he traversed through the home and when he did speak to his brother, it was nothing short of an assault.
How are you doing? Your stitches healing okay? How have you been feeling? Let me know if anything changes.
He hadn’t even begun to venture within the realm of personal questions, where he might be forced to think about the consequences of his actions all those years ago. It was as though he wasn’t talking to his brother— he was talking to a stranger. A stranger that was very invested in his little science experiment.
Ford always seemed to feel more humanity for those anyway. Perhaps that’s why he was so invested in his recovery… because it allowed him to connect with Stan in a manner he could comprehend.
Nonetheless, whether it was due to the smidgen of pity he felt for his brother (or the fact he had nowhere else to go), he was still camping out in Ford’s attic nose deep in the classifieds. That was until Ford burst through the door.
“Stanley!” He exclaimed, all the gear adorning his body clanking with every exaggeration. “How would you like to get out and get some fresh air?”
“I’d say that you look more like you’re about to dive into the center of the earth. What the hell is with all the gear, sixer?” He folded the ads on his lap, out of Ford’s view. “Going camping?”
“Something like that, yes!” Ford chimed. “And I want you to join me.”
Stan’s brow shot up, “Mind repeatin’ that for me?”
“You heard me, Stanley. I want you to join me on an investigation with Fiddleford and I.”
He barked out a laugh, “Seriously? What do you want me to do? Stand around and look pretty? I’m not exactly the brains of this operation, Ford.”
“Oh, we don’t need brains. We just need a little bit of extra muscle and perhaps some of your creative thinking. What do you say?”
Stan folded his arms, pulling his gaze away from Ford and that pathetic look only he could produce, “... I’ll think about it.”
His face lit up as he finally began to step out upon getting something resembling the desired response, “Excellent! Be ready within the next hour, we don’t want to miss the sunny hours of the day!”
“I didn’t say I-!” The door slammed shut and the newspaper unceremoniously flopped on the floor. “Agreed.”
Seeing as his opinion didn’t matter apparently, Stan pulled himself together for whatever the hell an investigation was and left what little space he could consider his own to meet the rest of the group.
“... I just don’t understand why you felt the need to bring him along.” A thick southern accent muttered breathily.
“He’s my brother, Fiddleford.” Ford replied in a low voice. “I haven’t seen him in five years! You can’t expect me to ignore him.”
Stan paused atop the staircase, leaning in closer.
“I’m not expectin’ you to ignore him,” Fiddleford huffed, “I’m expectin’ you to have a little perspective, Stanford! You just put him through an awful lot and you’re already tryin’ to drag him outsi-”
“I’m not ‘trying’ anything, Fiddleford. I’m simply just inviting him along because he’s my brother and I want to treat him as such.”
He sighed, Stan guessed he was pinching the bridge of his nose like his old man did, “Well, don’t come beggin’ me for help when he comes fallin’ apart at the seams.”
Stan decided he had heard enough and faltered down the stairs, bringing the conversation to a sudden standstill.
“Alright!” He rubbed his hands together. “Who’s ready to go?”
“Stanley! I didn’t realize you’d be ready so quickly.” Ford swung open the door, bringing their attention to the bright Oregon afternoon. “Well… we shouldn’t loiter in the doorway, shall we?”
He could see the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. “... Right. Why don’t you take the lead, sixer? Gives me a chance to get the lay of the land.”
“Of- of course.” He cleared his throat, gesturing out into the open air. “Stanley. Fiddleford.”
Thus, the group departed with Stanley bringing up the rear.
Just within earshot, he heard Fiddleford murmur, “This is like nothin’ but trouble, I’ll tell you what…”
Stan was inclined to agree.
From Stan’s estimate, they had been walking since the dawn of time. Perhaps that was a tad of an overestimate, but nonetheless, it certainly felt like it. Though the group had left at the height of the sweltering summer sun, it had since begun to simmer into a gentle light; filling in the cracks of brush overhead and bathing the forest floor in a warm glow. Were Stan not so focused on his aching feet, he might have even ventured to call it beautiful.
“Ford, we’ve been walking for two hours and it’s all the same kind of tree!” He threw his arms up in frustration. “Just choose a goddamn spot and stick with it!”
“Don’t rush me, Stanley!” He waved him off, continuing to squint at a map covered with red dots. “I just need to find the correct spot.”
“The correct spot for what?” Stan huffed. “Watching grass grow? You haven’t even told me what we’re doing!”
“Because it hasn’t been relevant yet, Stanley.”
“Not rele- are you even hearing yourself?! You dragged me into the middle of the woods, not really asking my opinion about it, and now you’re not even gonna tell me what we’re doing?!”
“I understand you’re upset-”
“I’m not upset.”
“Stanley―”
“Don’t ‘Stanley’ me, just tell me what we’re doing!”
Ford stopped cold in his tracks and tucked the map away into his coat, “We’re here. Fiddleford, can you please setup the recording equipment?”
He nodded curtly, beginning to dig through his own oversized bag as Ford began to do what Ford does best: talk.
“You see, Stanley,” he said, “our work is far beyond the range of your typical sciences. It is beyond even human understanding.”
“Get to the point.”
“Well, while in college, I found myself going back to cryptozoology time and time again. Or, as you probably know it better, monster hunting or the study of monsters.” Ford pivoted back towards Stan, now speaking to him directly. “I found myself absolutely enraptured in this study and found things far stranger than any Jersey Devil. And I tracked the greatest source of those strange things there.”
His brow quirked. He had to be yanking his chain, right? “Where you’re standing?”
“Very funny, Stanley.” He deadpanned. “I meant Gravity Falls. This investigation is part of Fiddleford and I’s ongoing study into the creatures of this town. And as far as we’re aware, the only sightings of this particular creature have only been in this area during the day.”
“Gee, Stanford. I didn’t know monsters could have a schedule.” Stan let out an ugly snort. “What? Does Bigfoot only get spotted at night because he has a yoga class?!”
Stan doubled over laughing, wiping away the tears from his eyes. Ford’s face became hot with fury. “I’ll have you know this is serious work!”
“Yeah, sure, serious. I’ll tell you what, I think college may have scrambled your brains!” He cackled. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart twin!”
“Can’t you take anything seriously for one moment, Stanley?!” He shouted, clenching his fists. “This isn’t a joke! This is important to me! Why can’t you understand that?!”
“Because all this stuff is stupid― ghouls, goblins, spooks, whatever the hell you call ‘em― it’s all just stuff made up to scare little kids and apparently, get into the heads of paranoid nerds like you.”
Suddenly, a snapping echoed throughout the trees. Fiddleford audibly swallowed. “Y’all, I hate to get in the middle of this, but I think we have company.”
The brothers pivoted, their argument suddenly a thing of the past, as they were confronted with a thick branch left in two on the ground. Simply stepped on like a twig. Only a few feet away, a dark shadow took long strides across the treeline.
“... Was that like that before?” Stan asked.
“No. No, it was not.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”