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It had been approximately a week since the… incident.
The ‘he’s gone completely off his rocker’ incident.
You hadn’t been to his house since, for the simple fact that while you’d been able to rationalize visiting before as helping someone who was going through something you could sympathize with, the incident was something you had no hope of helping with. You’d never gone that violent, that off how you usually were. You got quiet, not loud, and he acted like a completely different person.
You’d been trying to forget him, the past week. Forget the little way his lips quirked up when he laughed, how his glasses tilted whenever he moved too fast and he had a funny little way of moving them up and down and then up again whenever he adjusted them. Forget how you’d only seen him at his worst and still couldn’t help but be captivated.
It hadn’t been going very well. Like it or not, he’d made an impression that sunk deep into your gut and tied your intestines in a square knot.
Then, you saw him in the Dusk to Dawn while getting a slurpie. He was still wearing the same trench coat, and quite possibly the same shirt, though it had a new red stain on it.
He was purchasing a loaf of bread, two jars of peanut butter, and about fifteen pounds of instant coffee.
Yeah, that seemed about right. You had two choices: Stay were you were, stay quiet, and hope he wouldn’t see you. It was the better choice, the safer one. Curiosity killed the cat, after all, and in this case, it may be literally.
Or...
“Hey!”
He turned, and nearly dropped his bags.
“Mir-Mir-Mir-ah, fuck. Miranda?” His voice was sandpaper, as if he’d recently been screaming. The bags under his eyes had gotten deeper, and you knew instantly that he was the way you’d met him. Tired and paranoid but not about to pull out a butcher knife.
“Language, dearie.” Ma said with a soft smile.
“Apologies, m'am,” he said without turning back to look at her. “Are you- what happened? What did he-what did I do?”
You bit your lip, then motioned to the door. He rubbed his eyes, sliding his knuckles under his glasses, then scooped up his bags and followed. There was a little metal bench just outside, but it was decidedly temporary- it wasn’t bolted down, and you could already see where it had blown around in the winter winds.
You plopped down first, a puff of snow swirling up. You patted the seat next to you, but he stayed standing.
“You don’t know what you did?” You hadn’t meant for it to come out accusatory, but you were scared and confused and although you’d lived in Gravity Falls for quite some time, you’d never seen anything rattle a person as much as whatever had happened to him.
“No. It’s a- a very long story.” His hair rustled in the snow, and more than anything he looked as if he was about to throw up.
“One I assume you don’t want to tell me.”
He nodded.
“You shoved a bloody deer head in my face, showed off a burn you’d left on your arm along with some cuts, and then warned me to stay away.”
His skin went from plain pale to bone-white.
“Ah. That… that would have been rather terrifying, I’d imagine.” The grip he has on the bag tightens, and you can hear the paper rustle.
“Yeah. It was. That’s why I haven’t been back.”
“That’s understandable.” Stanford shuffled his feet a bit. “Would you believe that it… it wasn’t me?”
“Was it a ghost? I know sometimes they’re pests, but usually they don’t harm their hosts…”
“No, it’s- oh, in a way it is. I made some bad decisions and now sometimes I’m not myself.” He finally decided to sit down, but kept his death grip on his grocery bag. “I can beat him, if I stay awake.”
“Is that why you look like garbage?” You slapped a hand over your mouth- it had just slipped out.
He stares at you, before suddenly starting to laugh. It wasn’t demented, it was more like the laugh that comes during a sleepover when it’s four in the morning and everything is funny. “That is… yes, that’s a large part of it.”
“Too bad you can’t just toss some virgin blood at it to make it go away.” You find yourself grinning. “It’s not nearly as hard to find once you realize it just needs to be fresh, and not necessarily come from a virgin.”
“Really? That would have helped tremendously two years ago, when I ran into the rogue gnomes that live in the deepest part of the forest.”
“Well, now you know.”
“Yes, now I know.” He smiled back, and you can’t help but notice the way snow drips off of the wild curls atop his head and unto his nose.
“I know this might sound a little nuts but… is there any way I could still come back, and know it’s you and not… whatever that thing was?”
He went quiet for a moment, smile falling away. “Are you sure you want to? I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Caught between safety and something warm oozing in your guts, you make the stupid decision.
“I’ll start bringing my car so I can book it if you start carving pentagrams into the walls.”
“It’s the eyes.” He points at his own, which are currently so bloodshot they look like something straight out of a horror movie poster. “They turn slightly yellowed and become slitted like a cat’s. Judging from how much my cheeks hurt, he smiles too much too. If I don’t ask for the password, then leave.” He raked a hand through his hair. “If he considered you enough of a threat to make you leave, it may be a good idea to have you around sometimes.”
“I can help, with whatever research you were doing. I read fast.” You lean forward just enough to see that he has a smattering of freckles on his cheeks you never noticed in the low light of his house. His blush from the cold brings them out.
“Yes, that would be good…” Stanford’s voice trails off, before he turns to look you straight in the eyes. “You have to promise me one thing, though.”
“Sure, what?”
“If you have any dreams involving triangles with top hats, don’t listen to a word they say, and don’t ever shake their hand.”
If this was anywhere other than Gravity Falls, you would have questioned it, but as is, you simply nod.
“Deal.”