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Chapter Text

It was only his third day in Gravity Falls, and Dipper Pines was already bored out of his mind.

He slumped against a tree some distance from the Mystery Shack—a strategic location chosen to avoid encountering his great-uncle and being put to work, the only thing he could think of more boring than sitting against a tree reading the same cryptozoology magazine for the umpteenth time. But there was nothing else to do. Mabel was off somewhere working on her latest epic craft project, there was nothing good on TV, and his parents hadn't allowed him to pack his video games, claiming that he was “going to Gravity Falls to spend some time with family and exploring the great outdoors, not holed up inside looking at a screen”.

For his part, Dipper had already had all the family time with Grunkle Stan that he could take, and the great outdoors seemed to mostly be filled with mosquitoes and unnecessarily spooky trees. Far from being the idyllic summer getaway his parents seemed convinced it would be, Gravity Falls, Dipper thought, had to be just about the most boring place on Earth.

His Pokemon clearly didn't agree. That, at least, was one good thing—perhaps the only good thing—about staying in Gravity Falls; there was plenty of space for his team to run around and be free. He'd let them all out of their balls, and now Gremlin and Bravo were happily chasing each other around the treetops, while Orion rolled in the grass next to him. Even Whisper seemed to be enjoying himself. The nervous little Espurr sat against the tree and purred a quiet little tune.

Dipper reached over and scratched Orion on the top of his square head, causing the Eevee to trill happily. Dipper sighed. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

He looked up from his magazine and froze.

There was something—someone?--in the woods nearby. A looming dark shape, vaguely humanoid, stood watching him. For a moment he thought it might be Grunkle Stan, but no—the silhouette was all wrong. Who was it?

Slowly, Dipper put his magazine down and got to his feet, heart pounding. He was scared, but also exhilarated. Was he finally about to encounter a real-life specter or cryptid? Was Gravity Falls going to turn out to be interesting after all?

He approached the shape cautiously, hands out in a gesture of peace. As he crept forward, the shape raised up a hand and beckoned to him. With his heart now racing almost unbearably, Dipper stepped forward, and...

...the shape dissolved into a familiar red and black figure. Groaning, Dipper watched Grunkle Stan's Zoroark collapse into a fit of snickering. Dipper scowled at it. The thing seemed to enjoy making fun of him almost as much as Grunkle Stan did.

With a heavy sigh, Dipper trekked back to his tree and sat back down. The Zoroark wandered off, probably to go prank some tourists. Grunkle Stan never seemed to do anything to contain it; Dipper had not once seen it in its Pokeball. In fact, when he wasn't using them for shows, Stan seemed content to let all his Pokemon do what they wanted. It was a mystery to Dipper how Stan had the powerful Pokemon that he did when he never seemed to train them at all.

In fact, a great deal of things about Grunkle Stan were a mystery to Dipper, but he wasn't particularly interested in solving any of them. He was sure they would all turn out to be spectacular let-downs. Grunkle Stan was just a weird, grumpy old shyster. It was impossible to imagine him having any intriguing secrets.

Chapter Text

1982

Stan Pines was a man with big plans. He just couldn't think of any at the moment.

With a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, he unlocked his motel door and sidled inside. The room was dark and small and close, crowded with boxes of unsuccessful merchandise and sundry other detritus of Stan's life. He closed and locked the door behind him before finally relaxing, shoulders slumping as he heaved out a sigh. It had been a long day.

Still, it had not been entirely fruitless. He'd managed to convince some tourists that the weird-looking rocks he had for sale were one hundred percent genuine evolutionary stones of a type never before discovered, with the end result being that he had a bit of cash on hand for the first time in days. He'd celebrated by actually buying dinner.

He threw his jacket across the room and plonked down on the bed with said dinner clutched in one hand. Setting that aside for the moment, he slipped off the ancient duffel bag he was carrying and rummaged around in the bottom of it, coming up with a handful of Pokeballs. One by one he released his five Pokemon, causing the cramped room to quickly become considerably more cramped. There was an immediate clamor as the Pokemon all crowded around him, chattering, barking and in various other ways indicating a strong desire for food.

“Alright, alright, settle down, ya hooligans,” Stan grumbled, picking up the paper bags containing the evening meal. Piece by piece he handed out the items: a hamburger with all the toppings for Knuckleduster, plain chicken sandwiches for Scratch and Strongman, and a plain double burger for Shadow. Finally he pulled out a couple of apples, stolen from the grocery store and squirreled away in his jacket pocket, and gave them to Bruiser. Everyone else being fed, Stan dug out his own burger and fries and settled down to eat, slowly and tiredly.

He watched dully as his Pokemon ate, all in their different ways. Knuckleduster picked apart his burger and ate every component separately. Scratch dropped his sandwich, tugged the chicken out of the bun, and devoured it in rapid gulps. Strongman sat against the wall and ate his with both hands like a human. Stan knew they would probably all be better off on a diet of proper Pokemon chow, but then again he would probably be better off on a diet of actual food as well. Neither problem was something he could do much of anything about. Good food cost too much money, and was hard to steal consistently.

Shadow finished gulping her sandwich down whole and looked up, eagerly waving her tail. Stan sighed and gave her a french fry. She deserved it; Shadow and her illusory abilities had been the cornerstone of Stan's conning once again today. Ever since Stan had found her, alone and whimpering in a ditch, and taken her in, the little Zorua had more than repaid him.

“The rest of you need to pick up the slack,” he said. The Pokemon, thoroughly used to hearing such things from Stan, completely ignored him. Stan groused a lot, but he wouldn't have given up a single one of his motley little crew. They were the only family he had anymore.

There was a knock at the door.

Every head in the room snapped toward the door. Stan held up a hand, preventing Strongman and Knuckleduster from moving forward as they were about to. “Rico, I'll get your money, I swear,” he said, slowly standing up. “I just need a little more time...”

But Rico made no appearance. Instead, a postcard slid under the door.

Stan frowned and leaned forward to peer through the keyhole. He saw no sign of Rico, only a mailman's retreating back. Who in the world was sending him mail? There must be some mistake. No one was supposed to even know he was here.

He picked up the postcard.

There were only two words written on it, but those two words sent chills down his spine.

2012

Stan Pines was a man with big plans, and no one could know about them. Not even his family.

The kids were in bed, and most of his team were scattered around the Shack, dozing off, when he punched in the code on the vending machine and crept down into the basement. Thirty years later he still had all the old crew, but most of them had long since evolved. He'd added a few hands, as well. Like Snoozer, who had started out as a tiny, sleepy Slakoth, and was now so big he had to sleep on the porch outside; or like the little guy who now trailed after Stan, nocturnal and irrepressible.

Truth to tell, Stan didn't really mind. It was nice to have the company. The massive basement laboratory always had given him the creeps.

Together they descended the stairs, took the elevator down, and exited into the cavernous room. Stan sighed and put his lantern down on the desk. Another night of work that he had no reason to believe would lead to anything. He had not made any noticeable progress on reconstructing the portal for a year. He was pretty sure there was nothing more he could do without the other journals, but he had to keep trying. Giving up was not an option.

He sat down, pulled out the wretched old book, and flipped it open. His companion jumped up onto the desk beside him and settled down with a contended sigh.

Stan was hardly an expert, but he was pretty sure Mimikyu weren't native to the region, so how this one had ended up in the Gravity Falls woods was a mystery. Not one that he'd put too much thought into; there were, after all, many much greater mysteries about the place. At any rate, the thing had happened onto him one day while he was out searching for the other journals, and latched on, refusing to leave him alone until eventually he had had to catch it just to have some peace. It turned out to be a good decision. Unlike the rest of his team (with the possible exception of Scratch, who was too tetchy to be cuddly), the little Mimikyu was cute enough to be a strong draw with the tourists. He'd even made it a little question mark outfit after its old Pikachu disguise had been worn to shreds. The sightseers ate that one up.

Once, Stan had asked it if it knew where the other journals were, but if the Mimikyu knew anything about them, it wasn't telling him.

Stan sighed and slouched down even more over the open journal, peering at the pages for the umpteenth time, hoping to find some kind of clue.

He'd never tell anyone (he couldn't, even if he wanted to, which he didn't), but some part of him identified with the Mimikyu. Supposedly the things disguised themselves as a more popular Pokemon in a desperate attempt to become more popular, more palatable to outsiders. Stan had different reasons, but he could relate.

He called it Gemini. The twin.