Chapter Text
“... Well, that's real noble and all, but… you're gonna go get the lady with a broken leg and a blistered bod?” Woody, aka the Love God, shook his head of blond curls, chuckled and snapped his fingers. In a shimmer of fresh linen and chemicals, Ford Pines suddenly found himself completely recovered from the injuries he'd acquired, with no scars to mark what happened. “Better.”
Ford’s expression was pure astonishment for about ten seconds, then his mouth pulled into a determined, serious smile. He turned without a word and dashed to the gift shop, and its secret, hidden door to his basement lab. His footsteps fell away quickly.
“You got any of that for me?” demanded Stan.
“Bam!” Woody snapped his fingers and a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke and Kobe beef aroma did the same for Stan. Woody grinned as Stan flexed his newly healed arm and worked his jaw without pulling at the butterfly closures. He swore under his breath; tearing the bandages off still stung.
“I can't stick around for long, but if you're going hunting in the multiverse, you'll need these. Take a good swig now, and one more every day you're not back in your home dimension. Don't miss a day. I mean it. It's important. Don't miss a day, dude. ” The love avatar handed Stan two transparent bottles, each no bigger than a 5 Hour Energy. Whatever they contained sparkled like Mabel juice, but looked much more appetizing. “Drinking your brother’s bottle after your own will only cause it to turn to toothpaste and orange juice smoothie, so don't bother.”
Stan glanced toward the ceiling and scowled; called out on his very thoughts and, worse, reminded of Dajan. “Twice as annoying when a punk love god does the mind reader thing.”
“That's what you get for being a thief. I'll be around if you guys get into a love related fix, but from here on out, not much I can do to help.” A poof of rose petals and cinnamon, and Woody was gone.
Wendy simply flopped into Stan’s easy chair. “I'll tell Soos and Molly where you've gone, and we’ll make sure the Shack is still standing when you get back. Seemingly from nowhere, she pulled one of her small hatchets and offered it to Stan, handle first. “Take this, you'll need it. For something.”
Stanley lifted a hand to his chest, actually touched by the gesture. “I never say no to a lady who throws axes.” He blinked hard, then followed his brother downstairs to the basement -- which still hadn't entirely recovered from Ford’s return to this dimension a year earlier. “So, what's our plan?”
Ford had already removed the walking boot and changed into his traveling outfit. The coat Dajan had dubbed That Cool Coat hung on a peg in the wall waiting to be put back on. Ford was multi-tasking like only he could. A pair of goggles were over his cracked glasses as he worked with one of his many gun devices. His right hand was busily going through the cupboards and drawers beside him, choosing by touch what he planned to bring with him and what he needed to make updates to the weapon he was working on.
“We get the Stan O’War out of dry dock. We sail far enough away that none of the weirdness overflow will endanger the town, then I fire the quantum destabilizer and open a rift to the multiverse.” Ford was so intent on soldering pieces together on the device itself that it only occurred to him seconds later what his brother had asked. “... Our plan?”
“Hell yeah, Sixer,” Stan tossed the bottle to his brother without warning. Ford caught it with reflexes honed of 30 solid years surviving the multiverse mostly alone. Stan had said ‘our plan’ expecting his egghead brother to squawk and put up a fight. Instead he’d just accepted ‘we’.
“You're not disappearing on me for another 30 years.” His next few words were mumbled under his breath. “Besides, the kid is kinda growing on me...and she said we should talk more or something...It'd be what Ma calls ill omened to not take her advice now.”
“She said something similar to me,” Ford admitted, a bit of the manic adventurer’s gleam leaving his eyes. “I hope after we get her out of this mess she stays long enough for us to thank her for that.”
A sudden ringing startled both brothers before the moment could go on. It took Ford a good minute to locate which pocket the phone was in. It was neither of the niblings. Aside from the missing Dajan who no longer had a phone, there was no one else with the number. “Uh… Stanford Pines.”
“You're gonna need a bigger boat. Provisions. Maps.” The voice on the other end was deep, like a baritone speaking from the bottom of a well. On the moon. It sounded impatient as well.
“Who is this?”
“I'm The Fixer. I tricked out your phone for you. You're gonna have a hard way to go. Between the ones that want her and the ones that will get between you and her just for shits and giggles. Your lunkhead brother will need a crash course.”
“Hey! I did all right for myself!” objected Stan hotly.
“Sure ya did. Between the rap sheet, the pug smuggling, and how many states is it now? Seven? Ten?”
Stan raised a furious finger but just barely snapped his jaw shut before he corrected the voice on the phone. He glowered at the phone in surly silence. Damn hotshot cyber hackers.
“And you're willing to help us get outfitted for this trip?” Ford asked dubiously. “Dajan has no idea you set this phone up this way, does she?”
“Known her since we were little. She may not be consciously aware but she knows. I look out for her,” said the voice as if this were no real concern. “So yeah, naturally I wanna see you two get my little friend out of the mess you put her in.”
Stan folded his arms and smirked at his brother. Ford looked chagrined and accepted the criticism without retort.
The truth was, as much as Ford was loathe to admit it, Dajan, the strange and wonderful woman he'd hoped to start calling his girlfriend had come into his life like a freckled whirlwind. They'd spent a bit over two weeks together, and Ford was beginning to feel like he'd known her all his life.
It was an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation, so he'd opted to take things slowly. Slowly wasn't quite how things went, despite his intentions. She was so easy to talk to; Ford had ended up sharing his checkered past. To his astonishment, Dajan had listened, been sympathetic. To top it off, she did not run screaming after hearing the worst.
He'd tentatively asked for a long distance relationship with the intention to build gradually. They had gone their ways, communicating by mail until the boat Ford shared with his brother Stan developed a problem that required immediate attention. Dajan had been eager for the chance to be together again, so they'd made plans for her to return to Gravity Falls.
Labor day weekend had changed everything. Dajan showed up and swept Ford off his feet between being empathic enough to try easing his temporal displacement, giving him thoughtful gifts, and just being a bright spot in his life.
The weekend had ended on a sour note. Dajan had come with Stan to rescue Ford from a monster with a grudge. She'd used some clearly nonhuman tricks to accomplish it, and Ford, whose long standing post traumatic stress was as yet untreated by more than Tai chi, had triggered.
Dajan had attempted to serenade Ford earlier in the day, but the song she'd chosen had such strange and resonant lyrics… the combined events of the day brought years of old trauma roaring back, to say nothing of recent trauma. She had seemed too good to be true and from his perspective, she revealed herself to be just that.
In pain, delirious from his injuries, and nerves on edge, Ford had completely freaked out and denounced Dajan as a filthy inhuman creature plotting against him as Bill Cipher had. To take matters from bad to worse, Ford had also failed to kiss Dajan after her public declaration of love -- which had apparently hit supernatural frequencies -- before he was dragged off, and several other otherworldly entities had decided that meant open season on her.
Dajan’s location in Gravity Falls had spread quickly and several monsters and creatures had planned to converge to make their own declarations -- or steal her for themselves. Dajan had been left with no choice but to run to keep the town safe. It had only been entities of love and chaos that made her escape possible.
Now the Pines brothers had to race against time to get to Dajan before something worse got ahold of her or killed her because she wasn't the supernatural powerhouse they thought she was. To make matters worse yet, Ford had to admit to himself that thinking of Dajan in danger made his spine freeze.
Worse still, he was finding himself less and less able to think of his world without her at all. Something in his brain vapor locked anytime the idea tried to surface.
“... What do we need to do in order to accept your help?”
“You're gonna need to find the Dark Market. Dial the phone widdershins twice on the odds and once on the evens when you find it. I'll meet you there and we can talk.” The call ended abruptly and the phone returned to screensaver mode.
“Any ideas where this black market is?” Stan asked from the stairs.
“Yes,” Ford replied going back to his work with a furrowed brow. “it moves around according to my research. “Usually it stays in one place until the next new moon, then moves again. I believe a key is needed to enter, no matter its location.”
“OK Google,” called Stanley, coming back into the room. “When’s the next new moon?”
Google obediently gave the exact time of the new moon: just a little over 24 hours. “Your girl taught me that. Tick-tock, Sixer. Where to?” Stanley seemed to have already accepted them as a couple, despite Ford’s explosion of panic, temper and bad judgement. That was heartening. He'd been able to see what Ford had not been willing to.
“The Northwest...that is, the McGuckett family mansion,” responded Ford, whose face had gone ashen at how little time they had. “I suspected the Northwest family’s wealth was obtained through nefarious and unnatural methods.”
“McGuckett got time to help?” Stan asked, frowning.
“He was willing to forgive my hubris. If I tell him it's an emergency, perhaps he will set a project aside for me.”
“All right. I'm gonna go get the Stan O’War and hitch her up. I'll be back with her in the morning. You go find this Fixer guy and don't let him scam you.”
Stan extended a hand and Ford grasped it hard.
They broke the handshake and Stan stomped his way up the stairs. The growl of the Stanmobile’s engine was audible, as was the screech of rubber on pavement as Stan peeled out, a man on a mission.
An hour later found Ford back upstairs, with his duffel bag packed to bulging and hanging off his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He was thumbing through Stanley’s photocopies of his journal pages when Wendy spoke up. “Go find Shmebulock,” she suggested after watching Ford grow increasingly frustrated.
“Dajan’s terrifying cousin Khrys enlisted him to bodyguard Dajan until she was better. Even though he can't talk, I bet he could get you pointed in the right direction.” Ford had been sleeping off his injuries when Dajan’s relative had come to check on her. But it seemed that everyone except Stan referred to her that way as if it were her proper name. Stan had yet to refer to her at all.
“Shmebulock the gnome?” asked an incredulous Ford.
“He's not as dopey as he appears,” insisted Wendy, “and aren't you in a time crunch? Beggars can't be choosers.”
Dajan’s expression flashed across Ford’s mind’s eye: first the look of hurt resignation on her face when he'd denounced her, and then the look of timorous hope before Eris had taken her off to who knows where. Ford felt something with icy claws clutch in his chest, but ignored it, turning to head out the back door. “You're right, I can't. Thanks.”
Thankfully it didn't take more than a few minutes of Ford beating at the bushes and calling out “Shmebulock!” in a stage whisper for a gnome to appear.
It was Steve. “You think we're at your beck and call?”
“What I think is I have a leaf blower, and a short fuse. Get him here. Now.”
Steve’s eyes widened in remembered horror, and he immediately scampered into the deeper shadows of the forest. Ford sent silent thanks to Mabel for discovering the one thing gnomes feared.
It was only another moment or two, in which Ford shifted impatiently before the correct gnome was shoved to stumble into the clearing. “Shmebulock,” he said in an accusatory tone.
“Yes, she's in trouble, and if I'm to be of any assistance to her, I need to find the underground Dark Market before the new moon.”
“You can understand him?” asked Steve from the safety of a tree.
“Not as such,” Ford shook his head. “But there is a certain amount of…context involved. Will you help me?”
Once again the gnome spoke his own name. “Payment,” Ford surmised. “I have nothing of supernatural value to offer, but how about… a six foot sub every new moon for 6 months?”
“Shmebulock!” the gnome held up both hands, wiggling all eight fingers.
“I'm serious, not stupid. No, not the next hundred years. One year starting with this New Moon.”
“Shmebulock…!”
“Extra roast beef?” Ford guessed. The gnome nodded. “Done. 12 six foot subs, extra roast beef, once a new moon for a year. Can we get moving now?”
“Shmebulock.” The smirk, just short of a sneer, was visible through the beard.
“I'll keep up,” Ford promised, choosing this moment to toss back his little bottle of whatever it was the Love God had left him. “And there’s a leaf blower with your name on it if you double cross me.” The gnome, satisfied and apparently pleased with Ford’s steely eyed determination, took off at a rapid pace, taking Ford at his word that time was of the essence. Ford’s long legs, used to walking and running rugged terrain, easily kept pace with the gnome’s rabbit speed.
It was a 40 minute dead run past the wreckage of the bunker and its tunnels before they arrived at a pair of trees near the waterfall side of the lake. Shmebulock stepped between them and vanished. Ford followed without hesitation and had to grab for a handhold. On the other side of the illusion was a steep spiral staircase with a fire pole down the center. Once he had his bearings, Ford stepped out and took the pole, forcing the gnome to play catch-up.
Ford’s boots hit solid ground and he snatched the gnome by the collar from the pole. “Good job, Shmebulock,” Ford said, patting the little man on his shoulder before striding off, eyes darting edgily in every direction. He paused briefly to remember how to call the Fixer. To Ford’s surprise, not two minutes later, he found himself snatched up by the collar, high enough that his feet left the ground.
Immediately reacting as if to a threat, Ford swung a right hook and connected with nothing. The amused laughter was followed by the voice from the phone, except now it was close. “Not bad. Only missed my face by three feet. Up here, Einstein.”
Ford went still at once rather than strangle on his reinforced turtleneck. “Fixer, I presume,” he said warily.
“The same.” The Fixer looked human. Mostly. He had the same pointed ears Ford had noticed on Dajan. His hair was vivid red, streaked with silver-white, and he wore it in a braid that fell past his knees. He was also enormous. Funnily enough, despite the booming voice and immense size -- he made Dan Corduroy look like a pencil necked weakling -- he had a boyish face and kind, bright blue eyes. He set Ford back on his feet. “So let's talk. How big is this boat?”
Ford described the Stan O’War and watched as the Fixer’s face furrowed in unhappy disbelief. “By my girders, it's a miracle you're not at the bottom of the sea. That may work for earth waters but if you're taking on the multiverse, you're gonna need wings. Wheels. And a fridge. Let’s get started.”
“Not just yet. I need… I need a tracking device.. Or… something.” Ford reached up and dragged both hands through his thick silver-streaked hair. “Without that, some way to find Dajan, it could take another 30 years. I don't think her good graces will hold up that long.” I don't want to have to wait that long to see her again.
“Mm. She's forgiving, Dajan is, but yeah, I dunno that she'd be so after that long. Come on, let's see if we can't find you a gewgaw or some form of doohickery that will help with that.” The Fixer hoisted Ford to sit on one shoulder, so they shared roughly the same point of view. It was a good few minutes of walking through the bizarre bazaar before they found a charm counter The Fixer liked the look of. He set Ford down one more time, then reached into the pocket of his black leather coat. As Ford examined the offerings at the booth, The Fixer pulled out a copper cable the width of Ford’s wrist and took a large bite.
The knobbly creature behind the counter quailed visibly as The Fixer placidly chewed on his snack. “My friend here needs a cross dimensional tracker for a demi-human who's been kidnapped. What ya got, and don't waste our time.”
The booth owner scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Need some connection between who’s hiding and who’s seeking. Hair? Ribbon? Buttons, bobs or bows? Tokens of affection? A finger or some toes?”
Ford began rummaging through his pockets as the knobbly thing spoke, trying to avoid thinking about the sort of creatures who carried fingers and toes around--especially as tokens of affection.
He came up with the stubs from their movie date, a melted together wad of jellybeans from the same night, a gold plated d2 from the dice he'd given Dajan during her first visit, the fountain pen he'd used to draw Dajan-as-Alexandrerios, and the much-crumpled postcard she'd doodled the Mothman cave on. “Will any of this do?”
The knobbly proprietor examined the items. “Wait!” The Fixer dropped a flash drive onto the counter. “She got her silly ass up on a parade float and serenaded him with Thomas Dolby in front of the whole town. I got the video feed nice and clean. No noise in the audio.”
“Ah!” The knobbly creature grinned broadly with far too many teeth. Strangely, its insectile eyes had gone all shiny and dewy with long lashes. “Yoorgi can work with this! Romantic gestures very powerful. But must be certain. Must be sure. Obligation your reason, charm will fail. Guilt? Charm will fail spectacular. Love above all other considerations, charm strong. Will guide you true. But will not come cheap.”. Knobbly fingers also grabbed the fountain pen.
Ford swallowed hard. “All those emotions… are mixed up in there,” he admitted, one hand going behind his neck. “I know not to lie about this, even if I wanted to. I think that last one is the strongest. I...just don't want to speak that aloud. Not until I say it to her.”
The Fixer clapped Ford companionably on the shoulder, nearly sending him flying into the booth. “Good answer. We will be back for it in 12 hours, Yoorgi. Get to work.”
“Forgetting something?” Asked Yoorgi, holding out a hairy hand.
“I can give you a barghest fur jacket,” Ford answered. “I'd have to bring it back from the house. Or one hour of my time every day for a year and a day. Or you can ask me to pay by something I encounter on this miss--quest. ”
“Yoorgi take 5 one dram vials girl’s tears. Very valuable. Good to stock up.”
“Which girl?” Ford asked.
“Quest girl best but any girl who cry from sincere feeling will work.”
“Deal. Five drams of girl tears,” Ford agreed with a wince. Mabel would almost certainly be willing to donate, but he found the idea uncomfortable and disturbing to make her or Dajan cry. Perhaps the terrifying cousin. Cross that bridge when you come to it. Rescue her, beg forgiveness, get home in one piece. The human and the tinkerer sealed the deal with a spit shake.
“Great. Time’s a-wasting,” said the Fixer jauntily. The copper cable got tucked away into a pocket. “See ya in the am, bright and early. OK, heartsick science dude, let's get this moving. HEY, SHMEBULOCK! you need a ride back?”
“Shmebulock,” called the gnome, appearing out of nowhere to clamber into one of the Fixer’s outside pockets.
The run back took far less time, and the Fixer was walking at barely more than a quick stroll, commenting all the while about the natural beauty of the area. By the time they returned, the El Diablo was also pulling up.
“Best! Drive! Ever!” crowed Stan, leaping from the car like Speed Racer.
“I thought that drive was going to take you overnight.”
“So did I, Sixer, but the dealer was halfway here. Get this. He says I showed up, asked for an upgrade, to have it delivered. And I paid… in cash! Platinum coins!” Stanley tossed his head back and laughed like he'd pulled off the best scam. Only after he was done did he notice the towering figure unhitching the brand new houseboat from the Stanmobile. “Who's Gigantor?”
“How is that possible?” Ford demanded. “This is going to come back and bite us. If it does, so help me, Stanley--”
“I swear to you on the destroyed portal, Stanford,” Stanley said, shrugging off his cheerful con artist persona. “I didn't do it, I don't know who did it, and --”
Before Stan could finish the sentence, a large sheet of linen paper materialized out of thin air in front of the brothers. As they watched, gold writing that changed font every third or fifth letter began skirling across the page:
Settling up. Screwed up in Russia. Curse slipped past me. So I owed you.
She's fine. Mostly. Alive and in one piece. Boat’s all yours free and clear. -- E.
Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, trying with all his will to not think about what “mostly” meant when it came to Dajan’s condition. “Eris’ idea of helping. Do you have any idea what chaos it will throw the global economy into by paying for such a big purchase with platinum?”
“Dunno, don't care!” chuckled Stan. “ So anyway, who's the guy unbolting the new Stan O’War and should he not be doing that?”
“Fixer,” the giant introduced himself, “and I should be doing... Whatever I want. Order me six burritos the size of Shmebulock, and stay out of my way. The boat will be multiverse-worthy by sun up. You two are gonna need some rest and to swig your go-go juice first thing when you wake and do it every day.”
“The stuff the Love God gave us?” Ford asked, popping the now empty bottle out of his pocket once again to more closely examine it.
“It’s got a bunch of different recipes. Your guy probably has one of the purest possible given who he’s related to and how much society is all about blah blah blah love woo-ooo starry eyes and hearts. Long story short, it’s a support potion. Keeps your body operating at peak. Not peak for however old you two relics are, but peak for when you were at your peak.”
“Which is why it’s important not to miss a day. You’ll crash if you do. Like the Hindenburg.” Stan opened his mouth.
“No, I will not sell you a backup store. My recipe is different and would probably be incompatible with what you’re already taking. Your hearts could explode or your molecules could phase you out of sync and leave you floating like a ghost. Not pretty.”
Stan shut his mouth.
“Now if you will let me work, I gotta get fins on your hull, thopters on your mast, and Yammer engines on your aft. And it ain’t quick as I’d like, as work goes, so leave me alone and do not check on me. Just have Shmeb drop off the food when it gets here. I mean it. No human eyes!”
“Got it. No human eyes.” Stan could generally be counted on to go directly to sleep, except he’d had his hit of the potion today too. He could distract himself with soap operas. Ford would be consumed with curiosity, but could channel that nervous energy into preparing for every supernatural threat he could think of. “You got it, Sixer?”
“Yes. No eyes on the project until sunup.” He handed Shmebulock a wad of cash from a pocket. “I’ll order the food. Leave us a couple burritos on the porch.”