Work Text:
Stan leaned against the dryer humming and folding a blue, shell stitch throw blanket. He should’ve known he would spill his hot chocolate on Mabel’s gift while watching ‘The Duchess Approves’ remake. The acting was lackluster and what was up with Lord Bowler and Mr. County showing up before The Duchess had gone to Westhammingitupshire? They weren’t supposed to be investigating the disappearance of Lady Gamwallon’s niece until after her disastrous gala. Hadn’t the writers watched the original? What were they doing messing with the timeline? And who was in charge of casting? A blind mole rat? The Duchess was supposed to have presence, not fade into the background in practically every ensemble scene! Not to mention the complete lack of chemistry between her and Saunterblugget Hampterfuppenshire needed for their problematic relationship to work. Then there was Lord Lionel. Absolutely nothing could save that performance, even Stan punching Bill again.
Fuming, incised to the point of joining an online forum, he’d jumped up, pointing and shouting at the screen. Gesturing wildly, he’d momentarily forgotten his mug, slopping the full cup right onto the blanket and his favorite chair. Mabel’s first crochet attempt at something larger than a pot holder that she’d lovingly given him when they’d docked in California right after New Years. The blanket that he’d been so careful with when Ford kept leaving squid and kraken ink samples everywhere on the boat. That he’d brought with them when they’d returned to Gravity Falls for the summer. That blanket was now bleeding dark brown and tiny marshmallows!
Panicking, he’d hauled it straight to the laundry room.
Now it was washed and dried and the world was right again.
“Did the stain come out?” Ford asked, entering the room, holding a fresh warm mug of coffee.
“Yes.” Stan held the blanket protectively to his chest and eyed Ford’s hand warily.
“So-”
“Figured I’d do the rest of the laundry Soos had piled up in here,” he grumbled as Ford carefully switched his mug to the hand furthest away from the blanket.
The elder twin came over and leaned against the washer next to him. Stan tucked the blanket under his arm, still eyeing the coffee. They stood in silence for a minute or two while the machines hummed and whirred behind them.
“This reminds me of when we were kids waiting for our favorite shirts to be dry,” Ford said, wrapping his other hand around the mug, feeling the ebbing warmth. “We’d huddle next to the dryer and grab them as soon as they were done, pulling them on before they lost their warmth.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” Stan couldn’t help but smile. He set the blanket into the laundry basket full of bedsheets and other linens at his feet. Ford’s gaze followed him.
“Do you remember the other reason we used to stand around the dryer?”
“You mean other than warmth in winter?”
Ford tilted his head toward the laundry basket. A slow, mischievous and nostalgic smile spreading across his face. In an instant Stan knew.
“You wanna build one for old times sake?” he asked.
“Do we want to draw up plans or wing it?”
“Let’s just start and see what happens,” Stan replied, picking up the basket and heading back to the living room. “But we ain’t using Mabel’s blanket. Don’t wanna stretch it out.”
“Of course,” Ford replied.
* * *
Wendy got up from behind the counter and stretched. It’d been nearly an hour and Mayor Cutebiker had finally decided which snow globe to purchase. Seriously, who took an hour to decide between three different variations of the same cheap snow globe? She’d rung them up, took their money and waved lazily as they left, letting out a sigh when the gift shop’s door closed.
She walked over and flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ figuring it was late enough in the day that no one else would be coming by. Besides she had slightly more urgent business to worry about tourists or not.
Snatching her copy of ‘Teen Angst’ from the counter, she pushed past the ‘Employees Only’ door and headed into the family living area. Two steps past the doorway and she found her path blocked.
“What the...?”
A brown blanket was draped over a pair of kitchen chairs, spreading back as far as its length would allow until it overlapped with another, propped up by more chairs. From there more blankets overlapped with it, creating a tunnel in two directions, running up and down the hall. Even more blankets and sheets spread out in every direction possible, spilling into rooms like a great colorful mud flow, leaving a tangle of tunnels to crawl through as it dried.
She heard shuffling and suddenly Ford’s head popped out at the entrance by her legs.
“Ah! Good afternoon Wendy,” he said, tugging on something. A string of Christmas lights slid into view and he carefully began looping them around the leg of one chair.
“Uh, I need to use the bathroom,” she said, stupidly. Her brain trying and failing to wrap around the fact that Dr. Stanford Pines was stringing Christmas lights in the largest blanket fort she’d ever seen.
“I’ll get out of your way. Go left until you see the jaguar beach blanket. Push it aside and you’ll be at the bathroom.”
He scooted back on his hands and knees, leaving enough room for her to crawl past. Crouching down, she took a moment to take in the construction of the fort from inside.
Blankets and sheets were used in a pattern in deference to their density. Thicker blankets blocked out the light and were used in an alternating pattern to the thinner sheets, which allowed light in. Down the way past Ford, a pillar made of cushions created a vaulted ceiling effect right before the step down into the living room. Chairs were used here and there down both ends of the hall with Christmas and Summerween lights strung through and around them to create a cheery atmosphere.
“It’s a work in progress-” Ford began, but was interrupted by Stan’s bellow from Soos’ office.
“I’m copying more blankets. We don’t have enough to make it up the stairs. You need anything?”
“Make some cushions. The parlor columns are unstable and I’m afraid it’s going to cave once we start adding the seating,” Ford shouted back.
“Roger!”
“Copying?” Wendy asked. Her curiosity winning against biological needs for a few minutes.
Ford coughed. “One of my earlier experiments. A copy machine that can make duplicates of anything in 3-D. Just don’t copy anything living.”
“Rrrrrright. Um, I’m going to the bathroom now. When I’m done, you guys need any help?”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work.”
“Trust me, there’s no work to interrupt.”
“Don’t let Stan hear you say that.”
Wendy laughed. “He’s retired and my new boss took off to meet up with a guy about some shrunken heads. So...”
“Well, we could use someone more nimble to string the twine for what we have planned for the attic.”
“I’m great at climbing and tying knots,” she assured him with a smile.
“Excellent.
“Now, if you could…”
Ford scooted further into the depths to allow her to pass and she crawled down the hall to the bathroom, her magazine still tucked under her arm. As she located the door, she heard Stan suggest they add a disco ball. She couldn’t wait to see what plans he had for it.
* * *
When Soos returned to the Mystery Shack he found a sign hung up outside saying, ‘Welcome to Blanketopolis: Population: ?’ and a smaller sign below it stating ‘Rules: No smoking, no pillow fighting, and no food or drinks except in designated areas.’ A third sign scrawled in Stan’s handwriting was taped to an empty glass jar read, ‘Money’s in the jar. Leave pizza on the porch. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.’
Soos read it twice then smiled. “Cool! They ordered pizza.” He cheerfully opened the door to see if Blanketopolis had room for one more.