Chapter Text
He opened his eyes and looked up at the busted ceiling in the room, he had not slept well. Hard to narrow down the reasoning, whether it was from the fact his bed was a broken mattress on the floor, the random body aches, or the craziest nightmares he had when he shut his eyes. Either way he had to get up and get started, the round one had assured him, 'Soos' a quiet part in his head reminded him, Soos had said they were going to be working on fixing up the place they called The Mystery Shack.
He twisted and sat up, feeling around with his feet for the slippers he had an echo in his mind that told him should be there. However he just felt broken floorboards and... paper. He leaned to look between his knees when something in his back disagreed and now his knees started to join in, and before he could completely prepare himself he had a full scale riot of body aches. He tried to quiet them down with a groan, but he seemed to only add fuel to the fire. A few minutes later he found himself able to grab the paper and squint at it, only to remember the glasses he had to wear. Even with he was pretty blind due to cataracts. He fumbled around until he slid the square frames and saw the brilliant colors of the sweet girl with the metal mouth, Mabel his great niece, had left for him.
"Sorry Grunkle Stan, we tried to find your favorite slippers in the mess but they are gone. But I told Ford and he got Soos to come take me and Dipper in Town to buy some yarn and stuff so I can make you some new ones, hopefully we are back before you get up, but if not I am totally sorry and will apologize a million billion trillion puppy-illion times and give you a hundred hundred hundred love-tillion-illion-skillion hugs to make up for it, with all of the love I can give and more - Mabel (Your favorite)"
He got a pretty good laugh out of it, and he knew she probably meant every word. He closed his eyes and focused on his memories of her. It was like he was making a raft of everything he could remember inside of a sea of blue fire. It never burned him but with each memory he fished out of the depths, he really liked fishing, it seemed to get less intense and bright. Though not everything he drug up from the deep was good and he was worried about what it said about him.
He walked over to the cracked mirror on his dresser and looked at himself. It was a little less of a shock for him to see the face looking back at him. So square and wrinkled more than a dollar bill after changing hands for years. He poked and prodded his features, still in awe at the size of his ears. He took a breath and looked over his arms and chest, trying to make out any marks that stood out to him. He had lived life hard it seemed, and the flashes of memory did not paint a pretty picture. He lifted his undershirt and his large gut flopped out. He poked at it with a smirk before making it fold over so it looked like a mouth.
"Mr. Tummy... what kind of person am I?"
"I'm not sure Mr. Stan, but I sure could go for something to eat if you..."
Stan let go of his gut and turned to see a slightly oblong pale scar on his left side, he thought might have been from some kind of appendectomy, but he turned more to look in the mirror and saw a larger mark on the other side that dented in his weathered skin. He heard a loud bang and suddenly found himself standing in a lush green forest, not like the woods outside, a jungle. It was suffocating how hot and humid it was, his tropical shirt clung to him as he stood on the side of the makeshift runway. He looked across seeing the smoke rising from the barrel of the pistol pointed at him, the pain had not registered but the knowledge to duck down took over as he heard screaming. He pulled down someone next to him and they shuffled towards a stack of tires.
"Usted Maldito idiota!" Came a remark from the Policía in the distance, not directed towards them it seemed.
"Yo 8-Ball, you get hit?" The guy he was next to asked and he finally could feel the pain searing through his body.
"Yeah, the asshole just clipped me. I should be good to run though. You take off that way first, Jorge, and I will go this way. Meet up at the safe house." He told him in his usual unflinching lying voice as he got ready to make a break for it.
"I see you later man, ain't no one gonna catch Jo-..." He had started running as he spoke and only got twenty feet before Stan looked away when he started his own break for it. He didn't need to see the man to know; as gunfire ripped through the air, what he was going to end up looking like. Stan bolted through the trees as he tried to find a spot to duck down and hope that the goons after him didn't have the dogs. He found a tree hollow and squeezed his broad shoulders into it as he heard footsteps running his way. He cocked his head to the side and only made out one pair. He slipped on his lucky brass knuckles and waited as he felt hot liquid running down his side. The pain was dulling his senses but he held on tight and when the steps were right next to him and he turned to grab the green shirt of the officer and raised his fist.
"Whoa Mister Pines, stop it's me!" A younger girl looked up at him as he had her pinned to the wall with one hand on her plaid top and the other reared back ready to break her face. Her red hair and freckles stood out on her pale skin even more so as she looked terrified. He dropped his hand and let go of her as he rubbed his face.
"Wendy... what what happened?" He asked her, still feeling the intense heat and pain in his side. He touched it and expected his palm to come away with red. But it was clean. He was in the room once again.
"I... I came to help clean up and I ran into your brother, he asked me to come see if you were awake... I tripped on the door frame after running my boot into it and all of the sudden you grabbed me." She answered as quickly as she could seeing his confusion in his eyes. "Rough night?"
He nodded slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose before shuffling out into the hallway and towards the kitchen where he heard sizzling coming from, along with a pretty good smell. He stepped in and saw a near identical version of his face looking back at him, halfway through pulling off a tattered apron. Ford, his brother, he was someone he had a lot of trouble remembering about.
"I heard a racket, I was worried you might have fallen Stanley. Everything alright?" The man sounded frightened and worried as he brushed a oven mitt against the burner of a little camp stove and set it alight. He let out a yell and shook it off and onto the floor where he stomped on it until the flame was smothered. "Damn thing... I apologize, I know you don't like swears being used around the Shack."
"Yeah, everything is... I don't know." He admitted, everything was so... unnatural to him. He spotted the pig Waddles looking up at him and he obliged the fat jerk with a pat on his head.
"Well I was hoping a home cooked meal might do you some good. The stove is not beyond repair but beyond current repair. Thankfully I had some camping supplies for my longer excursions stashed down in the lab. So, how does some probably safe to eat Shi-... Stuff of Shingles and coffee sound, I think I recalled our mother's recipe, lacking the occasional cigarette ash mixed in of course. But the burnt toast might make up for it." Ford set a chipped plate down on the old fold up table that was serving as the counter. He sat down and took a bite as warm memories of a kitchen with a radio playing as the hum of the neon sign outside buzzed against the window. He looked up and smiled at the younger man across from him before the memory melted back into the reality.
"This is amazing, I love it. Thank you." He said with all honesty and the smile that broke on Ford's face felt good to see. "This is honestly the best part of waking up." He laughed before he looked back and saw Wendy in the hall glancing at him with uncertainty as she rubbed her neck where her collar had dug into her when he grabbed her. He turned to face Ford before clearing his throat. "I have a question, and I want you to tell me the truth. I am not what I seem to be... I remembered doing something pretty... messed up years ago. Am I a bad guy?"