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Stanley Pines knew he was dying. He felt more alert when he woke up that morning. His old body was devoid of any aches or pains that he had learned to tolerate. He actually had an appetite and was able to eat something earlier that morning. Compared to the sickness that had been lingering for the past couple of months, he daresay he felt like a brand new person. And yet, he knew he was dying.
Propping himself into a more erect, upright position, he peered his head and gazed out the window. The waters of the Atlantic Ocean were smooth, stretching as far as he could see. The sky took on a calming orange hue, the sun reduced to a bright red ball that inched closer and closer to the water. He took in a deep breath, allowing the sea salt infused air to inflate his lungs. For a man just mere hours from death, he was unnervingly calm.
Stanley Pines was a con artist. Equipped with a sharp tongue, charmable charisma, and a fierce will to fight, he had been able to cheat his way out of ugly situations, and death was one of them. He should have died when he was left to suffocate in the trunk of one of Rico's goon's cars. He should have died from that gunshot wound back in Colombia. The Grim Reaper had stood Stanley's doorstep before, and each time, Stan turned him away. But now the Grim Reaper wouldn't take no for an answer this time, and strangely, Stan was okay with that.
"Stanley?"
Stan turned in response to the tentative voice. Stanford stood anxiously in the threshold of the room, a concerned expression on his face. "Do you know where you are?" Stan smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "'Course I do. I haven't had a memory lapse in a good couple of months, Sixer. I'm fine."
Ford visibly relaxed and crossed the room, his footsteps creating soft thuds on the wood as he leaned on the wall. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "You just seemed lost in thought there,"
"'Spose I was," Stan shrugged evasively.
Ford's brow furrowed slightly at this. "Are you feeling all right?" Stan motioned to the window with his head in response. "Ah," Ford nodded once he caught glimpse of the view. "That's nice, and I'm sure it's nicer than the view from your room in hospice care."
"You can say that again." As comfortable as the hospice staff tried to make him feel, the room he stayed in never felt like a home to him. The walls were too pale of a blue, the space too sterile for his liking. It felt too temporary. He was relieved, to say the least, when he was able to be discharged, though he and his brother both knew what leaving truly meant. "Hey," he said, surprising them both, "Can we call the kids tonight?"
Hi twin brother perked up. "That's a wonderful idea," he affirmed, reaching for the laptop and dragging a chair to his brother's bedside. It took some time to navigate the laptop, but they eventually located the video chatting software and clicked on the icon. The call pended for a few seconds, then the screen flickered to reveal the face of their great nephew. Dipper grinned at the camera. "Hi, guys!" The boy's voice had noticeably deepened since their last call, but that had only been a week ago.
"Hello, my boy!" Ford greeted warmly, smiling at the camera with affection.
"Hey, kiddo! Where's your sister?" Stan asked.
"Oh, right!" Dipper turned the laptop away from him slightly. "Mabel! Great Uncle Ford and Grunkle Stan are on the phone!" he called. He repositioned the laptop. "Brace yourselves."
As if waiting for a cue, a set of steady thuds sounded from somewhere in the distance on Dipper's end of the call. A door slammed open, making the noises clearer. The laptop was wrenched away from Dipper's grasp, Mabel's face filling the frame. "Hi, Grunkle Stan! Hi, Grunkle Ford!" she shouted, making the men wince. "How are you guys? You doing okay? I missed you guys!" She said, all in one breath. This wasn't anything new. In fact, the older Pines twins enjoyed the energy their niece added to the weekly calls.
"Now that we're talking to you both? We're great," Stan said. It didn't seem possible, but Mabel's grin widened, revealing her braces-free teeth.
"Come on, Mabel. Bring the laptop back." Dipper groaned. "I want to talk to them, too." Mabel stuck her tongue out, but she settled beside her brother and placed the laptop in the space in-between them, giving them equal view of the screen and their great uncles.
As the kids chatted about school, their extracurriculars, and Ford relayed some of their most recent adventures while out at sea, Stan found himself fading, but it wasn't out of disinterest. He lost himself in the moment. He looked at the two teenagers in turn. They were eighteen now, and comparing them to the memory of them as small twelve-year-olds he held so dear, their growth was truly remarkable. His eyes zeroed in on Mabel. Her brown hair brushed the shoulders of her pink sweater, a style she hadn't grown out of over the years. Her brown eyes were lively and animated, perfectly matching her smile that never faded. He hoped that wouldn't change after he was gone. Her features were accentuated by the subtlest hint of makeup. Stan didn't know why his great niece bothered to wear it -- to him, she was more than perfect, and he had told her as much multiple times. She would always laugh, roll her eyes, then say, "Don't worry, Grunkle Stan. I know."
Much to Mabel's dismay, Dipper was now taller than her. He wore an orange shirt with white sleeves beneath. His nose still had that hint of flush to it, unlike the rest of his face. He no longer wore a hat, but he kept his hair brushed to the side so that it would cover his birthmark. "Don't worry, Stan," Ford had reassured him when Stan brought up his concern for the matter in private, "Remember, it took me until I was in my thirties to stop feeling self conscious about my birth defect. He'll get there at some point, I'm sure." Stan had taken his brother's word for it, though he was disappointed that he would never get to see the day where his nephew would let his birthmark show unapologetically.
Stan had watched the twins transform from helpless infants swaddled in blankets to grown adults getting ready to leave their mark on the world. They were the children he never got to have of his own, but it was all right. He wouldn't have had it any other way. The only thing he wished for was to be able to embrace them one last time.
"Grunkle Stan? Earth to Grunkle Stan?"
Stan blinked, gradually returning to reality. Mabel was still smiling at him, but there was something there now that hadn't been there when the call started: the slightest hint of worry. "Yes, pumpkin?" Stan asked, trying to feign nonchalance.
"I asked if you were feeling okay," she repeated for him, "You seem quieter than usual."
"I'm just fine, sweetie." Stan said. "I'm just admirin' you two is all,"
"Someone's feeling awfully sentimental tonight," Dipper commented. For a brief moment, a snide comeback began to form in his mind, but it died away on his tongue. He didn't have much sand left in the top of his hour glass, and he didn't want to waste it by reinforcing a macho, tough-guy facade that wouldn't even matter soon. Instead, he opted to let out a small chuckle. "I guess I am. I'm just feeling nostalgic. I miss you two,"
"Don't worry!" Mabel piped up. "We'll come down next summer! Just like every summer before!"
Stan's smile was genuine, no pain tugging at his chest when he responded. "Right. Next summer."
As the sun lowered past the ocean and the stars began to take their turn, Stan began to participate more in the conversation, listening intently to the kids talk about whatever they pleased. He even cracked a few jokes here and there. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stan knew that next summer wouldn't come. Time would continue after he passed, of course, but summers spent at the cabin in Gravity Falls, Oregon weren't going to be the same. It should have hurt, but the only emotion he felt was content. He had done everything he needed to do.
"Well, children, it's getting late," Ford said finally. The twin's faces fell, but they didn't argue. Mabel sighed. "All right. We love you guys!"
"You know, I'm real proud of you two. You're becoming fine adults. I love you two -- don't forget that." Stan beamed at the pair through the screen as they bashfully smiled in response to the praise.
Hanging up was always hard. Neither party wanted to be the one to take the initiative. This often resulted in idle small talk and repeated goodbyes until someone ended the call. Stan wallowed in every extra second he got. Eventually, though, the call ended, leaving the two men alone with a laptop resting on a blank screen.
"Moses, I love 'em," Stan exhaled and closed the computer, passing it to his brother. Ford took it and plugged it in, leaving it to charge. "They truly are something special," he agreed.
"What are you going to do now, poindexter?" Stan asked. His brother shrugged when he settled back down in his chair again. "I still have to catalog through some experiments and take notes, so I'll be in my office getting that taken care of."
"Right. What else did I expect from you?" Stan joked. "But, uhm, before you go, there's something I've gotta tell you."
Ford leaned forward, eyes locked onto his brother's. Taking that as the sign that he had his twin's undivided attention, Stan took a deep breath and began to speak. "I... I know that things haven't always been the best between us, but-"
"Stan, we're past all this," Ford clasped a hand on Stan's shoulder.
"I know, Sixer. Just let me finish. I know things haven't always been the best between us, and I know I've made mistakes. After Pa kicked me out, I tried to be angry. And yet, no matter how hard I tried to hate you, I just couldn't. I know that nothing can make up for forty years worth of lost time, but being out here, with you, on this boat... there's nothing else that could make me happier. You've been so patient with me throughout this past year of me being sick, and I owe you more than I could ever repay. Thank you. Thank you so much, Stanford. For everything. I'm so lucky you're my brother."
Stan didn't look at Ford when he spoke. If he had, he probably wouldn't have been able to finish. He tried to prevent his mind from getting too overwhelmed with formulating all that he wanted to say. Letting his emotions guide the words from his lips was easier. Stan never had a way with words, and that didn't miraculously change when he needed to be, but he trusted that he got his point across.
When he finished speaking, heavy silence hung in the air. Ford squeezed Stan's shoulder before breaking it. "Where's all of this coming from, Stanley?"
"I'm just making sure you know." Stan smiled at his brother. It took a few seconds, but slowly, Ford mirrored the expression. "Thank you, Stanley. I don't want you thinking that you owe me some sort of debt. It would take me days to list off all of the times you were there for me. I used to believe that being a great man meant being alone, but I see now how absurd that idea is. You're my hero, and you've saved me from myself. We've both made mistakes, but being here with you is the best thing to ever happen to me." Ford's brown eyes were so full of unconditional love that Stan was suddenly filled by it. The two sat there smiling at one another for a few moments longer before Ford rose to his feet.
"Do you need anything?" he asked as he crossed the room to turn off the light.
"Nah, I'm okay."
"If you need anything, just holler."
Stan called out before Ford could fully exit the room. "Hey, Ford?"
"Yes, Stanley?"
"I love you."
Stan could no longer see his brother's face, but something told him that he was smiling. "I love you too."
When Ford's footsteps faded away, Stan pulled off his glasses and sank into his bunk. He stared up at the cracks in the wood above him, listening to the soft waves of the ocean outside the ship. The world was peaceful and calm, and he was content. He had done everything he was meant to do.
Stan wasn't religious by any means. He was raised Jewish, but he never actively practiced the religion after he was kicked out. Even so, he wasn't fearful of whatever awaited him when he took his final breath.
Truthfully, he considered telling Ford and the kids that his time was almost up as soon as he felt that he was dying. The idea repelled him as soon as it surfaced, though. He didn't want to spend his final moments surrounded by sorrow. He wanted his family.
Stan let his eyes close, a few lyrics from one of the songs from his childhood echoing off of the inner walls in his mind.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where, don't know when,
But I know we'll meet again,
Some sunny day.
Sleep came easily for Stanley Pines that night.
| Ford's POV |
Life was hell after Stan died, peacefully in his sleep.
The news took its toll on everyone, but no one was as grief-stricken as the brother left behind. In fact, part of Ford died along with his brother that night. First, he was depressed. Then, he was numb. His studies no longer captivated his interest. They felt trivial and meaningless. Daily tasks and errands felt significantly harder than they were before. But through the bitter loneliness and anguish of grief, something kept Stanford going: Stanley would have wanted him to.
He tried to stay on the boat for as long as he could. It was painful, living in the same space, secluded from the world without his best friend, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. But after suffering from a heart attack shortly after he turned ninety-two, he was taken to the hospital, then finally, to hospice care.
The pain of losing his twin brother never fully stopped. Somedays it felt brand new, bleeding heavily, throbbing, and leaving him in agony that only had one, unattainable remedy. Other days, it was muffled. There were good days and there were bad days, but the wound never fully healed.
When Ford opened his eyes, he knew he was dead. He felt young in a way he hadn't felt in decades, his body no longer weighed down by his old age. He found himself standing in a field of verdant grass. The sun created a pleasurable warmth on his exposed skin. The sky was a bright blue and free of any clouds that would hinder his view. A few yards away, the bucolic scene came to an abrupt halt, consumed by a sheet of white that he couldn't see through.
"Well, it's about time, Sixer."
If Ford's heart still functioned, it would have stopped beating. He knew that voice. It was the voice he longed to hear for so long, and here it was, exactly how he remembered it. Ford turned around. Stanley stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed over his chest with an expectant look on his face.
"You're here," Ford whispered, mostly to himself.
"'Course I'm here." Stan said, unruffled by his brother's surprise. "You outlived me by ten years, you fit bastard."
Ford pointed behind him, over at the white void that seemed to call out to him, beckoning them to come close and step through. "What's that?"
"Don't know." Stan shrugged. "I never went through. I've been waiting for you. After all, wherever we go, we go together."
The twins joined hands and approached the void together. It was bright, but it wasn't painful on their eyes. The closer they came, the more enticing the idea of steeping through felt. Ford was a man of science -- he relied on facts and evidence. He hadn't considered an afterlife like this to be possible, and here he was, standing in it against all odds. The pair came to a stop just a small step before the white expanse. Their eyes met.
"Are you ready to head into the unknown?" Ford asked his brother.
"Yep," Stan replied. "Let's do it."
With no hesitation, Stanley and Stanford Pines stepped through the sheet as one.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where, don't know when,
But I know we'll meet again,
Some sunny day.