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Chapter Text

It was pure luck that Ford had stumbled upon Fiddleford so quickly after the Oddpocalyse begun.

(But was it luck that allowed him to escape from Bill moments after the sky tore apart? Or did Bill see him as so insignificant–?)

When he ran through the forest, fleeing from the Henchmaniacs that would've torn him to shreds, Ford didn't know if the rest of his family were still safe. All he could think of was the fight, Stan running into the woods in tears and Bill, real, physical, not a dream, no longer just a nightmare, his unending laughter…

Then Ford had accidentally stepped into one of those fae-ry odd circles that Grunkle Dipper had cast decades before. In a blink of an eye, he found himself across town, warping into the junkyard, spooking a terrified Fiddleford and narrowly dodging a banjo swung at his head.

His friend immediately agreed to help him instead of hiding away like what anyone else would do. Fiddleford didn't talk about his own family but Ford had seen the worry and fear so clear on his friend's face. The undercurrent of guilt were heavy chains as they tore apart Fiddleford's old inventions for parts. Non-stop days were spent under the oppressive orange sky as the two worked on a cloaking device to get through the ravaged town and the weirdness-filled plains. To where he knew Stan was. The entire time, the maroon bubble covered in cracks taunted Ford.

And for the first time during his stay in Gravity Falls, despite the intensified weirdness, despite the pure chaos that now surrounded them, the idea of his worked precisely as he planned. The two of them reached the Bubble without being caught.

But whether it was sleep deprivation or paranoia, something clawed at Ford as they stood before the Bubble. It had been too easy. Yes, even with a device that had made them practically invisible and shielded them from weirdness waves, Gravity Falls had almost been impossible to get through without nearly being attacked by warped abominations and petrified by patrolling eyebats. But for the Bubble itself?

No guards. No seal to break. No key to find.

Bill didn’t even bother with any defences. Anyone could easily walk in.

So then what was keeping Stanley trapped inside? Had Bill wanted him to find out?

However with no other choice than to continue, Ford and Fiddleford braced themselves for the horrors created by Bill Cipher that befell his brother. Even though they hoped that reaching the Bubble undetected and Bill being so confident in his victory would make the rescue easier, Ford was still prepared to free Stanley as soon as possible.

But when they stepped through, they found themselves in a place Ford could only describe as home. 

It was Gravity Falls… but different. Ford and Fiddleford found themselves standing at the top of the Floating Cliffs. The woods and town took up the vast majority of the Bubble but at a distance, he could see that most of the buildings didn’t belong, plucked out of fiction and dropped into this version of the town. While the waters stretched out into the horizon like the ocean, the calm waters and shape of the shore made it undeniable that the large body of water was none other than Gravity Falls Lake.

It was Glass Shard Beach but not quite. He couldn't see any of the New Jersey town but there was the familiar scent of salty air. On the lake's shore, Ford could see the lighthouse and the boardwalk he knew all too well. When he closed his eyes Ford could hear a faint sound of seagulls and waves, of foghorns and buoy bells.

The Bubble was an amalgamation of both towns and more. There were places Ford recognised from Stan's favourite comics, both of superheroes and of the mundane. Walking around the streets were characters and monsters from their favourite movies and games. The sun was unnaturally bright without an overbearing heat.

The first thing that came to mind when seeing it all was ‘adventure’, the Bubble bustling with creatures and treasures and places one could only dream of.

Yet at the same time, there was something about it that made it feel so empty.

Ford knew what Bill was capable of. Chaos and horrors beyond imagination. This… wasn't what he was expecting.

"What type of prison is this?" Ford murmured, only to be stopped by an echoing rattling hiss.

"Oh sweet j– what is that?!" Fiddleford cried out as a creature stepped out from behind the trees.

Ford's throat went dry. The animal before them was impossible for many reasons. The biggest one was that it was supposed to be dead.

"Shanklin!"

The opossum had died a couple of months before they came to Gravity Falls. His twin tried to keep it to himself and act as if everything was normal but Stanley had been so upset, becoming far more withdrawn than usual. It was only after they were sent across the country to Gravity Falls Stan started being like his old self again.

Now the possum was here, very much alive and now the size of a truck. 

"A Shank-what now?!"

"Shanklin. Stanley's old pet," Ford quickly said, all too aware that his earlier call had attracted the opossum's attention. "Uh, hey there. Do… you remember me?"

Shanklin let out a friendly hiss in response and snuffled its face against Ford's hand. A wave of fondness for the possibly rabid opossum hit Ford as it gave him an affectionate lick, covering him in possum spit and for the first time in days, Ford laughed. "Ewww… quit it!"

There was no mistaking it. No one else in Gravity Falls knew about Shanklin. His brother had to be here.

His hands ran through the puffy fur and it only took a moment for Fiddleford to join in. "A friendly feller, ain't he?" Ford wasn't surprised that Fiddleford warmed up to Shanklin immediately. The young teen had a fondness for raccoons after all. Their next decision was made by the giant saddle strapped to Shanklin.

As the possum scampered through the copied and altered streets of Gravity Falls, the two boys on its back took in the sight. The arcade next to a fighting ring of giant squirrels. The library next to a concert stage blasting out a fusion of heavy metal and boy band music. The Summerween store next to a Wild West Spitoon Parlor.

Then a certain building caught Ford’s attention. "Wait!" With a panicked tug on Shanklin’s fur, they made a sudden stop at the centre of town. Replacing the town hall was a giant fort. And at the very top…

"Look over there!" Ford pointed up at a familiar figure, standing right at the edge.

He knew his twin was terrified of heights, that Stan would never get so close to a ledge that high but that didn't stop Ford. Hopping off the possum, Ford took off in a sprint into the fort, deaf to Fiddleford crying out to be careful. He ran down halls lined with weapons and treasures and artifacts that at any other time would stop him in awe. All he needed to do was find a way up. He threw open massive doors and sprinted up countless sets of stairs.

Winds rustled his hair when he finally made it to the roof. Out of breath, Ford immediately cried out, "Stanley!"

The other boy turned to face him. Except it wasn't his brother.

Ford gulped as he stared back at an almost exact copy of himself, unbruised, clothes lacking tears, unmarred by the Oddpocalyse. Hands in his pockets, this Stanford stood casually and was unfazed by the end of the world, by this fantasy world, by facing a reflection of himself.

Ford couldn't speak. He could only stand there, mouth agape and a million thoughts flooding his head.

"Greetings," Not-him smiled, completely at ease. A memory stirred in Ford's mind, his brother teasing him for 'using the world's most dorkiest way to say hi'. "I'm Stanford Pines. But I guess you knew that already."

His mind continued to race. What was he supposed to feel? A twisted reassurance that Stanley still cared for him to the extent that some form of Ford appeared in his prison? Or a dread that he was so easily replaced? Or creeped out by something about this him, something he couldn't describe that was wrong wrong wrong–

His thoughts were interrupted and the two Fords jolted in surprise when the door to the roof slammed open. Fiddleford had caught up with them.

Breathless and wheezing, Fiddleford doubled over, hands on his knees. "I never, oh my goodness… wanna see… stairs… again!" When he looked up and saw the two Stanfords, the young teen doubled back and his blue eyes widened in surprise. "What in the– Stanford, what's going on?!"

"I… I don't…" Not-him merely watched as Ford was lost for words.

Fiddleford tugged on his sleeve and hissed, "Look at his hands!"

What? He didn't notice them slipping out of his pockets when Fiddleford suddenly barged in. Was the copy injured? Or hiding a weapon? Or–

Oh.

Ford's skin crawled. Did Stanley really prefer him without…

He clenched his fists. Maybe this was nothing more than a taunt but he was the only other sentient entity they encountered so far that wasn't complete fiction. And he was going to get some answers.

"Where is my brother?!"

The other Stanford tilted his head. "You mean Shermie? Gosh, we haven't seen him since Passover, huh? He really should visit us more often," he said with a pout and utter sincerity before his eyes brightened. "But now he's just a state away! He can easily come here!"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Ford snapped.

Not-him crossed his arms as if he was genuinely confused. "I really don't know who you're talking about. Who else is there?"

Seriously?! Ford let out a groan of frustration. "There's no time for this! The world is ending and–" 'and it's all my fault. And it's all his fault. And it was just a stupid fight, he didn't mean to push Stanley, Stanley didn't know what the rift really was–'  "and we need to fix it."

"Do you really?" …What. Not-him gestured to the realm around them. "That's the thing- you don't have to leave! Trust me, we’ve got a good deal here. It’s safe and not to mention this place can give you anything you ever wanted! For example… Hey Fiddleford! Remember that gizmo you've always wanted?" There was a smug look on his face as he clicked his fingers. "Pow."

Then a machine appeared before their eyes. Fiddleford jerked back with a yelp, before leaning in and staring at it in awe. He adjusted his glasses as he took a better look. "A biomechanical brain wave generator? And is that there a quadruple neuroblaste– argh!" The teen mechanic was cut off with a sharp nudge. "Ow… yeah, yeah I know…"

Ford took a deep breath. "I don't care about any of this! All I want is to find my brother and get the hell out of here!"

Not-him let out a sigh, shaking his head. "I told you already, I don't know who you're talking about." But despite an air of nonchalance, a bitter smile grew on his face. "Besides, you have to actually mean it." Then his mood shifted like he hadn't muttered anything at all. Not-him clapped his hands together. "So if you're done with the interrogation, I'm gonna go loot treasure off some ghosts– uh, not those terrifying ones that'd turn us into trees. The fun ones you can fight, y'know? You guys want in?" His smile faltered at the lack of reply but he quickly shrugged it off. "Suit yourselves."

The copy turned to the edge of the roof where a zipline appeared out of nowhere and he jumped, whooping and hollering the entire way down. A moment later he was long gone.

Anger bubbled up within Ford. Good riddance! How dare he imply he didn't want to find Stan! He hoped he never saw that terrible copy of him again!

"What's going on?" Fiddleford nervously said. "Why were there two of you?"

"I have no idea but… it's wrong. I'm not going to stop looking for Stanley."

Chapter Text

The Bubble was far larger than they had planned for.

In the end Ford and Fiddleford searched the entire fort before moving onto the rest of the town, all to no avail. Even the replica Shack was empty. There wasn't even a version of Grauntie Mabel which had struck Ford as strange. Stan always tried to put on a tough act but Ford knew how much his brother adored their caretaker.

(Ford could only hope the real one was still alive…)

The Shack itself was almost unchanged from its real counterpart, from the brothers' room in the attic to Grauntie Mabel's studio to Grunkle Dipper’s conspiracy board room. All except Mabel’s psychic consultation room. The crystal ball and tarot cards were the same as Ma’s…

From what Ford had seen so far, everything else Stan had ever loved, everything he had ever wanted was manifested in this prison. This entire realm was manufactured for him… so why wasn't he here?! He had to be. This place was definitely some form of the Mindscape and according to Grunkle Dipper's notes, a Mindscape always was connected to its owner.

(Maybe that was Bill's plan, to lure in as many of them as he could and then separate Stanley from the Bubble, destroying everyone trapped within in one fell swoop–!)

…They simply weren't looking in the right places. That had to be it.

He didn't know how long it'd been, there was no way to tell when the sky never changed from the bright afternoon sun.

But he couldn't stop searching.

"Stanford…"

"We gotta keep going."

"But–"

"I'm not going to abandon him, I won't ever abandon him, that fake me, it was wrong–" 

"Listen to me for once!" Ford's attention finally snapped to his friend. "I want to find your brother as much as you do but even before we got here, we spent every moment of the past three days workin' to find him!"

"But if he's in trouble–!"

"What good can ya do if you're seconds from collapsing?!"

Ford wanted to protest but he knew wasn't the only one dead on his feet. He had been dragging his friend around for all this time. He had dragged him into this when he knew full well Fiddleford was terrified for his own family.

With a hitched breath, he forced himself to blink back tears. "I'm sorry."

Fiddleford's expression softened. "Well now, it's okay. I'm just saying we need to take a break. And I reckon I know a place you were curious about."

The twins had gotten familiar with the real Gravity Falls Lake over the past few months. Whenever they weren't searching for anomalies or Ford wasn't helping Fiddleford tinker with inventions in the junkyard, the brothers often spent their time fishing or rowing to the waterfall and the strange small islands that seemed to shift locations on every trip.

Mabel had even rented out a motor boat, using the opportunity to tell awful jokes with her terrifying array of puppets. Despite Stanley's dramatic protests that he was going to abandon ship and swim ashore, the twins still jumped at a second trip a week later.

(Ford hadn't been to the lake since the real Grunkle Dipper's return…)

The Bubble's version was more like a beach. The sand, the seagulls, the salty scent.

And an endless horizon.

Ford dropped onto the shore, exhaustion at long last catching up with him.

"Urgh," Fiddleford groaned beside him. "Shoulda had that fake Ford wish us up a resort."

A strangled laugh escaped Ford. "Real food would be nice. I know you'll never be but I'm so tired of canned beans."

"I would kill for clean water."

"I'm never touching a Pitt Cola again for… eh, a month, I guess. A week?"

Lying against the sand and completely exhausted, Ford could only think of shipwrecked sailors. He glared at the too perfectly blue sky and the too perfectly shaped clouds. This place really was getting on his nerves.

"...What do you think are the chances of luring Cipher here so Stan can wish that he spontaneously combusts?"

Fiddleford let out a weary chuckle. "That's some wishful thinkin' there, Stanford."

They fell silent once more and mere moments later he could hear Fiddleford snoring lightly. Ford's instincts yelled at him to pay attention, to keep watch but he couldn't help but let his mind wander. How could that Stanford act like Stanley didn't exist when this prison was nothing but reminders of him? It didn't make any sense. He had to find out why.

Lulled by the familiar sound of waves and seagulls in the distance and the warm sand against his back, his eyes slipped shut.

He was so tired.

'Just a moment's rest…' was the last thought he had before Ford drifted off…

…

…..

THUD

"Argh!" Ford jumped at the loud noise.

Next to him, Fiddleford startled awake. "What in the-?!"

In a daze, both teens looked up to see a triple-masted galleon. It was enormous, completely different from the wrecked sailboat that had been the twins' project for the past two years. Stan and Ford once spent hours gawking at a model ship that had been brought to Pa's shop, knowing they would never see a real one in their lives. But now one was in front of Ford with his own handwriting on the hull.

It made sense. If a blanket held up by a rope and a tiny stack of pillows was a towering fortress then what else would their humble sailboat be?

And standing on the deck was the other Stanford, hands behind his back as he watched the two teens get to their feet.

It shouldn't have been possible for a boat that large to anchor so close to shore. That didn't stop a boarding plank from landing next to them with a thunk , set out like a red carpet.

The ship's bells rang loudly, over and over again.

Ford clenched his fists and glared at the other Stanford as he bolstered his determination. He was certain that this was where Stan was being kept.

"C'mon."

He was almost aboard when he heard a sudden grunt from behind and turned around to see Fiddleford rubbing his nose in pain.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh, Stanford, I think there's a problem..." The older boy's hand cautiously raised up and pushed forwards until it suddenly stopped, pressing against an invisible wall. Some sort of barrier?

"Hey!" Fiddleford protested to the Stanford nonchalantly leaning over the ship rails. "What's the deal?"

Not-him just shrugged. "Sorry," he said, utterly unapologetic. "Stans only."

Fiddleford grumbled a swear that would make Stanley proud under his breath before he turned to Ford. The young inventor winced at the look on his face and wrung his hands together with a sigh. "Of course you’re going in anyway. Are ya really gonna be okay being there all by yourself? It feels like a trap."

Staring at the waiting fake Stanford on this equally fake Stan O' War, Ford gritted his teeth. "There's no other choice. But… still, it's possible that Stan's not even here. Searching the town again until I get back might be a good idea."

He was about to step on board when he was stopped by Fiddleford grabbing onto his jacket. "Wait, now hold on just a sec– he's a doppelganger! What if he tricks ya and takes your place?" Fiddleford hissed.

"A password," Ford replied immediately. The incident with the Shapeshifter weeks ago caused him to come up with dozens of plans for this scenario. But what password exactly? Something that a fake Stanford couldn't know… like something that happened during the Oddpocalyse. "The name of the machine we used to get here."

With Fiddleford's taste in names ranging from 'Cloaking Car 2.0' to 'the NowUSeeUsNowUDont Mobile', it would be impossible for anyone else to guess.

Fiddleford grimaced. "Well, you better remember to tell me else I'm gonna end up sockin' ya. Even if I ain't as tough as Stan, I used to wrestle with pigs back home an' I won't be holdin' back."

Ford could only give him a helpless shrug. "I owe you for everything anyway."

Fiddleford still looked uncertain but left him with a nervous good luck as Ford stepped onboard the galleon. Not-him had already made his way to the helm.

"Make yourself at home," Not-him casually said before turning his attention to the lake, hands on the wheel. Despite his presence, he seemed content on leaving Ford alone. At least so far. Well, if the worst comes to worst, he could always use nature's snooze button on him.

The boat rocked as it suddenly set sail, heading towards the endless horizon.

Ford swallowed. There was no going back now. …Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

He looked around the deck. He knew a vessel of this size needed at least a hundred crew members. Instead there were only the two of them.

Part of him would love nothing more than to run around exploring the ship for fun, to sketch every detail and forget everything else. He had to focus. Heading below deck would be the logical first step.

Ford went through every room, calling Stanley's name to no answer. He searched through every nook and cranny in case of secret passages like the ones in the Shack.

He passed through gun decks filled with cannons. Living quarters with hammocks and stacks of clothes straight out of pirate movies and costume stores.

It was unnerving being surrounded by utter emptiness, with no sounds other than the creaking of the ship, the waves and his own footsteps. The lifelessness made it more of a ghost ship than anything else. He almost wanted to run back up to the deck, to the copy just so he wouldn't be alone. Almost.

The armoury was filled with so many different swords and guns. There were even knuckle dusters with impractically large spikes. Ford paused, his fingers grazing over a pistol. Maybe he could… He shook his head and instead slung a sword and its sheath around his waist, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.

The treasure room was filled with open chests, all filled with glittering golden coins. But no, there was something odd about them… They were far too big. As Ford drew closer he could see they weren't coins. They were… medals? His eyes widened as he recognised them. All of them were ones he'd won over the years. Hundreds and hundreds of duplicates, all engraved with stars and "1"s and "A"s.

His throat went dry as he reached the centre of the room. A chill ran down his spine. In a cracked glass case was the gold chain that led to the twins' first encounter with the strange and supernatural. The first of many. But Stanley himself wasn't here either and he couldn't find anything else of note so Ford left the room with little reluctance. 

Soon the only place left was the brig. The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he passed empty cell after empty cell.

Bill had said, had taunted him about Stan being trapped in the Bubble. While he knew full well that the demon was a liar, he had no reason to lie about this. Not when Bill was so sure he had already won. Not when he was so sure Stan would never escape.

A horrible thought hit Ford and he covered his mouth in horror. Was it possible that Stanley was already dead? Could… Could Stanley have died here? All alone in this prison?

No, no no–

He stumbled against the pillar. Was their fight the last they would ever see each other?!

He had to calm down. There… there still had to be other places to look… another place he had missed…

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a glint of light from the ground. Desperately, Ford rushed over and knelt down to the floorboard in the middle of the cell, grunting as he wrenched it up, uncaring of the splinters that dug deep into his fingertips.

Underneath wasn't a key like he was expecting. Instead there was a single silver medal etched with a boxing glove resting on a pile of ripped scraps of paper.

His heart was hammering in his chest as he picked one up and flipped it around.

He was going to get answers no matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Not-him was still at the wheel, staring out at the horizon with a distant gaze but his eyes lit up the moment he heard Ford approach up the steps.

The boy's eyebrow raised at the sword hanging from Ford's waist. "That's all you got? Thought you'd at least get changed."

Stanford didn't answer. Not-him awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck before gesturing to the wheel. "You, uh, want a turn?" At the continued silence, he tilted his head, brow furrowed as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. Not-him hmm-ed before his face brightened. "Hey, y' wanna see something cool? C'mon!" he said, gesturing to Ford to follow him to the centre of the ship. A smug look grew on his face when he raised his hand and snap. 

Despite his caution, Ford gasped. Without thinking he clambered onto the rigging to have a better view.

In a blink of an eye, the ship had been altered, now a mixture of historic and sci-fi. On the deck were giant but sleek engines that softly rumbled. Lights were embedded in and shone from the masts. The sails shimmered in the light, no longer cotton but instead made of countless hexagon panels. Thrusters lined the outside of the ship and flared blue. The cannons were now more like huge turrets that Ford somehow knew would shoot lasers.

It was something he knew he would never be able to see outside the Bubble.

And the galleon was far from the only thing that had changed. He felt lighter, as if gravity itself had shifted, weakened by a slight amount. And the lake… the lake around them shifted and warped and was now impossibly large. And plain impossible.

They were in the ocean. They were in space.

Above them was the everpresent sunny sky, light blue with its too perfect fluffy clouds but below was a sea of stars and nebulas and galaxies. The black water glimmered with constellations that rippled against the boat in waves. Wisps of colours, sparks, falling stars drifted down around the galleon like snow, close enough to touch. They landed in the waters around them, swirling colours like drops of paint on a black canvas.

"Cool, huh?" Not-him truly seemed pleased to get a reaction from Ford. "Wasn't sure how to go full space-y while still being able to fish but I guess this is good enough for now. We'll figure out the details later, yeah?"

In a daze Ford reached out to a tiny falling star. The moment it touched his fingers, it shattered into a cloud of sparkling dust, a comforting warmth against his hand.

It was unbelievable. It was beautiful.

It was a distraction.

Hopping off the rigging, Ford clenched the ripped photo in his hand and his free hand moved to the sword hilt at his waist. He had to find the truth. No matter what. He turned to face the fake Stanford and in a single motion drew the sabre.

"You were lying to me, weren't you? You knew about Stanley all along! So…" The blade raised up higher, pointing at Not-him's throat. "Where. Is. He?"

There was no shock nor fear on the other boy's face, his expression remained perfectly neutral. Ford's hand trembled, the sword shook. He wasn't sure what he would do if Not-him called his bluff.

There was no chance to react when Not-him darted forwards and knocked the sabre out of his grasp.

"Hey!" In his panic, he was distracted enough for Not-him to easily snatch the photo out of his other hand. "Ah, no! Give it back!" Ford lunged for it but Not-him easily dodged. He gave the photo a bored glance, a flash of unmistakable disdain in his eyes.

"You really don't need this."

That was all the warning Ford had before the picture of a grinning Stanley went up in flames.

"No!" Ford cried out as he instinctively, futilely reached for the photo but in a blink of an eye it was nothing but ashes drifting to the ground. 

Not-him smiled. "After all he'll never be as good as us."

He shut up after Ford slammed his fist against his jaw. It was Bill. It had to be.

But when Ford drew back his fist again for another punch, Not-him made no attempt to retaliate or defend himself. Not even reveling in the pain as Ford remembered Bill had done in own body weeks ago.

He just stood there. But his reaction didn't stop Ford for long.

Adrenaline in his veins, he seized the collar of Not-him's jacket and yanked hard. His anger burning as strongly, Ford held him over the railing. If Ford let go, if he lost his grip, Not-him would fall.

He didn't even struggle.

Instead the copy gave him a sad smile. "See? This summer toughened you up so much. You made friends. You can make it out there on your own. You don't need him. He's only dragging you down."

Ford's arms shook from holding the other's weight and at his words.

How could any Ford talk about his twin like this?!

But something caught his attention, past the young teen hanging over the edge of the boat, in the sea of stars below. For a split second, despite the waves, he saw a reflection.

Stanford froze. He thought he saw–

All this time searching and he couldn't find where Stanley was trapped. Had he been going about it wrong the entire time? Did Bill hide him somewhere he'd never think to look?

He pulled back and the other boy stumbled forwards, safe back on the deck, as Ford clambered up onto the edge.

He took a deep breath.

"Wait. Wait, wait! What are you doing?! Don't-!"

He jumped. Ignoring the fearful cry as he fell, Ford plunged deep into the black water. His eyes were open but he couldn't see. It was like being swallowed by a void.

But he could hear. Noises, a voice– no, voices, crackling, echoing, repeating, jumping from one to another like one of Grauntie Mabel's scratched up vinyls that she always played on her phonograph.

Ford surfaced, coughing up salty water of the lake, the sea, the stars. A thick black chain hung from the ship into the waters. There. He had to find the end. He took another gasp of air and dove back in.

Submerged in the dark water, it was impossible to see his own arms, let alone anything further. However, the further he swam the clearer the voices became.

Idiot

Stanley had to be here. He had to.

Loser

He blindly reached out, arms searching through the water. Was he even moving?

Weak

If he'd been stronger then Stan wouldn't be in this mess–

Why can't you be more like your brother?!

The anchor. He had to reach the anchor.

–will never make any friends

Crampelter was wrong. He already proved him wrong.

You're just a dumber and sweatier version of him!

His heart sank as he realised who these words were really for. His lungs ached.

Lying, stupid, thieving, troublemaker–

He was at his limit.

He's gonna realise he's too good for you. Does he really want to be dragged down by you his whole life?

How far was the surface he couldn't see–

"Don't you find it suffocating, Stanley?!"

No. Not this.

"Then why don't you ever try ?!"

No. This was out of context, it wasn't like the others, he wasn't like the others! Ford struggled to swim up only to hear one last distant voice before he reached air.

"I'm never gonna be good enough for any of you, am I?"

Speaking those small broken words was Stanley's voice. That had been the last time he had seen his brother before…

He wanted to call out to him but when he surfaced there was nothing but the sound of waves and his own pained gasping breaths. He was so tired. He couldn't do this for much longer. Lungs burning. Limbs aching. Soaked clothes were making it harder and harder to stay afloat.

He was wrong.

Ford struggled and struggled to keep his head above the waves. But he was only getting more and more tired.

It was cold, so so cold as despair gripped tight.

He had failed them both.

Ford let out a sob before he was pulled under one last time, swallowed by the waves.

Drifting in depths, surrounded by nothing but the dark.

And Ford closed his eyes.

…

An arm wrapped around him and Ford felt himself being dragged up.

He heaved in a gulp of air when he could finally breathe again. He didn't know what was happening, too busy spluttering and coughing violently as his body was lifted up in jolts. A ladder…?

Then he was dropped onto the deck, landing in a heap next to someone else as they collapsed, a puddle of salt water growing from where the two lay.

Ford was still struggling to catch his breath when his shoulders were seized.

"Stop looking for him." The other boy's fingers dug into him hard, forcing him to look up. For the first time he saw Not-him filled with anger.

"I…" Ford choked, squeezing his eyes shut but tears came anyway. "I can't. He'd do the same for me. Stanley wouldn't give up on me."

"I don't understand! Why…?!" He could hear the other's frustration and confusion die in that single word. He looked up as Not-him got to his feet, his face back to that calm expression, with eyes so distant.

"Fine." He walked towards the bow of the ship. The winds howled and the waves grew violent and Ford could do nothing but curl into himself, the rain pelting against his back. Even if they had never plunged into the sea, their clothes would still be drenched. A chill ran down his spine as he realised it was all to stop him from escaping the boat, from searching for Stan again.

"You don't need to worry about him. You don't need to worry about anything."

Not-him stood firm, his back to Ford and he was filled with dread and helplessness. "You know how it was before…"

Next thing Ford knew, there was an apparition of a small girl recoiling from him. He could only stare up at her (Cathy, Cathy Crenshaw, of course, of course it was her) as she let out a piercing scream, her face revolted that she touched something so disgusting. 

It was as if he was plunged back into the ice cold waters.

Ford flinched when in a blink of an eye he was surrounded. Show and Tell. The shrunken head he had found so cool the night before (no, no this happened years ago, this wasn't real–) held limply in his hands.

There was a quiet moment, the calm before the storm, his excitement dying on his tongue as he was faced with their judging stares of disdain, like there was something wrong with him. All before Crampelter started it all with a single throw.

Ford flinched instinctively and cowered, his arms raised in an attempt to shield his head. No blows came but he could still hear their taunts neverending…

"No… stop…"

Their chanting grew louder and louder and louder. Covering his ears did nothing.

Six-fingered freak! Six-fingered freak! Six-fingered freak!

Freak freak freakfreakfreakfreak

Before he had his brother with him but now–

FREAK

A cackling memory filled his mind. Stanley had run into the woods and the sky tore apart and Stanford was utterly alone and–

YOUR DUMB BROTHER SURE DID A NICE JOB OPENING THE DOOR, SIXER! WHO KNEW ALL HE NEEDED WAS A LITTLE PUSH ! SAY, WHY DON'T I LET YOU JOIN MY FREAKS AS A REWARD–

There was a loud snap and the bullies, the stares, the voices were gone.

Not-him smiled.

"But now everything can be perfect for you too. We'll never have to see any of them again. We'll never have to leave!"

As the other boy grew excited, Ford could only numbly wonder 'why?' It was as if it had never crossed his mind that Ford would be better off without six fingers.

And despite his own normal hands, Not-him kept Ford's habit of hiding his hands behind his back. Ford's eyes widened, a sudden realisation crushing his chest.

Why would a copy be so desperate to see him be happy? Why would a copy want Ford to stay, for the both of them to stay together? How was a mere creation of this world able to have so much control over it?

All the times the twins fooled people by simply swapping clothes, all the pranks they pulled… The glee they felt at being able to trick others so easily.

And Stanford felt like a complete idiot.

He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He stared at the identical face. "...Stanley?"

He wanted to be wrong.

The hand jerked back as if it'd been touching hot metal.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. But there was no turning back now.

"No." The boy took a step back. "You're wrong."

"Did Bill do this to you?"

"Shut it."

"Stanley–"

"No! I'm not him! I don't want to be him anymore!" cried out Stan's voice.

But before Stanford could react he was interrupted by the sound of poker chips clicking together, the shuffling of cards, the low rumble of numerous conversations happening all at once.

Pa's scoffing voice was the most clear. "–why else do you think they have the same name? Of course we didn't plan for two of them! But if I had a choice, isn't it obvious which one I'd get rid of?"

It was as if Ford had been slapped.

When did their dad say this? In his gut Ford knew. One night months ago back in Glass Shard Beach… Stanley had disappeared just before Pa left for one of his Royal Order of Holy Mackerel meetings. Ford had guessed that his brother decided he was finally going to find out what Pa did at those meetings without Ford. So in a huff, Stanford covered for him and spent the rest of the day waiting for his brother except… Stan didn't return until long after Pa came home, clumsily dragging himself through their bedroom window and ignoring Ford as he dropped himself onto his bunk. The next day he'd only muttered about a fish in a tank and nothing else. Stan wouldn't say a single word more no matter how hard Ford had tried.

Now he knew the truth.

Now Stanley stared back at him horrified. "Stan… Stanley…" Stanford stumbled to his feet and took a step towards his brother, only to cry out as the ship rolled to the side, black waves crashing onto the deck, and he was almost swept overboard. His footing lost, he slammed hard against the railing, knocking the air out of his lungs and he curled up in pain.

"Stay away!"

Despite his body screaming for rest, the ache and his emotions causing him to tremble uncontrollably, Ford dragged himself up.

"Leave me alone! Stanford, please!"

He pulled himself along the railing, step by step. The soaked swaying deck caused him to trip and almost fall again but he kept moving towards his brother.

"Why do you want me to be him?!"

'Why did you want to be me?' Ford wanted to reply. Instead he focused on getting closer bit by bit. Stan should never look so frightened of him.

His twin froze as Ford reached for him, carefully pulling the glasses away from Stan’s face. "You've always had my back."

Glasses landed against the wooden deck with a clatter. "Back at Glass Shard Beach, and whenever I was chasin' mysteries. You're strong and brave and–"

"Brave?" His brother who always had an air of confidence, looked so small, so lost. "Then why do I feel so scared? Why am I scared all the time?! And… and why can't I stop thinking I deserve to feel like this?" Stanley was on the verge of tears and Ford was at a loss for words.

"Stanley, please listen to me!" He had to say something, had to say the right thing. "You're my brother and my best friend–"

"That was the only thing I got going for me."

"Huh?"

But before Ford could say another word, he was interrupted again by another voice, Grunkle Dipper's voice sounding like it was muffled behind a door. "--sounds rough. Guess I sorta know the feeling. I would've done anything to make sure me and Mabel wouldn't have gone through anything like that again."

Then there was Ford's own quiet voice. "Pa always said it was our problem to deal with. That we had to tough it out… But here at least Grauntie Mabel helped out and… coming to Gravity Falls was the best thing that ever happened to me. Yeah, there's still plenty of jerks around but… here I can… y'know, finally be me. I… I don't want to go."

"Well, maybe you should stay here then."

"R-really?" The surprise and hope that had been in Ford's voice was easy to hear. "But… there's school and there's Ma– she'll miss us and–"   

"Stanford. I mean it. If it's anywhere near as bad as you're putting it– and I know you're brushing over details-  we'd be glad to take care of you. You know Mabel would do anything to keep you happy. And if you're worried about your mom, then… Stan can go back to New Jersey. You know him, he'll be fine."

"...Yeah. Maybe it'd be better that way. Better for the both of us."

A sharp inhale drew Ford's attention back to his brother. "I wasn't strong enough– wasn't good enough to protect you. That's why they're sendin' me back without you. That's why you want me to leave." Stan clutched at his head. "I'm supposed to be there for you always!" He looked at Ford, desperate and afraid.

"A-and if I couldn't even do that then what am I good for?!"

It was like everything stopped. The storm was gone. The waves died down to what would otherwise be tranquil stillness but instead allowed for an eerie silence.

Stanley fell to his knees, trembling, fingers digging into his own arms. "And… and I just used everything that hurt you to scare you into staying here! You almost drowned looking for me," Stan whispered. "I-I hurt you. Oh god, Stanford– I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Ford reached out and grimaced when Stanley flinched away from him.

"You didn't mean it! I'm…" It was impossible to ignore the lump in his throat and his shaking hands. "I'll be fine."

But Stanley was shaking his head, he wasn't listening, he was spiralling, hunched into himself. "I'm nothin' but a screw-up. And this time I screwed up so bad that I caused the end of the world. You should've just left me here 'cause I'm… nothing. No. I'm worse than nothing. Pa was right– I should never have been–!"

His words were choked off by a sob and Ford could only stand there mortified. What was Ford supposed to do? What could he do?!

Stanley needed so much more than just him.

Stan had always been better at talking, he'd never struggled with words like Ford did. He was the charismatic one. The charming one. Ford didn't know if he could ever find the right words. So far everything he said only hurt his brother more.

But even with what little he could do, he had to try anyway. He couldn't give up.

"Maybe I don't need you." He swallowed at Stanley's horrified expression but pressed on. "And maybe you don't need me." He thought about all the other kids back at Glass Shard Beach Stan could've been friends with if Ford wasn't around, if Ford hadn't attracted trouble and bullies like a magnet, if Stanley didn't have to pull him up everytime he got knocked down–

"But I want you in my life! We went through hell and back to find you! And I'm… I'm scared too." The helpless feeling in his gut grew as his brother remained hunched over, not raising his head.

"We both screwed up but that's okay--we're not our mistakes!"

Stanley's voice was quiet. "But Dad…"

"Who cares what Dad thinks? Who cares what Bill or Crampelter or anyone else thinks?!" Ford cried out. "You are brave. You're the bravest person I know! How many times have you saved us this summer? You took down an army of haywire robots by yourself! You punched that Northwest asshole in the face before blackmailing him into running away like a chicken every time he spots us! You even managed to trick Bill before! And… you saved me the first time he fooled me." Ford knelt down in front of his twin. "So we'll find a way to stop Bill again. We'll figure out what to do when summer ends. We can get through all of this together."   He placed his hand on Stan's shoulder and felt relief when Stan leaned against it.

"We're the Pines Twins! Unstoppable adventurers! Even if the world ends, we'll always look out for each other." He gave Stan a wry smile. "And when that isn't enough then Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper can bail us out. It's not just us anymore but that's okay. We can trust them." Their great aunt and uncle had to be safe. He had to believe that. He had to believe in them. "We will never leave you behind."

Stanley finally looked at him, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "...You mean it?"

Ford lifted his hand.

"High five?"

Stan stared at it before he shook his head with a teary smile.

"High six."

A satisfying clap rang out. Ford clasped their hands together before he pulled Stanley into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around his brother. He felt his brother openly sob.

And inside Stanford Pines, everything came crashing down.

Stanley was here.

Stanley was safe.

Stanley had been hurting for so long.

The both of them knew that, at least in a way, but had always pushed it to the side because how do you handle this what can you do it was too much–

Wasn't he supposed to be his best friend? Wasn't he supposed to be the older one?

Tears dripped down his face as he held his brother tight. It was going to be okay. He'll make sure it'd be okay.

Stan clung to him, face pressed against Ford's shoulder as he cried and cried and cried.

"I'm sorry."

Even as the both of them slowly calmed down, they continued to hold onto each other on a vessel that floated between the sky and the stars.

Ford didn't know how long it had been when Stan finally pulled away, rubbing the last of his tears away and mumbling about damn stardust in his eyes. Stanley blinked and looked around him as if he was seeing the Bubble with new eyes.

"Urgh. Was this place always so… mish mashy? And it's so damn sunny." Stanley's face screwed up as he squinted. "'S gotten way blurrier too."

Despite it all, a smirk grew on Stanford's face. "Told ya you should've kept wearing your glasses."

He received a light punch to his arm. "Heh, nice try making me wear those dork things again." Stan's smile turned pained as he took a good look at Ford. "Yeesh. You look like shit."

That was one way of putting it, Ford supposed. He jokingly rolled his eyes. "Thanks, bro."

But he could see his brother grow nervous. "Is… is it really that bad out there?"

Ford bit his lip. No point playing it down if Stan was going to see for himself but… He rubbed his neck. "It's, uh… well, it's not great."

Stan stayed quiet. His gaze wasn't distant like before but instead there was a contemplative look on his face. Then it turned sheepish. "And all the crap I said… any chance we can just pretend it never happened?"

"Nope."

"Eh, didn't think so but worth asking I guess…"

Ford carefully placed his hand on his brother's shoulder again. "You okay?"

Stan threw his head back with a sharp laugh. "Ha! I feel gross, wimpy and embarrassed beyond belief but also… kinda good?"

"Like a weight off your chest?" Ford suggested because that's definitely what he was feeling.

With a small smile, Stan hummed. "Yeah. Like– shit!"

That was all the warning Ford got before he was shoved to the side, narrowly dodging being crushed by clay from a deformed clawed limb. With a yell, Stan swung and the claymation monster was punched off the boat, splashing into the sea below.

But another monster immediately took its place and reeled its arm back to take a swipe at Stanley. A giant ball of plasma blasted it into bits of clay. Stan stared at Ford with a mix of disbelief and pride and he grinned back from the side of the laser cannon. "I really wanted to try using this."

Jumping down from the machine, Ford looked over the railing of the galleon and immediately backed away. The creatures that inhabited the bubble were now warped and fleshy as if they all had been turned inside out, clawing their way up the sides of the boat. There were far too many to fight off.

The world shuddered. The fake Stan O' War let out a deafening crack as if the vessel was about to collapse from Stan's revelation.

And the sea–

He grabbed onto Stan's arm. The stars that had been scattered across the black water were now yellow eyes, every single one focused on them, staring, piercing–

He tightened his grip.

"Time to go, Sixer?"

"Agreed." But something tugged at the back of Stanford's mind. They were forgetting something…

His eyes widened and the brothers shouted at the same time;

"Fidds!"

"Fiddleford!"

The two stumbled as another tremor hit the galleon. They had more pressing concerns right now– namely to avoid drowning (again) and being ripped apart by monsters.

"But first– are there any lifeboats?!" There were no signs of any- would they even have time to lower one down? But if they got to one they'd still be sitting ducks!

"I think I've got a better idea." Stan's furrowed gaze was on the distant shore. "Let's hope this works," he muttered and then he whistled. A mere moment later there was a tremendous splash. 

Shanklin leapt up high and landed onto the deck with a heavy thud, causing the galleon to let out another loud creak.

Stan let out a relieved laugh as he ran up to the possum and hugged him. "Thanks, buddy. I've missed you so much!"

Before Ford knew it, Stan practically dragged Ford to the giant possum and he was hoisted up before his brother clambered on. Shanklin let out a hiss at approaching monsters and the brothers held tight onto its fur.

"Try catch us, suckers!" Ford bellowed to the monsters and Stan laughed. Both twins turned their sights towards the fake town.

"Alright, time to pick up your nerd buddy and go home!"

And despite the odds they faced, Ford knew they were going to be okay.