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“Here’s a picture of a car! Ford says this kind was everywhere when you were younger, do you recognize it?” Mabel asked, holding the phone in front of him. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. His jaw ached, and he reached up to prod at his dentures with a finger.
Fuck, that hurt. But the more he thought about it, it wasn’t his jaw or his cheek hurting, it was his teeth. The teeth that weren’t there.
What?
He’d vaguely wondered why he was missing teeth at sixty-nunyabusiness, but he’d assumed it was poor dental hygiene, not-
Could he taste rope? And felt? Why could he smell leather?
He stumbled to his feet, springing for the kitchen sink to spit. No blood. He could taste it. He could taste blood, what was happening?
He yanked out his dentures with a wince, prodding his gums with his tongue. Nothing, there wasn’t a wound there, but it hurt, and he could still feel something hot and metallic tasting congealing in his mouth and at the back of his throat. He gagged. His stomach churned. He gagged again, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the sink to quell the nausea.
That was when the memory hit him like a freight train.
Dark, it was so dark, where was he?
He was on his side, his hands tied in front of him, thick and sturdy rope. The kind that they wrapped in plastic to keep it together. The floor underneath him rattled and vibrated, and the smell told him he was in a car.
Then it was as if time skipped ahead and he was gnawing at the ropes, chest heavy and cloyed with panic. His mouth was filled with fibers and blood, and he kept retching because it kept hitting the back of his throat, and it hurt.
He heaved into the sink, gasping for breath.
“Grunkle Stan?”
He yanked that familiar curtain over his emotions, then turned back to her with a tight-lipped smile. It felt as if he was about to shake himself to pieces, he couldn’t breathe. Shadows spun at the corner of his eyes, forming vague but familiar enough shapes that he shuddered reflexively.
“Sorry kiddo, Moses. I remembered something gross. Yikes huh? Let’s go sit down.”
Mabel looked a little unsure but smiled. He turned to his dentures, then hesitated. It gave him a little lisp, but-
He left them where they were. He walked back into the living room, settling into his chair. Mabel stood next to him, flipping through her scrapbook.
“I’ve got pictures of Columbian food because Grunkle Ford says you went there-“
Oh, Moses help him what the heck was going on? Why was his chest tight again, while could he feel saliva slicking the back of his throat, his lungs burning as he ducked his head, cringing away from the imaginary cold?
“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford! Help!” Mabel cried out, and Stan crumpled to his knees as he pounded at his chest, desperate for air.
Cold concrete beneath his knees, an icy chill in the air, and strong hands gripping his hair as his torso ached, harsh and painful. He let out a miserable sound, crumpling to the floor. The phantom hands disappeared at the movement, but he couldn’t shake the cold, it was so cold.
“Stanley. Stanley. You’re alright.”
No. No. Nononono, Rico, and Jorge weren’t supposed to know his name, they weren’t supposed to, they couldn’t, this wasn't supposed to happen-
"Lee!" A voice barked, close, too close. He reeled back, kicking out. Where were his brass knuckles? He'd just had them, Rico had scoffed at them in the car, where were they? He thrashed in protest when a hand landed on his shoulder and he hit empty air.
He was losing it. Where was he?
"Children, please leave. Give me a moment." The voice said. It wasn't Rico or Jorje, so who was it? It was familiar. Who was it?
"Lee. Please. Open your eyes." A voice asked, hesitant and awkward. Stan cracked his stinging eyes open, finding himself in-
The living room. He was in the living room. The world rushed back into his awareness, and he remembered. He gritted his teeth, burying his face in his hands, hissing under his breath. Ford was knelt in front of him, at a safe distance. Stan almost closed his eyes again, just so he wouldn't have to see the expectant look in his brother's eyes.
"Damn it." Stan snapped. He was still shivering, his body still convinced it was trapped in that stupid bunker in the middle of the desert at night, a place he hadn't even seen in over thirty-five years.
"You back with me Stanley?" Ford asked. Stan scowled.
"Yeah. 'M back. For f-fudge's sake. Is Mabel okay?" He asked weakly. A lump sat in his throat at the thought of scaring her. This might have been the worst memory he'd recovered since regaining the memory of getting kicked out. He shivered again.
"Yes. She ran to get me when I didn't respond straight away." Ford explained. Stan and Ford had agreed it was better for the kids to get an adult when Stan was 'reliving' (Ford's words, not Stan's) his memories. Stan liked to call it 'flipping the everliving fuck out' (obviously not around the kids. Around them it was simply 'freaking out'.) Better for Ford to get accidentally kicked across the room or get screamed at in Spanish than the kids.
"Okay." His body shuddered traitorously again. Ford shuffled closer. He held out his hand. Stan sighed, taking it and allowing himself to be pulled onto his feet. He wobbled ('fucking memories' he thought bitterly) but Ford was there to catch him, steadying Stan against his side and helping him into the armchair.
"Grunkle Stan? Are you okay now?" Mabel's voice asked. Her head peeked into the room hesitantly. Stan's body shook again (seriously, could his body get the damn memo already?) and he nodded tiredly.
"Yeah Pumpkin, all good here." He said. She wrinkled her nose. Another tremor went through him. He gripped the chair arm as inconspicuously as he could. She disappeared. Stan sighed, letting his head hit the chair arm.
"Blanket incoming!" Mabel chirped, holding the blanket from his armchair, and wrapped it around him. Stan hadn't even felt her pull it out from behind him. Ford stepped forwards, helping to tuck the blanket around Stan. Mabel hovered nervously next to him.
"Can I hug you, Grunkle Stan?" She asked, and he opened his arms so she could clamber into his lap eagerly.
"Is Grunkle Stan okay?" Dipper asked, appearing in the hallway. Probably decided to watch from a distance until the yelling stopped. Smart kid.
"I'm fine kiddo," Stan said, but Mabel shook her head.
"Nuh-uh, you were scared! But it's alright now cause you're here and whoever hurt you isn't." Mabel declared. Dipper walked into the room, climbing onto the chair with Mabel on Stan's knee's. They both wrapped their wiry little arms around him, and he felt the last of the tension drain from him. Ford patted Stan's shoulder again, adjusting the blanket.
"That's right, although if you did give me the names I could reverse engineer the time tape and-"
"No Sixer. Here and now is all that matters." Stan cut him off firmly. Ford sighed and nodded.
"Fine," Ford said reluctantly.
Stan chuckled to himself.