Archive of Our Own

Ford glanced at the musty clock in his study. 11:47. Thirteen minutes until June 15. His birthday. Not just yours… Ford scowled and shook his head. He hadn’t even been meaning to stay up to see the clock tick midnight on the day of his 30th birthday, he just had a ton of old library books about Gravity Falls he needed to study for any info about its past and tonight was as good as any for such an activity. It didn’t matter that he would be spending yet another birthday alone, the thirteenth of those in fact, he never felt like actually doing anything for them anyway.

Besides, there were much more important things to worry about than how many revolutions around the sun he’d managed to live for. Like why Gravity Falls was so weird. Or how his muse wanted him to finish the blueprints that would answer his first question. Or even whether he should give his frantic studying a rest before he fell asleep at his desk. Anyway, Ford wasn’t planning anything for his birthday. He kept writing on a spare page, as he needed to bind another journal soon before he could write said things in theoretical ‘stone’. Two journals weren’t enough. A third was planned and accounted for, though he needed to gather the material from a corner in his closet before that would happen. He had the material though. Wouldn’t be that hard. He’d done it twice already.

Another look at the clock, 11:51. Ford shook his head, in disbelief that he still felt the need to watch the clock despite the fact that he’d long ago renounced the idea of celebrating his birthday. Birthdays were for little kids with a craze for sugar and toys and geriatrics simply hoping for another year. Not relatively young men like him with a future still ahead of him and no time to waste planning for something so inconsequential as a birthday party with all the cake and presents that were tradition for such a thing. It was ridiculous when he could use all that time to get closer to figuring out the mysteries of Gravity Falls.

Ford gripped the pen tight, neatly crushing it into two with the pressure. Cursing, he threw the pen halves into the metal trash that still needed a bag with a loud angry clang and scanned his office for another identical one in his pen holder. Growling, he found that none of the pens worked and he would need to look in a closet for one. Looking down at his notes, Ford simply stared. The ink had dripped down his hand and made an absolute mess on the page he’d been writing on, leaving practically none of the notes legible. Great. Another problem.

Supposing that he was being way too frustrated at such a small setback, Ford sucked in a breath in an attempt to take a deep calming one. The clock now says 11:57, a few minutes before oblivion. Ford was only kidding himself, it wasn’t like he could ever forget it when it was his birthday. Or even when it was almost his birthday. It was a timer burned into his skull with every passing year. Not literally of course, he hadn’t found any sort of anomaly that could do such a thing to someone’s mind. Yet. Rather, Ford couldn’t escape his mind from wandering on a day such as that. Wandering to a past he’d rather leave behind in the dust. It frustrated him.

It was silly. Ford curled his fingers through his hair, though he knew banishing his mind from going in that direction was always impossible on his ‘big day’. The most he could do was force himself to do more work than normal and pretend nothing about the day was important. Back at college, that was easy with all the school work he needed to do for all his extra classes, plus a nice roommate to keep his mind off everything with their games of DD&MD. But now he just had his own busywork to make himself do with not as much external pressure or distraction. He had Bill to encourage him, but Ford never felt as pressured by Bill to get this done as he had with his professors. Which might be saying a lot since Bill was definitely more happy when he went forward with their plans.

11:59. Ford was really doing this. Doesn’t he know that this will only make things worse in the ignoring-his-birthday department? Well he can’t exactly back down now. Ford stared pointedly at the clock, watching the second arm as it restarted its sisyphian task of going around the dial of a clock that only a dead battery would stop. If he couldn’t resist the temptation of knowing the moment he’ll turn one year older, then so be it. Though technically he was born late in the evening, so more like the dawn of Ma going into labor. And Sta-my twin… was born fifteen minutes later…

Ford held a hardened face as his mind finally found a weak spot in his defences against the thing. Of course that complicated everything. Ford was doing so well pretending he didn’t exist the last few years, though the feeling something was missing never quite left him, but of course now was when he finally slipped up and almost thought his name. He went to bury it under his consciousness again as exhaustion struck, realizing as he looked at the clock reading 12:00 that Ford had nearly thought his name the moment it struck midnight. Well that’s an… omen. I don’t even know if it was good or bad, but it certainly was one.

He didn’t even feel like staying up much longer, already feeling fatigue attack him in his weakness before he could even try. Maybe he just needed to sleep it off. Ford sighed at the scarce notes he’d been able to take that hadn’t been ruined by the ink. Gladly the book he’d borrowed didn’t seem to have much ink spill on its pages other than a few unnoticable tiny splats. The luck didn’t feel quite lucky enough, but it was fine. Ford wouldn’t have looked forward to being fined had it been worse than that. Whatever, he should get some sleep. He yawned and stood up, placing his chair back nicely under the desk without bothering with adjusting the pages or book before shuffling his way to his upstairs bedroom.

Hopefully my birthday won’t be completely chained to… him. Hopefully I can just act like its a normal day out here all alone in my cabin.

“Ford! Look at those!” The little kid that was Stan beside Ford shouted in glee, pointing at their presents on the table of the kitchen. It was a smorgasborg, at least for them. Ford had heard talk that most of the presents were from distant relatives, finding interest in ones with postage stating they were from across the country in California. The imposing presence of Pa rumbled words about how the presents should be saved until after dinner and cake. Not any minute sooner. Ford was content to listen, as long as he had Stan to make him laugh with his funny faces.

They had dinner, ate cake and ice cream, and waited for permission to grab the presents they’d been given as was the common script for such an event. When it was finally time, Stan got some comics and Ford got a pair of binoculars on their first set, a great start to a great birthday. A great birthday that only got better as they continued with the gifts. Ford didn’t know what he would get next, content with the surprise. Stan smiled throughout all his silly toys, though Ford could see he was disappointed. They were thirteen this year, and Stan was very much trying to make everyone know that he was a man now. Evidently nobody agreed with him, his gifts still juvenile in comparison to Ford’s more advanced science kits and research books.

“These gifts are stupid. Why’d you get the cool nerdy junk and they couldn’t handle getting me some better boxing gloves? Or at least a bike?” Stan confided in him later in their room, after forcing his excitement at an action figure he already owned. Ford didn’t know how to answer, still riding the high of now owning a highly detailed book about everything Nikola Tesla. “You always get the good gifts, not me…”

“Hey, you got some cool comics. I thought you liked those?” Ford tried to reassure, a hand on Stan’s shoulder, “Remember trying to publish your own comic a few summers back? That was great!”

“Thanks… but I just wish I didn’t feel so left out of birthdays, you know?” Stan was down, looking to his feet, “Sometimes I wish the gift-giving field was a bit more even… We’re twins, aren’t we supposed to get the same stuff?”

Ford didn’t say anything, not really knowing what to say that would console Stan from his disappointing birthday haul. Stan took it as a sign to flop down on his bed and mope. Ford just looked at him, deciding it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk about how excited he was to use the binoculars on a mission for the Stan O’ War. Especially how he felt that maybe they shouldn’t be treated the same. Stan always seemed so attached to the idea of them being twins, even though the fact they were twins wasn’t all they were. Sometimes he even insinuated being together forever when talking about their plans to sail on a boat.

Ford didn’t know what to feel about that.

Present day Ford groaned to consciousness, rubbing his head. His dreams were more like nightmares with how they insisted on reminding him of every single birthday memory he had about Stan like a cruel joke. His twin that had ruined everything and didn’t deserve to be dwelled on for more than a few moments. Regardless, his mind wouldn’t let him leave the deal alone. Ford knew he shouldn’t have watched the clock for his birthday, it was throwing his game off from the very start of a day that he was supposed to be working on his theories. What a fumble.

His thoughts weren’t going to stop him if he could help it, already extricating himself from his bed to go fix himself a quick breakfast. Oatmeal never sounded so unappealing than right now. But that’s all he really had. Ford sludged through the meal, a battle in his mind already draining his energy with every moment. Don’t think of your birthday, that’s how it’ll get you. Ford swallowed each bite with a thickness in his throat that made such an action difficult. It was strange, he hadn’t had such a hard time on his birthday since that first one he was forced to celebrate alone with his family. He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory.

Ma had tried to distract them all from the elephant in the room, but it was hopeless. Birthdays were always painfully associated with the other twin, at least for him and Stan. Pa kept rubbing in the fact that Ford no longer had a twin to ‘waste’ money for a birthday on, all condescending in the way that if Ford slipped up in any way similar to his twin he’d share the same fate. The cake was stale and the gifts were half-hearted. At least that was how it felt. Birthdays just lost their color and charm after Stan involuntarily left. Ford would never outwardly admit that though.

Oh who cared. Ford could tell today was gonna be rough, might as well admit to himself if not everyone around him in this small town that he was feeling particularly lonely right now. He didn’t know if he’d go so far as to say he missed Stan, complicated feelings abound, but the absence was always felt somehow. Even if he ignored it, or tried to. Ford wanted to shove the feelings into the deepest recesses of his mind as he’d been doing the past thirteen years, but he was evidently in a weak spot on this random birthday in the middle of an abnormal Oregon town. It was stuck, replaying all his good birthdays like that was the only thing his mind knew to think about.

It was hell for a busybody as Ford was. He wasn’t even wanting to celebrate his birthday, but here he was obsessing over the idea of it being his birthday today. He growled lightly before moving to start the day properly with a little check on the mail before he was to go into the wilds of Gravity Falls, or to go get his groceries, whichever he felt was more important at the moment. Maybe menial tasks would get his mind off of today. That would have to work, because he was already going insane trying to pretend it was just a normal day today. And it wasn’t yet 9 am.

Ford’s trip to the mailbox was just to distract himself, he hardly got mail out here in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of the town proper. Maybe pamphlets from BMU or random ads for things he could hardly consider useful. Otherwise, Ford rather took the radio silence from the town besides his bills for granted. But now, on this fateful day, there was something relevant to him in the nearly rusted over box. A letter, sent from Ma from the psychic themed stamps and return address.

"What could this be for?" Ford mumbled, not even considering what today was in a fervor to pretend it wasn't. Opening it on the spot without even going back inside, it was a tacky birthday card with a printed joke about how old he'd gotten on the cover. Ford frowned deeply at it, today was not fun if he was really trying to forget everything today stood for. "Oh you shouldn't have…"

She shouldn't have, for real. He was a grown man, not a child. Ford opened it with great reluctance, immediately taking the 30$ in cash taped to the inside as recompense for the mental torture of reminding him he turned 30 without the someone he'd tried to get used to not celebrating a birthday with in vain. The joke was finished with a painfully awkward punchline and Ford nearly tossed it aside until he saw handwriting. Ma's handwriting.

'Happy 30th, Stanford. I know I haven't been keeping up with writing you birthday letters very well, but I hope you know I think about you and your twin every time it comes around over here in Jersey. You should come over sometime, fill our empty rooms for a few days? Anyway, hope today’s treating you well, or this letter gets to you on time (My readings say it will, but you know how those things are sometimes). Use the money on something nice for your special day :)

Love, Ma.

Ford glanced below the ‘joke’ Ma had surrounded with her writing, finding words that filled him with dread.

P.S. Stan called me earlier while I was writing this card, he says hello. I hope you two can figure things out soon.

“Darn you, assuming I’d want to ever speak to that man again,” Ford ranted mostly to himself, nearly discarding the card before spotting something that had been under the money he hadn’t noticed. An old photo of him and Stan, playing on that rickety shipwreck they dreamed of renovating for their trip around the world. Tucking the items into his coat with a grunt, Ford stomped back into the safety of his home with frustrating memories haunting his every movement with a stronger determination than before he received the fateful birthday card.

The event turned his mind upside down. Ford couldn’t avoid it any longer, though he tried. He wouldn’t be able to focus on anything, much less what he was trying to do in the Gravity Falls forest, without dwelling on the absence of his twin. A touch of dread itched his heart as he brainstormed ways to get out of the hell his mind was quickly becoming. Ford soon resolved to go get his groceries for the week, something to do that he did several times over and something that would surely distract him enough for his purposes.

So on to to the local grocer’s he went, a tote he used for that very purpose in hand. Ford whistled as he went, a strange tune he hadn’t heard since he was a kid. The Gregory’s Archipelago theme song. A show that Stan adored due to the very nature of being lost at sea like an adventurer. Ford immediately stopped whistling, wondering where that memory came from with a furrowed brow as he crossed the clearing into town. Shaking it off, he wandered the town in a memorized route while his mind did the same with his recollection. The grocer’s was just ahead now, Ford trundled through the parking lot and entered the store with a big deep breath and a forced smile.

Immediately going to find the milk, Ford passed by the aisle dedicated to alcoholic beverages without a second thought as he grabbed a quart of his intended drink. Though when he walked a bunch of paces for the eggs, he found the thirty dollars of birthday money burning a hole in his pocket at the thought of the alcohol behind their locked fridge doors. Ford sighed, trying to push the thought out of his mind as he continued to the canned goods. Ma’s request for ‘something nice’ didn’t sound like it would include booze. But it was his money now, right? He was being oddly precious about the idea of spending his birthday money on alcohol. It wasn’t like he hadn’t drunk that stuff before, stressful nights waiting for scores on his exams a prime time to get buzzed at the very least. Or just to relax in general.

Ford pushed it away until he was basically done with his list, feeling his mind coming back with guilt and sorrow related to his twin like an unwelcome house guest. His arms encumbered, Ford sighed. If he stayed in the store for any longer he’d give in to the temptation and he didn’t know how against it he was. Wasn’t he supposed to be studying this valley? How would he do that if he was hammered? Ford frowned and shook his head. That seemed like a cheap way out of his troubles. So he went and bought his groceries, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing out on his chance to rid himself of his thoughts about Stan for the birthday from hell this day had become.

Walking a different way back home for some variety, his arms tired from the groceries he was shifting every other moment, Ford trudged through the streets without a happy thought in his head. For a birthday, this certainly was one of the worse ones. At least the twelve ones before were monotonous and filled with something to distract him from his stupid baggage about the day. Wonder if birthdays are as bad for Stanley as this one has been for me? Ford brushed it off right away, he wasn’t going to purposefully think about him if he could help it. Maybe alcohol was a good idea to get him out of his head…

Just in the nick of time, Ford spotted the sign of a local liquor store. It was one he had only visited once in his six years of researching this town and it wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it was better than nothing. Ford watched the road and jaywalked out of desperation for an escape. It was open, though at the very beginning of its hours. Right, looking at his watch revealed that it was 10 am on a Monday. A very odd time to be buying alcohol, at least from what Ford gathered in his years of being an over the legal limit adult with a taste for a good whiskey. Though Gravity Falls was a strange town, so possibly it was normal here.

Ford shook off those thoughts, stepping into the mustiness that was the liquor store. There was practically nobody there, just him and the clerk at the entrance. Just what he feared. Ford gave a rather forced smile at the clerk’s greeting, before turning and scanning the products for the drink of interest. Wine on racks, canned beers in the fridges, all kinds of ways to get drunk. Guilt swam in his gut at the thought of using Ma’s birthday gift for him on alcohol once more, before he rationalized that she would never know as he spotted the small, squarish and brown bottle of a whiskey that he was looking for. Just under $30 in a way that would also account for taxes. Perfect.

The walk to the counter was full of shame and regret that he forced down as he placed the pint of whiskey on the counter to purchase, pulling out the three tens that made up the thirty dollars with a sheepish frown. The clerk of probably barely 21 years of age, if not younger, looked him up and down with a humor in his eyes that only made Ford grumble at him to finish the transaction with a glare that would kill. The clerk only looked at him, and Ford had to look down to discover that he was wearing his night clothes under his trench coat. How he didn’t notice, he wouldn’t know, but Ford had enough of the fooling around.

“Are you going to take the money and let me take my whiskey or not?” Ford tried to be patient, but his thoughts were already wandering in all the wrong directions and he just wanted to get out of here with his prize. So maybe he was a little harsher than he intended. “I don’t have all day.”

“Sorry, sir, I thought you saw the sign,” The clerk pointed a lanky finger to the words on the wall that Ford blew air from his nose at in frustration, “All customers must show ID. So let me have it.”

“Do I look like I’m underage to you or something?” Ford grumbled, digging a hand for his old wallet, finding it with an annoyed tug, and handing the small piece of plastic with his entire identity etched on it, “Here. Is that all?”

“Let’s see…” The clerk examined the ID for far longer than Ford wanted to be waiting for, sighing before it was finally handed back with a slide, his money taken and split into change that equaled only a quarter, “Yep, you’re good to go. Here’s your change. You want a receipt for that?”

“No. I don’t.” Ford simply took the whiskey with a swipe and tucked it in his coat as best he could with the groceries over his elbows, sliding the quarter into the closest pocket. He wasn’t planning on drinking it til he got home at the very least. The clerk smirked, making Ford pause for a moment to give him a big but confused frown. “What? You have something else to laugh at me for? Very unprofessional of you if I may add.”

“Nah, it’s just, I didn’t expect Stanford Pines, the big science guy in the woods, to be coming here for alcohol,” The clerk stated in clear amusement, confusing Ford until he realized he had just given him his ID like he didn’t expect to be recognized. To be fair, he didn’t think anyone would recognize his name in this town. “Thought you scientist guys were more… straight-laced than all… this.”

“Does it matter?” Ford entirely wanted to just leave the establishment and go home to fix his dwelling-on-his-problems problem, “Today’s just that kind of day. Have a good one I guess.”

And without a second’s hesitance, Ford left the liquor store feeling worse for wear. Whiskey in coat, he decided it was mostly a win despite the awkwardness with the clerk. Now was time for the big walk to his home, the groceries from before dragging on his elbows where he’d tucked them the entire time he’d been inside until he moved them back to hand territory. The birthday money was no longer burning an aching hole in his pocket, its purpose used for something Ford could only assure himself would be beneficial to forgetting Stan on their unfortunately shared birthday, a satisfaction he couldn’t get anywhere else in his head.

About ten minutes out from home, Ford felt heaviness in his heart that wouldn’t go away every moment he tried to push it away. Around this time when they were kids, Ma would’ve taken them both to a special lunch by herself as Pa was always too busy with the shop to bother taking time off for ‘just a lunch’. There was a special restaurant they almost always went to, though it was cheap it was always delicious. The servers were super nice and always prepared little cakes for both him and Stan on their birthday lunches with tiny candles and frosting for days. It was priceless, memories that would never simply leave his mind. Ford stopped walking, forcing himself to keep it together.

Keep it together he wouldn’t, rebellious tears pricking the corners of his vision as little Stanley messily playing with the tiny cake ran through his mind. That was it. Ford paused before a giant tree, placing his groceries in a quiet corner between a rock and the trunk before pulling out the fated brown bottle of the so-called 'liquid courage' with a discerning eye. The whiskey sloshed and swirled in the bottle, an amount that would likely take him out entirely if he were to drink all at once. But he wasn’t foolish enough to try that, at least not right now. Just a sip, maybe a swallow big enough to be considered a shot’s worth. Ford took the cork between his fingers and ripped it open in a single but straining motion, smelling the powerful alcoholic stench with tangs of stuff he couldn't quite parse in the moment before he took it to his lips and drank the promised sip that was more of a swallow.

Ford felt the familiar burn down his throat as the whiskey traveled through it, a feeling he didn't quite miss in his memories of the alcohol experience. He wasn't that much of an 'avid' drinker, but he drank enough to be relatively used to such a sensation. At least compared to the first time he'd drunk. Ford corked the whiskey and tucked it back into his coat carefully, picked his groceries out of the spot he'd put them, and walked in the direction of home once more as he waited for the effects to hit him.

Despite how little he’d taken in comparison to the whole bottle, hit him it did. A few minutes after he’d drunk the swallow in fact. Probably due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten much since that oatmeal breakfast. It wasn’t enough to completely make him completely lose control, just enough to feel a bit lighter and less bothered by his issues. Dopamine must’ve hit, as Ford could feel the initial euphoria he always expected from such a drink. A light dizziness was the background sensation, but nothing too troublesome. A bit of his thoughts melted into relaxation as he walked ahead in the direction of home. It shouldn’t be that far away now, right? Ford smiled, he didn’t really care as much as he thought he would.

Walking was boring, Ford found himself staring at the wildlife around him like it was new to him instead, despite being common squirrels or raccoons. Maybe a butterfly or two. He could slow down his pace, there was nothing chasing him, right? Ford took a deep breath, focusing himself on his goal with a little more resistance than normal. Like putting on weighted shoes but for his mind. Just… just get these…. Groceries? Yeah, these groceries back home… then you can find somewhere to relax for real. Yeah. Ford pep-talked himself all the way down the path he’d been following to get back home, fighting the initial forgetfulness that dawned through his mind.

If anyone saw him like this, Ford might’ve felt ashamed. But right now he felt just right. Look at me now, Stan! Flashes of Stan trying to sneak drinks past Ma and Pa attacked him as he realized he didn’t recognize this part of the woods. Or maybe he just forgot where he was. Who knows. Ford tried to pretend nothing was wrong as the euphoria wore off quicker than he wanted it to and he was left with the buzz. Well, you darn got yourself in some big mess, huh? Ford sighed, the sort of equilibrium brought the feelings left by the memories of his twin back to him and now he was getting lost. Blinking past the blurriness not helped by his glasses, Ford decided he didn’t know where to turn at the next crossroads he was met with.

Ford felt useless. He was useless. Couldn’t even find his way back home and his groceries were going to go bad sooner than later. What an awful birthday. That was what he was trying not to think of. Right?? Ford didn’t know, but he sure felt himself slipping into insanity trying to push it back through a bubble of confusion. Anyway, it was an awful one. Ford took another whiskey break, ears ringing and his whole body warm in a way that was comforting. He could make it back home if he wanted to, he thought as he took another probable shot-sized drink from the bottle. Maybe a bit more, he didn’t know the specific, specifics. He didn’t know a lot of things, did he notice that?

Stumbling forward, Ford eagerly pushed through foliage with a bat of an arm that just as easily missed more than it landed. Surely home was near. Surely he’d be able to finally relax in his home soon. Ford was distracted just thinking of home and the cozy things he’d be able to indulge in until his foot hit a rock in the right way to send him falling on his face. Groaning and rubbing his head, Ford felt the world wobble in his vision. Whatever, he leaned against a tree and pulled himself up. He needed to get home before he gets any drunker. Ford casted around, finally noticing that his arms were empty of his groceries with a frustrated sigh. Today was just perfect.

Stan’s smile, toothy and ecstatic, brushed his fuzzy vision like a reminder of everything he so deeply missed. Ford didn’t know how to remove it from his sight, enough of his judgement fractured for him to take a third sip from his bottle of hardearned whiskey before he thought of it. If he thought too hard, he’d become too guilty and sad to function, perhaps a touch of the lingering anger. So Ford shook it off, pushing forward through the ever confusing trees like he still knew where he was going. He didn’t, but convincing himself he did was rather easy.

Ford’s walk became a small stagger, grabbing at tree limbs and the occasional rock to catch himself from falling on his face once more. If only he’d waited until his house was in view before indulging on his drink, then maybe he wouldn’t be so hopelessly lost. He wasn’t even sure he fully remembered why he started in the first place, though his mind pricked him through the numbness that it was bad enough to drink early. Every movement was as purposeful but over-correcting as the next, his emotions a rollercoaster with every fumbling step. Come on, my house should be right over this hill.

It was not, in fact, right over this hill. But he did see something in the distance that bought his gradually sinking attention, something that cut through the noise in his ears or the fogginess in his mind. The Enchanted Forest. The transition between the relatively normal forest to the glade was almost too abrupt to believe, but Ford had visited it many a time before. Mostly to try getting those hard-headed unicorns to give him some hair after hearing about their protective qualities, which never succeeded. Wandering through the pines and oaks that called this forest home, Ford felt an odd confidence that maybe he could succeed this time motivate him further until he crossed the boundary of that special part of the forest.

“Whoa dude, you doing okay there?” The voice broke through his train of thought like an arrow, though he didn’t look over until it finally processed that the voice was below knee level. Something small, Ford squinted though it was hard to tell what he was looking at. “You look like you escaped the human bar or somethin’.”

“You could say that.” Ford tried to say, though by the way the blob next to his feet reacted, it wasn’t as clear as he hoped it to be. Nor was it spoken at the same moment he wanted to speak it, like his mind and mouth was on a delay. Was he really that hammered already? What was in that whiskey? Did I drink more than I thought I did? The first thoughts in a while that felt somewhat conscious of his state of drunkenness. He felt the floatiness more now that he was in the presence of somebody else, like a ghost viewing his actions from beyond.

“Well this forest ain’t a place for drunks like you, let me take you somewhere more… appropriate,” The small blob made Ford giggle a bit, how could something so small take him anywhere? Ford thought that until he felt tiny hands urging him forward from behind and in front, noticing the small blob had instantly multiplied somehow. Surely he was seeing things, his vision still blurry. But he was pushed and pulled in whatever direction the blobs wanted to take him regardless of how real this was. So he let them, his mind wandering through far away thoughts of birthdays and loneliness with no more than a little sob choking its way to the surface.

Ford didn’t quite remember much of his little trip with the creatures he’d learned were gnomes, but here he was. At some place his waning rational side identified as a sort of gnome tavern. He vaguely recalled taking another swig or two from his bottle on the way here after memories of what today was broke through the surface, his mind numbed down enough to not feel much of what was troubling him. If he wasn’t as drunk as he was, perhaps he’d feel like he’d be wasting a perfect fine day. It wasn’t a perfectly fine day though, that was for sure. Ducking into the small space, being led to a small corner of the tavern that he almost filled to its entirety, Ford finally sat after ages of randomly shuffling through the forest in a drunken stupor.

“So, what’s your story?”

“Whazzat?” Even Ford could hear himself slurring now, turning his head in an over-exaggerated motion before laughing at himself and letting go of a few hiccups. “OHh (hic).. M’ sstory’s not sumthin fer th’ fain’o’hart…y’kno..”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yea, juss wanna forget evrythin..” Ford looked down, little tears making their way through his sheen of numbness, betraying the inner feelings, “..he ruined t’all, bu’ i misss him.”

“Who?” This stranger was nosy, but Ford was too sad and drunk to care. Part of him wanted to resist the alcohol’s pull to spill everything, but then again he was too tired and lazy right now for any sort of mental fight. “Your lover?”

“Ewwww nooo, my brotherrr,” Ford couldn’t stop the squinched up face in obvious disgust at the image the gnome evoked at such an… unbecoming… relationship with Stan. The gnome laughed heartily at his displeasure at the thought, slapping the table which had snapped in two upon Ford’s arrival. “He be my twin an’ todays ou’ birfdayyy… he’s outtada picture…”

“Dead?” Ford shook his head lazily, taking yet another swig of whiskey as his mind steadily slowed down. “Lost?” He nodded and placed a hand on the gnome without a thought, leaving the little guy to crawl out from under his six-fingered prison.

“he-(hic) he ma’e me mad afore he left,” Ford shuddered at the memories that poked their little painful heads through his consciousness, “...he sab-taged my science project an’ let me lose my-wha’s the word-scolarsh’p… then ‘e go’ kick’d ou’…”

“...that’s rough, buddy,” Ford didn’t know whether the gnome was being serious or not, but he was too out of it to care. The tears began to roll regardless. “You just drinking to forget, then?”

“Yesh…” Ford laid back, letting the alcohol in his system relax his muscles some more, “I still mad a’ him, but I miss himm an’ I feel awf’l bout what happen’d… you eva feel like tha’?”

“Enough to become a regular at this place. Don’t worry, I’m designated squirrel driver for my group today,” The gnome chuckled airily, taking a sip of a drink Ford couldn’t recognize in his absolute state, “Oh, this is non-alcoholic for your information… Anyway, you know how many drinks you been takin’ from that there bottle? I must know how rough this afternoon’ll be, you know, just for logistics sake.”

“I dunno, somethi’ like 1… 2… 6…” Ford paused at the conclusion, his fingers sticking up with each word, concentration straining his vision. It sounded right, but he didn’t really know for sure. It was hard to think that much. The gnome made a face, requesting the remainder of Ford’s whiskey with a hand that looked awfully small for what he wanted. Ford refused outright, his hand tightening on the bottle protectively. A voice in his mind dared him to drink the rest in one fell swoop, which was tempting on its own, but even drunk Ford had a part of his mind begging him to pace himself like he’d been trying. “Don’ take my stuff man, I purchased it wit’ my own birfday money…”

“Just tryin’ to get a better estimate of how much you’ve drunk, that’s all,” The gnome sounded genuinely concerned, “Looks like you’ve taken in just over half of that bottle there, if not a whole two-thirds... Genuine human whiskey by the looks of it. No wonder you’re so drunk…”

“Ssstan said I was a lightweight las’ I saw o’ him. A‘least ligh’er compar’d to him…” Ford belched, his throat torn with all the burning liquid it had carried to his stomach over the course of an afternoon, making him realize he was awfully hungry for what he’d been doing the past few hours. “Guess he’s right ‘bout tha’. I don’ even know wha’ he’s up to these days…”

“Is there ssomethin’ to eat ‘round ‘ere?” Ford tried to move away from the topic of his brother, in vain. The gnome snapped at another gnome, ordering something Ford didn’t really pay attention to. For he was thinking too hard about losing his twin, sobbing before he could stop himself. Twisted up guilt ate up his drunken heart, and a knife of a torn up sorrow at losing a twin he’d grown to care about for seventeen or so years before everything fell apart, and all he could do was cry inconsolably as all the implications of such a thing hit the emotionally disregulated drunk that he was the hardest. A tickle in the back of his mind reminded him of bitterness he was supposed to be feeling, removed temporarily as the alcohol seemingly brought back everything at once.

Ford didn’t even get to the course of the strange food the gnome had ordered before he had drunk a few more swallows of alcohol that was enough to make him vomit with a fuzzy nausea all over the dirt ground of the small tavern. The other patrons stared for a few moments before returning to their business, but Ford’s mind had already clocked out by that point. The drunken stupor had finally taken over what was left of his feeble consciousness through the journey. Finally he’d reached his goal. To be so drunk that he didn’t think of anything, much less about his troubles. The gnomes could handle him. Ford entrusted them to his care with little more than an abstract thought in that direction before oblivion.

Consciousness didn’t come easy, right in front of him as it was. A killer headache was already waiting for him, only the beginning of the consequences of last… night? It wasn’t really night that he drank, was it? Or was he completely time-blind and it was night? Ford couldn’t recall, especially not as he opened his eyes only to squeeze them tight at the sun filtering through the wooden room he couldn’t yet process. What… happened? Ford miserably dragged himself to a sitting position, jolting as his head knocked on the ceiling far too soon than he should’ve. A brief thought that he’d grown into a giant somehow crossed his mind before he spotted a gnome gathering thimble sized shots from the day before.

“Finally awake, are ya?” The voice was loud and painful, making Ford yelp and hit his head once more. His head throbbed, both from the impact and the hangover that was certain to reel its ugly head soon. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“Wh-what happened last night? I barely remember anything… Why am I here?” Ford groaned, rubbing his head more vigorously. The gnome gave him a sympathetic look, before digging into the tale of his drunken walk through the forest being spotted by a friend of his. The friend, Ford noted, sounded an awful lot like the anomaly Ford had nicknamed Steve, the tree giant that had stolen and destroyed his car the moment he’d arrived six years ago.

“So, my friend, not wantin’ to startle you with his, how shall we say, imposing presence when you were drunk off your gourd, told us gnomes you were closin’ in on our community, and the rest is history!” The gnome chuckled, only earning a scrutinizing squint from Ford, “You’ve been here since last afternoon. It’s morning now.”

“So you just… let me sleep in here?” Ford cocked his head, confusion gracing his features, “Huh, I… thanks I guess.”

“Well uh, you’re kinda big for us gnomes to… you know…” The gnome looked at the entrance shiftily, then back at Ford with an awkward grin, “...extricate your drunken body. So we kinda just… let you sleep it off here. You’ll notice one o’ our special pillows under your head there.”

“That explains the crik in my neck…” Ford noted awkwardly, pulling out the decidedly not soft grass-woven pillow, “I hope I didn’t say or do anything too… incriminating.”

“Oh, you just sobbed about your twin most of the time,” The gnome bluntly stated with not a drip of humor, inspiring a bit of horror in Ford’s heart, “...happy late birthday I guess.”

“Oh no…” Ford held his head in his hands, his headache and eventually nausea hitting a peak as his mind processed the fact that he’d told total strangers in the form of the gnomes about his twin, the only thing from making him go into the oblivion of shame being the potential that the gnomes didn’t hear much more than the fact he was ‘sad’ about him, “...how much did I say? Tell it to me straight…”

“You lived with him for seventeen-ish years, with something to do with a boat? before he sabotaged your science project and let you lose a scholarship, then he got kicked out,” The gnome recited as if he knew the situation personally, to Ford’s utter chagrin, “...your drunk self misses him terribly and feels awfully guilty for letting him get kicked out, but we all know how alcohol removes inhibitions, so I won’t assume anything about your sober self. Complex stuff you got in that head of yours.”

“...yep, that’s… pretty much it,” Ford squeaked out, grumbling in the agony the hangover was becoming, “...can we pretend I didn’t say anything about that?”

“Sure. No skin off my back. I hear all sorts of stuff from patrons here, I’ll probably forget it in a week,” The gnome reassured, grabbing a regular glass of water for him like he knew how absolutely parched Ford was feeling, “Not sure about the gnomes that witnessed your little emotional breakdown before passing out, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“‘Emotional breakdown’?” Ford instantly felt his blood go cold, sipping his water slowly, “What kind of emotional breakdown?”

“Oh, you know, just a lot of wailing and sobbing. I think you even called for ‘Stanley’ more than a few times. All inconsolable-like. I could tell you weren’t really conscious of it by then though,” The gnome placed a consoling hand on Ford’s shoulder and he didn’t remove it, in shock at the idea that he could’ve been brought to tears by a simple whiskey. Speaking of, Ford spotted the bottle sitting nicely against the wall, expecting to see some alcohol left. But not a drop was within, like he’d drank every bit of it. “And yes, you drank your whiskey dry before the night even started. Maybe even took some from other patrons, though I tried to make sure you didn’t have any more.”

“You’re very… kind, to have done that for me, thanks,” Ford mustered a smile at the stout gnome. The gnome nodded, replacing his water without a word. “I just… I just wish my mind wouldn’t make me dwell on my past so much… That was why I’d started, if my memory of that hasn’t been compromised like the ones about last night were…

“This birthday’s the first that I felt the need for alcohol... Usually I can just ignore it,” Ford elaborated as he continued to recover from the night he had, a dim regret painted on his eyes, “But I guess it still hurts, even thirteen years later…”

“I can tell, you were absolutely lost in your misery last night from my observations,” The gnome nodded in agreement, the one who had to witness Ford’s little drunken journey, “If you ever need to forget for a night, you know where we’re at.”

“I got research and a journal I need to write, but I’ll think about it,” Ford felt relief run through his fatigued and aching body, this gnome and his friends were super accommodating and he was the one expecting to get wasted all by his lonesome. It made him realize something he still didn’t know. “Hey, before I go… I seem to have not learned your name… if I have, I have evidently forgotten it in my drunkenness.”

“You can call me Jack. You probably won’t see me outside this fine establishment or the enchanted forest for that matter, but I assume that doesn’t matter to you, Stanford Pines,” Jack winked at the name he evidently heard from somewhere, if not from Ford’s drunken state blabbing his life story, then just through some other way that Ford couldn’t hope to solve without making things awkward. “Here, I have something for you. Something you’ll be interested to have.”

“...What is it?” Ford inwardly groaned as his body rebelled through the hangover he very much was still experiencing, waiting upon the hard dirt ground for Jack to fetch whatever it was he was fetching. He was about ready to pass out again, but he needed to head home. He knew where it was in relation to the enchanted forest at least. Jack the gnome returned from the back of the tavern dragging behind himself with a great tug a bag that made Ford’s eyes go wide. “My groceries! Where’d you find them? How’d you find them?”

“Let’s just say that my tree giant friend noticed that you left them behind in your tipsiness, and might’ve, I dunno, handed them to me when I asked,” Jack gave the bag of milk and eggs and a few other perishable items, though it was more just pushing the plastic handle in his direction with how big it was, “Don’t fret, I kept the cold stuff cold the best I could. The eggs and milk should still be good.”

“Well, I’m grateful for the intent, even if they aren’t…” Ford mumbled as he inspected the items, “They look fine, I suppose… but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jack backed up, to give him room to leave the cramped space was his only guess why, “You’ll be leaving right around now, then?”

“Yes, that would be pertinent. Just… let me-” Ford grunted, heaving himself out of the nook he’d squeezed himself into with a loud pop. Everything spun for a moment as he got his bearings. He was absolutely massive compared to this space, wondering how he ever got in here in the first place. Only children would be able to feel somewhat comfortable in the gnome sized spot that this was. He was too drunk to consider just staying outside, he presumed. Crawling through the tiny entrance, Ford felt a painful resistance he hadn’t experienced going in, that he remembered. “Little help?”

“Oh right,” Ford heard Jack’s voice, though it was muffled now that he was sticking out of the tavern, “Boys?”

A loud whistle and Ford was helped out of the small hole with much more than a dozen gnomes pulling on his arms. It didn’t take that much to get him extricated, but it was enough to make Ford swear off entering that place again. Perhaps any future visits would need to be outside ones. Yeah, that’ll have to do. Ford stood up, tired, dizzy and in need of a good breakfast, dusting himself off and looking back as the gnomes helped his groceries back outside. Ford took them on one hand and waved at the little guys with a grateful grin.

“See ya! Hopefully I wasn’t too much of a bother last night,” Ford remarked goodnaturedly, a pep in his step he wasn’t expecting after the night he had, “I must’ve been a handful for your little establishment. Sorry for that.”

“It was no issue. Right boys?” Jack glanced at the gnomes that had helped him out of the tavern with a smile, earning several smiles and thumbs up in return, “We’re just glad we could help you through a hard day. Let’s hope your issues won’t bother you that way again.”

“Well, can’t be too sure of that sometimes…” Ford glanced at where his inner pocket was located in his coat, remembering the photo Ma had sent with a melancholy that could’ve ruined the mood had he not looked back up to meet a handshake from the neatest little gnome he’d ever met. “But I won’t let it stop me if I can help it. I’m glad I had a few guys like you to support me through that day. Thank you, genuinely.”

“We’ll be here if you need us again. We’re experts at helping drunks at this fine establishment!” Jack gestured grandly at the ‘Gnasty’s’ sign above the door, a glowing review for his apparent favorite place, Ford couldn’t fault him for it, his experience was one of a kind and in a way that tempted him to go back sometime, “Anyway, you go get some rest. We’ll handle ourselves.”

“Alright, well goodbye then!” Ford waved as he walked in the direction of home until they were completely out of view, feeling good for the first time since he was tormented by his thoughts on the day he would’ve rather pretended didn’t exist. The gnomes made a day that was miserable feel… not any less miserable, but… miserable with friends. And Ford was content with that. It meant being less lonely in his self-imposed isolation, at least for one day. Now he should just be getting back to his work, regardless of how his body screamed that his hangover hadn’t gone and wouldn’t be gone for at least another few hours, if not the rest of the morning.

Surely I won’t need to get drunk again anytime soon. This was just a onetime thing. Welp, back to work!

Hic! Ford grumbled, his eye bleeding and his throat burning. Alone and betrayed yet again. Bill wasn’t good. He was never good. The exact opposite of good. Thinking back, his reasons for drinking his last birthday were rather inconsequential. At least in comparison to the reasons he was drinking tonight. Now the world was in danger and he didn't even have Fiddleford anymore to help him through it. Great job ruining that, me.

Ford cried, the betrayal stung as the liquor he was consuming like it was nothing. Just get drunk and maybe Bill won’t be able to control you. Or maybe he’ll just hurt him more in the trying. Wasn’t like he didn’t deserve that after the biggest blunder of his life. He was so foolish and stupid. So gullible and arrogant.

So Ford kept drinking in his corner of his quiet and dark home, swallowing his pride and guilt like a knife in his throat. No gnome could help him out of this. Gnomes would hate him after the threat he just put on their heads out of his wings of icarus. So his recently made friend wouldn’t hear of this lonely drinking session, kept out of being burdened by everything that he had done to their lives.

Ford drunk himself to a stupor.

Ford couldn’t think.

Bill was frustrated that night.

But at a cost to his health.

Wasn’t this what he deserved after all?