Chapter Text
Stanley Pines was used to dealing with the unexpected. After all, life had thrown more than its fair share of bizarre, weird, and downright dangerous things his way. From evil triangles to cursed artifacts, he had seen it all — or so he thought.
This? This was something else entirely.
It started small, like everything in his life. The strange symptoms — nausea, dizziness, an odd, unsettling sensation deep in his gut. At first, Stan chalked it up to stress. The Mystery Shack had been busier than usual, Dipper and Mabel were off on their adventures, and Ford had been wrapped up in his latest research. It wasn’t unusual for Stanley to feel a little run down.
But then the symptoms didn’t go away. They got worse.
Stan would wake up in the middle of the night with waves of nausea crashing over him, and he was constantly tired, more than usual. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut that something was wrong. Wrong.
And then, there was the night with that stranger.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A little company, some friendly conversation at the bar, and one thing led to another. It wasn’t the first time Stanley had found himself seeking solace in someone’s arms after a long night, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The man had been kind, charming even, but nothing about the encounter stuck with Stan. Not until now.
Three weeks later, the nausea worsened, and Stan couldn’t ignore it anymore.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself as he leaned against the bathroom sink. His reflection stared back at him, tired eyes, stubbled face, and hair sticking up in all directions. He splashed water on his face, hoping it would shake the fog in his mind. He still felt off.
The thought had crept up on him slowly, insidiously, over the past few days. It was ridiculous, impossible, even. But the signs were there. The nausea, the dizziness, the exhaustion, and worst of all — the gut-wrenching fear that something was very, very wrong with him.
He knew what he had to do.
The clinic was quieter than he expected, sterile, with the faint smell of disinfectant in the air. Stan fidgeted in his chair, tapping his foot as the doctor reviewed the results. His stomach churned, but this time, it wasn’t from nausea.
"Mr. Pines," the doctor began, looking over his chart with a furrowed brow. Stan sat up straighter, every muscle in his body tense. "I know this is a lot to take in, but your tests show something quite… unusual."
Stan’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d braced himself for bad news, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next.
"You’re pregnant."
Time froze. Stan blinked, his mind struggling to process the words. "Pregnant?" he repeated dumbly as if saying it out loud would make it make sense. It didn’t.
The doctor nodded, looking at Stan with a mix of sympathy and confusion. "Given your medical history, we believe this is due to your intersex physiology. It’s rare, but not unheard of."
Stanley felt like the world had tilted beneath him. His hands gripped the edge of his chair as he tried to keep his voice steady. "That… that’s not possible. I mean, I’m a guy. I can’t be… pregnant."
The doctor sighed, folding her hands on the desk. "It is possible, Mr. Pines. The symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the fatigue — they’re all signs of early pregnancy."
Stan swallowed hard. "How… how far along?"
"About six weeks, give or take."
Six weeks. That would put the conception right around the time of his one-night stand with the stranger. The man whose name he didn’t even remember. His stomach twisted into knots.
"Look," Stan croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, "I didn’t even know this was possible. What am I supposed to do now?"
The doctor’s expression softened. "Take your time to process this. You don’t have to make any decisions right away. But I would recommend scheduling follow-up appointments, and… telling someone you trust."
Stan nodded numbly. Someone he trusted. There was only one person he could even think of.
The walk back to the Mystery Shack felt longer than usual. Stan’s mind was racing, thoughts colliding with each other as he tried to make sense of everything. Pregnant. Pregnant.
When he finally reached the Shack, it was quiet. Ford must’ve been down in the basement, working on some experiment or lost in his research. Stan hesitated at the front door, his heart pounding in his chest. How was he supposed to tell Ford? How would his brother react?
"Stanford’s gonna kill me," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He had never been good with emotional conversations, and this was about as emotional as it got.
He let himself in, walking through the dimly lit Shack towards the basement door. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallways as he descended the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
Ford was hunched over his workbench, a magnifying glass perched on his nose as he examined some strange artifact. Stan paused at the foot of the stairs, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Ford?" he called out softly.
His brother straightened, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. "Stanley, you’re back. How was—"
Ford’s words trailed off when he saw the look on Stan’s face, the smile fading as concern took over. He set his tools down, standing up slowly. "Stan? What’s wrong?"
Stan opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years, but the weight of everything hit him all at once, and the dam broke.
"I’m pregnant, Ford," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I… I didn’t know, I didn’t think it was possible, but… I’m pregnant."
Ford’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly open as he stared at Stan in disbelief. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the machines.
Stan couldn’t look at him. His hands trembled as he wiped at his eyes, trying to hold himself together. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I screwed up, Ford. I don’t know what to do."
There was a long, painful silence before Ford finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost tender. "Stanley… look at me."
Stan hesitated before lifting his gaze. To his surprise, Ford wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed. Instead, there was a mixture of shock and concern in his eyes, but also something else — understanding.
Ford stepped forward, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder. "You didn’t screw up. This isn’t your fault."
Stan’s breath hitched. "But… I’m scared, Ford. I don’t know what I’m doing."
Ford’s grip tightened slightly, his voice firm but gentle. "We’ll figure it out. Together."
Stanley blinked, tears slipping down his cheeks. "You’re not… mad?"
Ford shook his head. "No, Stan. I’m not mad. Surprised, yes. But we’ll get through this. You’re not alone in this, okay?"
Stan nodded, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and fear. He wasn’t sure how they were going to get through this, but knowing Ford was by his side made it seem just a little less impossible.
As long as they were together, maybe — just maybe — they could face whatever strange and unexpected thing life threw their way.
End of Chapter 1