Chapter Text
Being sent a letter after being no contact from your brother was strange to say the least. Stan had been living out of his car for so many years after being kicked out and was currently staying in a shitty run-down motel. One he could not pay for. He had expected that knock on the door to be some of Rico’s goons or Rico himself. Thinking of all the possibilities that could happen, Rico had coerced him into doing sex work already and he knew he needed the money, so he had not declined as much as he wanted to do so. He could only wonder what Rico would want this time as he reached for the baseball bat he had hidden.
“Just give me a few more days, Rico. I’ll pay your goons back I swear.” Only for no one to respond to his words. Dropping the baseball bat in favor of creeping up to the door. Looking through the peephole to see the mailman walking back to his car. Gravity Falls in large orange font was on the front of the postcard, flipping it over he saw the scribbled handwriting of his brother. PLEASE COME! - FORD. The handwriting was unusual for his brother, knowing he often wrote in that stupid swirly cursive-like way that he could barely read himself. But he listened. He filled his El Diablo’s gas tank as much as he could with what funds he had and started on the highway to that mystery town of Gravity Falls, Oregon.
He knew that with his decently recent lycanthropy that he would need to hide the most notable features as best as he could. Shoving his tail down his pants, which he had grown used to over the few months he's spent as a werewolf now because of the amount of children and concerned citizens he had scared away with his appearance. Also stuffing his wolf-like ears into his beanie, thankful for the cold weather but also shuddering at the same time. Hoping that Ford would have heating. But with what he could see of the shack he knew his brother might not be all the same. Walking up to the shack, the fresh snow crunching under his boots. The surrounding forest in a sense of stillness that only came from the lack of humans. He certainly felt less human. But he shook away that thought and took a deep breath of air and quietly reassured himself before knocking on the snow covered cabin’s door. For the door of the shack to open quickly and his brother emerging from it. Crossbow in hand.
“Who is it?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!” Ford yelled, his eyes wide with fear. He had a messy unshaved chin and dark lines from lack of sleep Stan could only assume. He held his arms up quickly not wanting to be shot first thing.
“Can always count on you for a warm welcome.” And speaking of, he could just feel the heat of the shack from within. Slowly putting his arms down once Ford started to speak again.
“Stanely, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?” He asked looking to the side and into the frozen expanse of the snowy forest. Almost fearfully.
“Hello to you too, pal.” Stan replied gruffly, only to be yanked forward by his brother into the doorway. Ford took out a pen flashlight and quickly checked Stan’s eyes. Only for them to contract from the sudden light shining into them, if he looked for longer he would have noticed the slight change in color but they had not seen each other for more than ten years it would be barely recognizable. For Stanley to pull away from his brother, not keen to the sudden touch of any person, blood or not.
“AH- Hey! What is this?” Stan exclaimed to get out of his brother's grip. Pushing his hands off of him.
“Sorry I had to make sure you weren't-,” He paused backing up as he spoke before starting up again after shaking his head. “It's nothing.” Ford stopped and walked into the shack before speaking again. “Come in, come in.” Stanley closed the door behind him, relishing in the warmth before following his brother into what he could only assume was the living room. With all the different odd knick-knacks and other objects he thought might be related to whatever he was doing here he could not tell. He could just smell from which all these different things came from. Shaking his head to try to get the smell out of his nose.
“Look, are you gonna explain what's going on here? You're acting like mom after her tenth cup of coffee.” He asked.
“Listen there isn't much time, I've made huge mistakes and I don't know who I can trust anymore.” Ford rambled on as he took up the small pile of books and papers on the desk he was facing before walking towards Stan. Turning away the skull of the skeletal model that was in his living room, for some odd reason Stan himself had no clue of why.
“Hey easy there, let's talk this through okay?” Stan softly replied, setting a hand on his brother's shoulder in hopes he would calm down a little and they could talk. Also wishing he would be able to tell Ford about his lycanthropy, maybe he would know something about it. He turned around to face Stan.
“I have something to show you, something you won't believe.” He spoke in a tone that Stan could remember fondly of. From when they were kids and nothing was wrong, Ford was always in love with what was strange. He spoke in this certain type of voice that inspired wonder.
“Look I’ve been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I’ll understand.” Stanley responded to his raving brother. Giving him a soft smile of reassurance in hope he would calm down enough so they could talk it out. Ford replied with a wave of his hand, calling Stan to follow him. Stan dropped his duffle bag next to the door as they made their way into the parlor room with the door to the basement. The pair went down into the basement of the shack. Stan looked at anything that caught his eye. The shack was dim and dusty on the inside, he could feel it tickle his nose and itch him to sneeze but he snuffed the feeling before he could sneeze. Once Ford had led him there Stan was in awe, confused about the structure that sat in front of him. It was large and soldered together to make a triangle shape sans the hole in the center, which was decorated with runes of a language he could not understand.
“There is nothing about this I understand.” Stan started, his mouth open in an o shape due to his confusion. Ford looked back at him from where he stood in front of Stan.
“It's a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction. That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it.” Ford answered, looking up at the portal with a sour tone to his voice. Something had happened to Ford and Stan could not tell what it was. He had noticed he smelt off, not just from the lack of showering but he had a metal tang to his scent. God it felt weird to use that word. He shook the thought away once Ford faced him again.
“There's only one journal left. And you are the only person I can trust to take it.I have something to ask of you: remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Stan looked at him with such admirance only for it to be shattered right after.
“Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as ya can! To the edge of the Earth! Bury it where no one can find it!” Ford threw his arms outward, hoping his brother could sense the urgency he had about the situation. Hoping he would understand. For Stan to frown and emit a low grumble. Something that was off about Stan.
“That's it?! You finally wanna see me after ten years and it's to tell me to get as far away from you as possible!?” He shouted back at him. He had thought maybe, just maybe they would be able to talk about it and maybe Stan would get Ford help in some way or another. But no, it was a feeble dream with lofty goals.
“Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through!”
“No, no. You don't understand what I've been through! I've been to prison in three different countries! I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car! You think you've got problems? I've got a mullet, Stanford! Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!” He had been living out of his car and shitty run-down motels on the side of highways for years now. While his brother had his own place to call home. Surviving off of funds that were made through means he had not wanted to accept. He walked towards his brother with the journal in hand now.
“I'm selfish? I'm selfish, Stanley? How can you say that after costing me my dream school?! I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won't even listen!” He had no remorse in his words. Simply spewing out how he felt. Having kept the same mindset for years that his brother had ruined his chances.
“Well, listen to this – you want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I'll get rid of it right now!” Stan yells back taking his zippo lighter out from his jacket pocket. Fumbling with the thing because he still had the gloves on. Desperate to hide his features in the hopes of a calm conversation to explain what happened. But that wouldn't happen now. He got the flame to spark and held the worn journal over the lighter only to be grabbed again.
“No! You don't understand!” Ford reaches for the journal. Trying to get it out of Stan’s grip. While Stan tugs away.
“You said you wanted me to have it, so I'll do what I want with it!” He held the journal over the lighter again, he could smell the worn leather burning already ever so slightly. It was all still for a moment before Ford had jumped forward and tackled him.
“My research!” The journal falls away into the distance, back towards the small lab room that the pair had just walked through together. Ford runs to grab the journal but falls forwards because of Stan’s foot tripping him. Giving Stanley the chance to take the journal.
“Stanley, give it back!” Ford shouts at him, pushing his brother against some buttons that were situated on the wall. The portal activates, bathing the room in a blue light. He could hear the telltale signs of it as well, but Ford continued to fight his brother.
“You want it back, you're gonna have to try harder than that!” They were pushed into the control room further.
“You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever, you ruined my life!”
“You ruined your own life!” Ford kicked Stan in the stomach, hoping it would subdue him enough to get the journal back. He got what he wanted. Stan was pushed into the hot metal sigil that was on the side of the control desk. Stan whelped in agony, whining a deep noise that felt foreign to his tongue. He leaned forward to get away from the hot iron. Watching as spit fell from his lips. Ford scrunched up his eyebrows in worry. Putting a hand forward to try to help his brother.
“Stanley! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Are you alr-” He is stopped when Stanley punches him back. Groaning in response. Pushing him forward into the portal room again, tripping over the lever that sat in the middle. Ford stumbled back and behind the caution line.
“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family? Well, then YOU CAN HAVE 'EM!” He pushed Ford further back, but was surprised to see his brother start to levitate. Confusion melting into his expression. “Whoa, whoa, hey, what's going on? Hey, hey, Stanford-”
“Stanley! Stanley, help me!” Ford called out, slowly being engulfed by the portal as Stan tries to figure something out.
“Oh, no, what do I do?!!”
“Stanley! Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!” Ford threw the journal to Stan, disappearing into the white light of the portal. He couldn't tell what happened after, he just knew he was lying in the rubble and Ford's glasses were in front of him on the ground. Trying to get up from where he was, but he couldn't. He must've broken something. So he just sobbed. Reaching for Ford’s glasses and curling up onto himself. His beanie had fallen off from the blast of the portal. His ears sunk down as he cried in a ball. Hot tears streamed down his face, and to the side as he cried. Swallowing his spit between wails.
“Ford, fuck- I didn't want you- I'm so sorry” He cried and cried, eventually passing out from exhaustion. Waking up with the rubble of broken support beams and rocks around him. He slowly tried to get up. Feeling a deep ache in his right shoulder from the burn. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Looking at his surroundings and remembering what happened. He looked down at his hands, Ford’s glasses held in them. They were the same nerdy frames that he had been wearing since he was a child. He swallowed down the thought for later. Using his hands and knees to get up, stumbling as he did so. Realizing it might help to untuck his tail. They were made for balance after all, right? He couldn't remember from what he learned that from but he could only assume Sixer. With his tail free he tried to stand again, having less trouble this time. Leaning against the door frame for support and trekking up the stairs and small elevator. Ignoring the number of floors on the keypad for the elevator. He just wanted to rest.
He found his way to Ford’s study. There was a couch there. It was better than sleeping in his car. The study was cluttered with different experiments that were numbered, noting the strange, patterned carpet but ignoring it in favor of sniffing out blankets or something warmer than just his jacket. It had grown torn and dirty with wear, but it would still help if he couldn't find anything. He skulked around the cabin, listening for any creaks in the wooden floor. Avoiding them when he went by again. He looked through the house for any sort of linen closet or just Ford’s closet. Eventually Stan found it, reaching for the white sheets that smelt of Ford, or at least the house. He just wanted his brother back. He had been away from him for so many years and just got him back. He had gone through so much alone. He snuck back to Ford’s room and curled up with his jacket and sheets. He just felt so bad now. His head poked out of the sheets as he laid tightly in a ball. His ears swiveling back and forth like satellite dishes, listening for Ford. Maybe he would be back right away? They would make up and talk to each other about what happened in the past ten years. Everything would be fine.
-
He woke up in the nest he made. Ford’s glasses sat on the small jut out of the couch he had not taken up. Stan sighed and stretched. The stained glass windows bathed the room in an orange hue. The light of the snow’s reflection fighting for it. He looked outside, but it was a mass of snow. He could not tell what time it was at all but he could feel how his stomach complained. He had not eaten much the past few days in favor of paying for gas. Maybe Sixer had something that wasn’t molded or a monster from who knows where. He got up from the couch, looking back at Ford’s glasses from the doorway. Picking them up and placing them on his shirt collar before going back out. Now that he was not under the blankets he realized just how cold the cabin was. It seeped into his bones causing the most irritable chill. Looking around for the kitchen. Going through the corridor that had the door that Ford let him in through. The living room to the left of it. He could see through an arch that the kitchen was right past it. It was worn down, likely from lack of proper cleaning. Stan knew both of them had struggled with cleaning so he was not bothered. He wasn't in good shape himself so he had no room to complain. Finding the cabinets and looking through them. Pots, pans, saucepans, hmm where's the utensils- oh there. What about food.. Oh there we go. There was a small stash of non-perishable items in the large cabinet that reached to about his height. Beans, meat, soups. It was better than anything he's had in the past years to boot. He could figure something out that would last for a few days for sure. He smiled to himself, his toothy grin expressing how he had changed. Everything had changed very quickly after all. But he put the thought to the side, he needed to figure out how to make something to eat,
He always helped his mom with cooking when she requested so, and even out of his own will he would. There was peace in the little world Stan and Caryn created together. Where Stan didn't have to worry about not being himself and Caryn could focus on the moment. They'd make dinner together when Stan got out of school. Ford would often amuse himself by reading a nerd comic or just some sort of educational book of something that interested him at the moment. Caryn would let Stan chop up the vegetables or anything they would be needing in their meal. He’d learned alot from his mother, and was very grateful for it. Figuring out what could be substituted for another ingredient was nice to know how to do. As well as making high calorie meals with what you had on hand.
Due to his transformation, Stan noticed he was getting tired more and more often. Most often it could be quelled by eating. But because of the lack of money he could not afford the best food. He had also figured out that higher calorie foods help a lot more. So he’d have to figure something out with what Sixer had left him. He felt guilty that he was eating his brother's food, but he hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. He could figure something out with what was on the shelves surely. He looks below the shelves with non-perishables and finds other food items. Bread, peanut butter, jars of different pickled items. He picked up the bread and checked it for mold, it was the rye bread that their mom would always buy. He looked back up to the cans, there's tomato soup.. Maybe there's cheese in the fridge. Stan looked around the room, behind him was the fridge. It was decorated in sticky notes and other reminders. Including a phone number with the letter F written in Ford’s handwriting next to it. He’ll have to look through the journal first, Finding out if Ford had anyone he was working with was important. Hopefully it had something that was related to Ford’s relationship with the other townspeople. He noticed how the fridge was emitting a strange odor but he ignored it in favor of looking for butter and or cheese. Once he had opened it he understood why there was a smell. There were arrangements of jars of different specimens of what he could not tell they were, but he continued his search. Finding spreadable butter and some cheese he knew not the origin of. He looked around for the skillet or a pan of some sort he could make the grilled cheese in and found a saucepan while he was at it. Rummaging through the drawers to find a can opener. Then pouring the soup cans’ contents into the saucepan. Buttering the bread and placing the assembled sandwich onto the skillet. Leaving the kitchen to go and find the journal. Once he had retrieved it he set it down onto the counter beside him. Glancing back up at the soup and sandwich if they needed stirring or a flip.
Stan thumbed through the pages, most of them were about paranormal or mysterious encounters he had with the Gravity Falls wildlife. Nothing of note to the portal nor his condition. The handwriting was Ford’s alright, Stan always struggled with reading his handwriting once they both were taught cursive in grade school. He had never looked into the fact the words had blended together or how he struggled so much in his classes. He never had the chance to having been kicked out soon after he had truly noticed these traits of his. It was more or less frowned upon anyways to look into ones mental. So he left it unexplored. Focusing on other aspects of himself. Such as his gender, but he grew up a boy and had no trouble transitioning as Filbrick didn't care less a shit about his other son. He found one page that had these strange lines and symbols in the middle. Different words also written in cursive and a weird square language he did not recognize. It looked a lot like a blueprint, foreign in design as if some alien had possessed Ford to create it. He looked back over to the fridge once he put his soup into a bowl and his grilled cheese onto a napkin. Taking a bite as he stared at the sticky note.
‘F - xxx-xxx-xxxx’