Archive of Our Own

The door to the bus has barely even opened and Mabel’s already barrelling down the steps, Dipper hot on her heels and Waddles following at a more leisurely pace behind.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” they’re both shouting, taking turns throwing themselves into their arms. They’ve grown quite a bit, Mabel’s head already reaching Stan’s shoulder. He holds her tightly, having missed her like hell for the past few months, until Waddles starts chewing on his pant leg.

“Okay,” Stan says, looking between the two of them. Dipper’s got the sort of expression that tells him this is going exactly as anticipated, while Mabel’s sheepishly looking down at her sleeve. “Why is the pig here?”

“Told you he wasn’t going to just not notice ,” Dipper mumbles.

“ Shh ,” Mabel says out of the side of her mouth. She leans into her brother, and Stan sees that she’s just a smidge taller than him once again. “Maybe if we don’t say anything…”

“Mabel,” Ford says. “While there are a fair number of creatures in this town capable of hiding their existence when needed… Waddles is not one of them.”

Mabel sighs as Stan shakes his leg, trying to get the pig to let go of him. He’s grown in the past year, too. Something he could kind of tell from afar while video-chatting with the kids, but that he certainly didn’t need confirmation of in person.

“Mom and Dad both refused to let him spend the summer with either of them,” she says. “They actually don’t really want him to come back either, but I think that’s a little extreme . He’s just a baby! And I love him!” Mabel kneels down and pulls Waddles away from Stan’s leg, taking his face in her hands and squishing it. “Who’s a good piggy baby? Is it you? Yes it is!”

“So, now you have a pretty good idea of what the bus ride was like,” Dipper says drily, looking between his grunkles. “How was your return to Gravity Falls?” he asks, tugging his and Mabel’s suitcase behind him as she continues to coo over her pet. Stan and Ford start to lead the way back to the StanMobile. 

“It’s kind of nice to be back,” Stan says. “Didn’t occur to me over the past thirty years, but I guess the place has kind of grown on me.”

Ford nods. “It’s been wonderful to go travelling for new anomalies, but being here really brings me back to when it was all so fresh, starting out for the very first time.”

Dipper nods, looking up at Ford in wonder. He’s still got Wendy’s hat smothering his hair, and it seems longer underneath, snaking out in large curls and nearly brushing his shoulders in the back.

Stan’s about halfway to commenting on it, but Ford beats him to it.

“You’re starting to look like Stanley,” he comments with a soft smile, affection crystal clear in his eyes.

Dipper and Stan lock eyes past Ford, both clearly taken aback by this assertion.

But as Stan realizes that his own hair has grown quite a bit lately–through a combined lack of access to barbers and an outright refusal to allow a man who thinks lighting his face on fire is a good way to shave touch a single hair on his head–and also stuffed under the red beanie Mabel knitted him… it’s hard to deny the similarities. 

“Well,” Stan says, finding his voice and smiling at Dipper. “Kid’s finally got some taste, huh?”

Dipper smiles back. “I guess I do.”

They reach the car, Mabel wrestling Waddles into her lap so that there’s room for Dipper to sit next to her in the back. 

“Mabel,” Stan says as he starts the car. “You do realize that we currently live on a houseboat, right? As in… where on earth are we going to fit a pig ?”

Mabel waves off his concern. “I already talked to Soos, and he’s more than happy to take Waddles in. In fact, he even said our attic rooms are still free, and, I quote, ‘please dude, convince Stan to stay with us too, I’ll find him a spot, please!’”. Mabel does a fairly decent Soos impression.

“Am I included in that offer too?” Ford asks, a hint of amusement colouring his voice. “Seeing as it was my house first?”

“You really cannot get over that, can you?” Stan asks.

Ford shrugs.

“I’m sure there’s room for you, too,” Mabel says brightly. “Although, I was kind of looking forward to house boat life, so I might just drop off Waddles.”

“You two are going to love Stan-O’-War II,” Stan says. “Assuming you like being packed very tightly into a dark cabin that’s never fully still. It’s fun!” He pulls into the parking lot for Lake Gravity Falls, where the boat bobs gently on the water off of the dock. 

“Fun…” Dipper repeats, popping the back door open. Stan glances back at him as he steps out, notices the hand-stitching on his sweater for the first time. Mabel’s made him a pine tree, a blue shape just like the hat he used to wear, set against green fabric. 

Mabel herself, meanwhile, is wearing a sweater stitched to say “I Survived Weirdmageddon and All I Got Was This Very Nice Sweater”.

“Did you make sweaters like that for everyone?” Stan asks. He’s mostly joking, but he should know better than to do so with Mabel. She’s reaching into her bag and pulling out another one before he’s even finished.

“Of course,” she says, beaming. “Dipper didn’t want to wear his,” she adds with a glare in his direction. 

“I didn’t say that I would never wear it,” Dipper argues. “I just didn’t want to wear it at the same time you’re wearing yours. The whole Matching Twins thing gets old after a while.” 

Mabel sighs and looks to her uncles for help. “Dipper’s in his ‘I’m totally an individual even though I want to look like an exact cross between Grunkle Stan and Ford’ phase.”

“Mabel!” Dipper says. He walks around the car and takes his sweater from her. “Fine,” he grumbles.

Stan unfolds his own sweater to take a look. Instead of “I Survived Weirdmageddon” like Mabel’s sweater says, his reads “I Stopped Weirdmageddon”. He can’t help the smile that forms as he looks at it, the feeling of pride he still has that he was able to be a hero to his great niece. 

“Thank you, Mabel.”

“Of course,” she says brightly.

After a tour of the houseboat and a visit to Greasy’s for dinner, they stop in at the Mystery Shack to drop off Waddles, Soos hugging them so hard that Stan’s not entirely sure they’re going to make it out unscathed. It’s strange, seeing the place again. He’d become accustomed to it in such a weird way, telling himself at first that it was only temporary, only until he got his brother back. He didn’t want to fully relax into it. But the longer he ran the place, the more it did feel like a part of him. Soos is the one with the real passion for it, of course, and he’s spruced it up with more enthusiasm than Stan could’ve ever mustered. Still… he’s got all these feelings, being back in the space. Ford seems to notice, pulling Stan closer and squeezing his hand.

Back on the boat–which really is small enough even without the kids–Stan falls into a fitful sleep, Bill gliding back into his dreams before he’s able to wrest control back and punch him in his stupid, dream-face. Despite his restlessness, he doesn’t really notice when Ford leaves the room. Nor does he notice his return, dazed and stumbling through the room before he collapses into bed.

So, it’s not until the morning that he really notices anything’s wrong with him.

For starters, Ford’s pretty much always up before him. Among his more annoying qualities, acting like only needing three hours of sleep is some moral victory is definitely the worst.

Stan’s just rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, when he catches sight of Ford bundled tightly in his blankets. 

“Sixer?” Stan asks, kneeling next to him. “You’re not up already?”

He blinks a couple times, then stands to retrieve his glasses. When he returns, he finds that Ford’s skin looks almost sickly pale. Placing the back of his hand to Ford’s forehead, he finds it near icy. “Jeez,” he mutters, reeling back. “Ford? You alright?” If he didn’t know better, between the pallor and the temperature… is Ford even breathing ?

“ Stanford!” Stan finds himself yelling, loudly enough that it seems to stir Dipper and Mabe in the next room. His heart is beating entirely too fast against his chest, but then–

Ford’s eyes are opening. He’s alive. They’re oddly dark, but Stan barely cares, squeezing his brother to him with all of his strength.

“Stanley?” Ford mutters, his voice weak. The door opens behind Stan, Dipper asking if they’re okay, but he can’t focus on that right now. He loosens his grip to look Ford in the eye. “Stanley?” he asks, blinking with those dark eyes, which seem huge in his pale face. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter ?” Stan repeats. “Ford, you… are you alright? You look like the living dead.”

Stan can feel the kids’ presence behind him. “Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper says, “you don’t look too great.”

Ford looks at him in confusion. “I’m fine,” he says. “Maybe a bit hungry…” He runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth, a gesture that’s over quickly but catches Stan’s attention, filling him with a sense of wrongness that he can’t fully pinpoint the origin of. 

“Sixer…” Stan starts, but Ford’s slipping out of bed and standing up. Stan looks to the kids, trying to understand what’s happening, but they’re just watching Ford. 

“Come on, you all look like you’ve seen a three-eyed toad.” He frowns. “A bunch of nosy jerks, those are.”

Stan just watches as Ford makes to leave the room, only to–

“Ahh!” He screams and steps backward, a deep sort of hissing emanating from his throat. His teeth are bared, and he drops into a predatory stance, ready to leap up and claw at whatever threat he seems to perceive. 

Stan takes a step back, bumping into the kids. He holds his arms out, making sure they’re securely behind him. “Stanford,” he breathes. 

Ford’s attention snaps to Stan, eyes wide. “Oh, sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t relax even an inch. “The um… the sun. It’s bright.” He massages a hand across his forehead. 

“And that’s worth… hissing about?” Stan asks, feeling uneasy.

Ford finally relaxes, looking up at Stan with an uneasy expression as he settles onto the floor. “I don’t really know what came over me,” he admits.

“Can I see your teeth again?” Stan asks.

Ford cocks his head in question, but he allows Stan to get closer, opening his mouth in a sort of grimace.

His canines seem oddly sharp. 

He reaches out a reluctant hand, hooking his fingers in Ford’s collar and pulling it down. Right beneath his star tattoo are two red, circular marks, crusted with dried blood.

“Dipper,” Stan says as Ford tries to see what it is Stan’s looking at. Dipper comes to sit right next to him, and Mabel plops down a moment later. “In all of your research about Gravity Falls… where did vampires fall in things? Real?”

Ford immediately straightens up, locking eyes with Stan. “You don’t think–”

“You hissed at the sun, Ford,” Stan says matter-of-factly. 

“It’s just bright! I mean, come on–”

“Your teeth are sharper, your skin is cold and pale, you have what look to be bite marks on your neck, and you hissed at the sun.”

Ford maintains perfect eye contact, not even blinking, as he lifts a hand, pressing it to the side of his neck. His fingers skate over the bite wound before pausing there. He looks like he’s about to curse before remembering the kids. “I’ve never found conclusive evidence of vampires,” he says. “I mean, there were these giant bats, but they just turned out to be fruit bats.”

Dipper edges closer. Stan catches the look in his eyes, a sort of apprehensive curiosity, and he knows that the part of Dipper that is exactly like Ford is bursting with the need to learn more. At the same time, the part of Dipper that’s not a complete idiot is just strong enough to hold him back.

“I’ve always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” Mabel comments dreamily, cutting through the tension. “A vampire grunkle is pretty cool too.” Ford’s mouth relaxes a bit, exposing those sharp teeth once again. 

“We don’t exactly know that you have a vampire grunkle,” he comments softly, poking at his teeth with his thumb. “Though… perhaps I can see why the evidence points in that direction.” He turns to Dipper. “Is this something you encountered last summer?”

Dipper shakes his head, leaning into Stan. “We came across a lot of strange stuff, but never… this .”

“Do you think he’ll sparkle in the sun?” Mabel asks. “ Ooh , can you read minds?”

Stan and Ford immediately turn to each other, locking eyes. “Sparkle?” they ask in unison.

“Don’t mind her,” Dipper says. He’s pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, flips through it. “She’s into those vampire movies. Dusk, Waxing Gibbous, Blocking out the Sun, Now the Sun is Coming Back. They’ve got weird vampire rules.”

“You forgot Now the Sun is Coming Back, Part Two ,” Mabel notes. “That’s the one with the wedding.”

“Did something… happen, last night?” Stan asks, realizing the question he probably should’ve asked sooner.

Ford’s eyes go faraway as he considers this. “I…” He presses a hand to his forehead again, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. “I remember… this feeling,” he says. “Like I needed to get out of here… something almost calling me. It felt like the old days, wandering through the woods, discovering anomalies. But it was even more urgent than usual. Like I was being pulled to it. I know I went outside for a bit, I remember walking through the trees, moonlight illuminating my path. And then…” He winces, as if in pain. “Metal filling my mouth. Pain shooting through my gums. Dirt… so much dirt, like I was being filled with it.” He reaches a hand up to brush his hair back, and Stan catches the filth under his fingernails. “And then… I was stumbling back here. Back to bed.” Ford blinks a couple of times, looks down at his hands. “I’m hungry,” he says softly, in a way that unsettles Stan right to his core. He shifts his body, trying to get the kids behind him.

“Craving anything in particular?” Stan asks cautiously. He imagines himself in a cheesy movie, the way Ford would turn to him, smiling wickedly before responding, “yes, you”, and leaping onto him.

Instead, Ford’s eyes drop to Stan’s chest, his mouth working. “You’re scared,” he says simply. He shakes his head, tries to meet Stan’s eyes. “Don’t be scared. Even if… even if you fear the worst, I’m not going to hurt you.” He reaches out a hand, and while it’s paler than usual, and Stan knows the skin will be ice cold, it is true that it’s still familiar. It’s still his brother’s hand. All six fingers, the scars from working on the portal and fighting through other dimensions. The fresher cut on the back of his hand from the weresquid they fought just a week ago. The ragged line across the pinky where Stan knows Ford took out some of his aggression about feeling different.

“So, he can read minds?” Stan hears Mabel whisper to Dipper. Ford smiles again, that relaxed smile that lights up his eyes with affection for his great niece.

“I can hear his heartbeat,” Ford explains. He meets Stan’s eyes again. “Not to mention, I know my brother.”

Stan leans back, trying to calm his heart rate. “I just… it’s a lot to take in… if you are a vampire. Are you going to have to drink from one of us?” By “one of us”, Stan of course means himself. There’s no other option there. He’d sacrifice anything for those kids.

Ford’s eyes flash with fear. “I’d hope not,” he says quietly. “Certainly there are other options.”

“In the Dusk books, they drink animal blood,” Mabel supplies, helpfully. Then she tenses. “ Not Waddles, though, right?”

“Are we getting ahead of ourselves?” Dipper asks, though he looks as anxious as his sister. “Maybe the sharp teeth and the paleness and the ability to hear Grunkle Stan’s heartbeat are all signs of something else? Or… maybe vampires don’t actually need blood?” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know, Gravity Falls weirdness always seems one step stranger than your typical supernatural events.”

“He does have a point there,” Stan says. “Maybe you need a diet of strictly purple jellybeans or to suck the juice out of fruits or something. We gotta do some research.”

Ford smiles, pushing himself up to standing. “There are few things I like better than research,” he says. He stops before getting very close to the bedroom door. “Can someone go and ensure that all of the blinds are firmly shut before I leave the room?” he asks. “I don’t think we need a repeat of what happened before…”

“On it,” Mabel and Dipper say in unison, running out of the room. Stan examines his brother as they stand just the two of them.

What has he gotten himself into now ?

A few hours of research later, and it’s pretty clear to them that purple jellybeans and fruit juice are not going to be the solutions to this particular brand of hunger. 

Ford’s gaze keeps drifting to Stan’s neck before he jerks it back to his hands, and as admirable as his efforts to hide it are, it’s become increasingly clear that some brand of natural instinct deep inside of him is , in fact, crying out for blood. Especially when Stan realizes Ford’s started staring at the veins in his wrist like they’re the most riveting thing he’s ever seen.

“Stanford,” Stan says, snapping his brother out of his trance once again. He blinks up at Stan, tries to smile.

“Hmm? Yes, Stanley?”

“You haven’t been able to keep a single thing down,” he points out. “And despite your insistence that that ‘doesn’t mean I need to consume blood’,” Stan continues, placing air quotes around that bit that Ford keeps repeating, “you keep looking at me the way I would look at a forty ounce steak and a pitcher of beer.”

Ford makes a face. Stan starts to brace himself for a comment about needing to eat healthier, but instead he swallows hard and looks at Stan in desperation. “The idea of steak and beer does make me want to vomit a bit, but certainly that doesn’t mean–”

“It means a lot,” Stan says, deadpan. “And my eyes are up here.”

“Sorry,” Ford says sheepishly, lifting his gaze. “I just…” He puts his head in his hands, looks like he might start crying. Stan sent the kids outside to… play? when it first became evident that human food was not going to stay down, and he’s glad they can’t see Ford like this. “What am I supposed to do? I’m not actually going to drink my own brother’s blood. Even if I could take enough to satiate my hunger without harming you, I don’t think it’d be the most sustainable. And anyone else…” He bites his lip, one fanged tooth peeking out. “I’m a monster…” he mutters.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I can think of a couple a’ people in town no one would miss if you wanted to eat them?”

Ford shoots him a look.

“Alright,” Stan says, stepping into the bedroom and digging through his belongings. He knows his balaclava is here somewhere…

“Plan B,” he says, pulling it over his face once he’s found it. Ford frowns at him.

“You’re going to rob a bank?” he asks, not-quite judgmentally, but not without much enthusiasm either.

Stan just nods, and he can see the exact moment it clicks for Ford.

“No,” he mutters, though it’s weak, and undercut by his wince of pain as something seems to pass through him. His hands whiten as he grips the edge of the table. “Okay, just hurry,” he finally whispers.

Stan just smiles.

Stan’s missed this town. Particularly how gullible most people are, and just how simple it is to pull a “hey, what’s that ?” before swiping some freshly donated blood into his bag and running off with his mask pulled tightly over his face. He’s back in no time.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel runs up to him before he’s even fully stopped the car. “Is Grunkle Ford okay?” she asks, and her eyes swim with fear as she studies him. Stan gets out of the car and holds his arms out to her, enveloping her against his chest.

“He’s going to be,” Stan says. “Soon enough.”

Dipper approaches, looking nervously from Stan to the bag on his shoulder. “Is that…?”

Stan nods.

“And should we ask how you…?”

“Blood bank,” Stan says simply. 

“Legally…?”

“If that’s what you want to believe, then sure,” he says. “Now, gimme a bit of time to get the baby to eat, and then it should be safe to come back in.

Dipper looks a bit sick. “And… this is going to be Grunkle Ford’s life now?” he asks.

Stan takes a deep breath. “It is. And I know it’s strange, and maybe a bit scary, or gross, or whatever. But…” He thinks of Ford, how broken he looked when he spoke the words. I’m a monster . He knows Ford blames himself for a lot of things, still. For everything that happened with Bill. That was a monster. He’s not going to let Ford think of himself like that. 

Even if human blood is necessary to sustain him or whatever.

“We’re just going to all have to deal with that,” Stan concludes. “I spent forty years wishing for my brother back. Not going to let a little thing like vampirism ruin things now.”

Dipper looks at him for a long moment, then smiles. “Alright. Good.”

Stan’s a bit worried he’s going to have to force his brother to take the blood, but he’s not sure if the alternative is perhaps worse. The moment he’s pulled the blood bag out, Ford darts out, snatching it from Stan’s hand so quickly, it’s difficult to even follow his movements. A moment later, he’s settled back in his chair, teeth ripping the plastic apart before he slurps the liquid up.

“Easy, Sixer,” Stan says nervously. “There’s more where that came from.” 

Ford’s eyes flash with something like relief before refocusing on the task of sucking every last drop out of the bag. Stan can’t pull his gaze away, though he wants to. Watching this is churning his stomach.

He finally finishes the bag, looking up and meeting Stan’s anxious gaze. “Thank you, Stanley,” he says. “That… well, the instincts kind of took over there, but I think that answers that question.” He nods to himself. “Blood is… well, it tastes more delicious than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Wonderful,” Stan mutters. He pulls out another blood bag, and Ford takes it calmly this time, carefully puncturing it and sipping much more slowly. He stops when the bag is about half-empty. 

“I’m sorry, Stanley,” he says. “I’m sure you never imagined having a vampire for a brother.”

Stan shrugs. “I never imagined having to fight my brother’s evil ex, the triangle demon either. Kind of desensitized at this point.”

Ford just nods. “Still…”

“I know,” Stan says. “It’s going to be an adjustment. But… I’d like to adjust to it. I think Dipper and Mabel would too. Well, and I mean, Dipper’s probably going to nerd out about all the paranormal research you can do when your uncle is the paranormal in question, and Mabel’s going to hound you to help her with romanticizing vampires… they’ll be both fine.”

Ford’s perked up a little. “You think… this could provide valuable research, couldn’t it?”

Stan grins. “Never change, Poindexter.”

Stan leans back in his seat as he watches Dipper and Mabel fawn over Ford. There was a point in time he would’ve been decidedly, extremely jealous of this, but it’s hard to be when he sees the way Ford is forced to push past some of his discomfort, when he remembers the way he’d moved to take the blood bag. It’s cool, to a degree, but it’s also clear that Ford doesn’t exactly relish it. 

He doesn’t know what to do, but a part of him knows he has to do something. Whether that’s getting Ford comfortable with his vampirism–pushing past the slight unease he feels himself at the fact of a creature which craves blood to the degree that it was designed to kill for it is now his brother–or… what? Find a cure? Is that even an option ?

Funny how hunting mysteries has been his greatest connection to his brother, and–between Bill and the portal, the various annoyances of Gravity Falls’s stranger creatures, and now this –also by far the worst thing to happen to them.

Mabel’s asking Ford if she can knit him a cape and then bedazzle it–because she’s gone from glittering teen vampires to Dracula-caricature, apparently–when Stan decides to finally cut in.

“Sweetie,” Stan cuts in. “Your Grunkle Ford’s been through a lot today, what with the… that,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Maybe we should just let him rest a bit.”

Ford shoots him a relieved look, before turning back to Mabel with an apologetic expression. “It would be nice to rest,” he says.

Dipper’s been scribbling in a journal, coming up with different things that they need to test at some point for “research”. He looks up now. “Grunkle Ford, do you think the garlic thing is a myth or does that actually sound repellent to you?”

Ford deflates slightly, then pulls in a deep breath, straightening. “I can tell you that the mention of it is not particularly frightening. Though, we can figure this all out at a later date. Your uncle’s right, I think I need some time to process.”

The corners of Dipper’s mouth pull down in disappointment. “Right,” he says. 

Ford puts an arm around him, squeezing him tight. A bit too tight, as Dipper winces and Ford quickly lets go. “Sorry. My own strength is another thing I might need to learn,” he says. “But, I love you, Dipper.” He turns to Mabel. “As well as you, darling. I love that your first responses to this have been such pure enthusiasm. It’s just a hard thing to actually adjust to.”

Dipper nods. “I understand.”

“Me too,” Mabel says before stifling a yawn. “To be honest, I am getting kind of tired, anyway.”

They see the kids off to bed before collapsing into chairs across from each other at the kitchen table.

“Well,” Stan says.

“Well, indeed,” Ford replies.

“How you holdin’ up?” Stan asks, tasting as the words leave his mouth how inadequate they are. Like he’s asking Ford how he is after a tough day of work or even a break-up. Not how he feels after his entire being has been transformed.

Ford heaves in a deep breath, sighing it out. “I suppose it’s fitting, in a sense. I felt abnormal for most of my life. I started searching out anomalies because of a sort of sense of kinship. Now, here I am, a culmination of all that in its ultimate form–I am the anomaly now.” He digs his teeth into his lip, sharp tooth poking out. “At least the kids are enjoying it.”

“Doesn’t bother you that they’re all ‘see if this garlic hurts you, see if this cross scares you’–though even if you were damned you’re still Jewish –‘see how quickly you can heal this wound’?” Stan asks. 

“I’ve done worse in the name of research,” Ford replies simply. “A bit of pain for the cause isn’t usually something to get too worked up about.”

Stan raises his eyebrows “You scare me, sometimes.”

Ford just shrugs, like he hasn’t just admitted to being a masochist for the sake of learning.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready to hit the hay,” Stan says, groaning as he starts to stand. He’s about to ask his own vampire question–whether vampire healing magic or whatever has eased the, already minimal in Ford’s case, aches of old age–but honestly, if nothing on Ford’s body hurts, he doesn’t actually want to know. 

“Honestly, I’m not quite sure if vampires… sleep . My rest earlier could have simply been a factor of the transformation–and I don’t feel particularly tired. Though perhaps I could try it?” Ford screws up his face in thought. 

“Great, so you’re strong, fast, a fierce predator, and now you don’t even need to sleep. What’s next? You gonna walk on water?”

“I believe you missed it, but we did determine that my very being on the boat disproved the myth of vampires not being able to cross water,” Ford says, adjusting his glasses. Stan’s surprised he even needs them anymore, but maybe he doesn’t and he’s just wearing them for familiarity’s sake. “So, that’s something.”

Ford stands, placing an arm around Stan. “I’ll come with you to bed. See if it’s necessary or not.”

“It better be,” Stan mutters. “You were already too nocturnal for my tastes as it was. Worst old man I know.”

Ford laughs, though it quickly dissipates. Stan turns to look at him, but his features are carefully blank. His mouth curls back into a smile, but it’s smaller this time, less sincere.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed, old man.”

Ford can’t sleep. And he’s not entirely sure if it’s the vampirism–though that feels like a component–but he feels something pounding through his body, an anxiety that can’t be stilled no matter how hard he tries, how many deep breaths he takes before remembering he doesn’t even seem to need to breathe anyway, is doing it more out of habit but then will catch himself having just… stopped . 

Ford curses silently, throwing the covers off his body. Stan is comfortably snoring in the bunk above his, something he insisted on despite being the less limber of the two. Ford stands and watches his brother, the familiar reassurance of the fact that his chest is moving. Something churns through him, the sort of sickness he would’ve thought more fitting right after he drank blood for the first time like he was dying of thirst. 

“Fuck,” he says softly. Stan stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. 

He just got his brother back. It’s barely even been a year. They’ve been getting along well, have gotten deeper into the childhood experiences that shaped their specific neuroses than Ford had expected they would. But there’s still more there. Things not quite laid to rest, barely scratched at before one or both of them realized that they were just not ready to deal with it.

Well, it’s not like they don’t have time, Ford reminds himself. They have time . Even if Stan is the unhealthiest and most physically ailing man he knows–even worse than Fiddleford , who spent three decades living in the town dump with his mind scrambled–they have time. He’s probably not dropping dead tomorrow.

Though, his heart’s got this uneven sort of pattern that’s hard to find reassuring.

Regardless, even if Stan lives ten more years, it’s suddenly not enough time. 

Vampires are typically immortal. Unaging. Frozen in time like a snapshot of the exact moment that they were turned, that they became something more.

Ford knew that there was a chance of Stan dying first–in some ways it seemed more likely, though Ford is the one to throw himself into a deep dark forest on a whim and hope for the best, so maybe it was fifty-fifty–but… realizing that’s now a guarantee ? 

His chest tightens, the spot where his heart should be beating shooting with an unexpected pain.

He turns away from his brother, forcing himself to head to the kitchen. It’s dark out now, and he wonders if he should get some fresh air while he still can. He has a dull sort of sense that he should probably be more upset that he’s never going to see the sun again, but one thing at a time and right now his panic about Stan is fighting to seize his entire mind.

Ford’s eventually able to make his way outside, staring up at the moon. It’s shining white and bright, a full moon that means Gravity Falls’ weirdness is likely even stranger than usual. It occurs to him that he could’ve been turned into a werewolf instead. Might’ve been better. Only a few days a month that he would’ve been afflicted, and as far as he knows, no immortality.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting alone when Mabel pops her head out, taking a spot next to him leaning against the railing. 

“Grunkle Ford,” she says, looking at him earnestly. He’s still adjusting to how much she’s grown, how much taller she is now. They lock eyes with ease. “What’s up?”

Ford opens his mouth to respond, then hesitates, closing it. 

“I’m…” he starts. “I’m not sure vampires sleep.”

Mabel tilts her head, her expression drifting like she’s not sure she believes him. Eventually, she gives him a sad smile. “I don’t think they do in my books,” she offers. “But, I’m not sure how realistic those are anyway. Are you okay?”

Ford processes the question. “Those books… are the vampires immortal?” he asks.

She nods. “That’s part of what makes it so romantic. The idea of spending eternity with the person you love?” She sighs dreamily as Ford fights to find his words and put them back in place. 

“I’m scared, Mabel,” he finds himself admitting. Maybe it’s because he knows she would get it. The entire thing with Weirdmageddon… Bill tricked her with exactly what she wanted most–a bit more time with her brother. If anyone understood what Ford’s feeling right now, it would probably be her.

“Why?” she asks. “Well, okay, I get it,” she adds. “Vampires are really romantic in theory on TV, but they are also blood-sucking killers controlled by their basest impulses.”

Ford can’t help but crack a smile. “I think you could give us a bit more credit,” he says. “We have feelings, too. Hopes and desires and–” His voice cracks.

Mabel nuzzles herself into him. She’s wearing her PJs, an oversized shirt with a floppy disc on it and a pair of shorts just peeking out the bottom. He’s pretty sure it used to cover her to her knees.

“I’m sorry, Grunkle Ford,” she says. “Do you want to talk about your feelings? I’m a great listener.”

She pulls a mini pad of stickers out of a pocket in her shorts, pointing to a circle that does, in fact, say “great listener”.

“I’d add that you’re always prepared,” Ford says, laughter lightening his voice.

Mabel smiles, then gestures expectantly.

“I’m worried about your Grunkle Stan,” Ford says.

Mabel nods. “Do you think he’s going to be jealous?” she asks when he doesn’t provide more information. “Or scared of you? Do you think he sees you differently now?”

Ford shakes his head. He looks down at the water, glimmering with moonlight as it slowly undulates. “I realized something earlier. After you kids had gone to bed–”

He’s about to say more when his attention is caught by rustling behind him. As though referencing his existence has summoned him, Dipper’s here too, now.

“Sorry,” he says, cringing back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just… thought I heard voices, and then I–”

Ford holds out his arm to Dipper to join before he starts rambling and doesn’t stop. “It’s alright,” he says. Dipper joins on the other side of him, the two kids flanking him on either end.

“Like I was saying, after the two of you went to bed, I realized… Stan’s going to age.”

“ Going to ?” Dipper asks, then slaps a hand over his mouth. “I mean… not that he doesn’t–Grunkle Stan doesn’t look a day over eighty, you know.”

“We’re sixty-three,” Ford says. “Though, yes, he does certainly play up the old man angle. But what I mean is that he’s going to age even more , if you can believe it. And I’m worried because… I don’t think I’m going to. Not if I’m like this.”

Mabel looks up at him, her eyes going wide. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, no.”

“Well, I mean, maybe there’s a way to keep him alive longer?” Dipper suggests. “Or to cure your vampire…ism? Is that how you say it?”

Ford nods.

“I mean, assuming you don’t want to be a vampire anymore, but…”

Ford sighs. “I mean, it’s only been a day. It’s not exactly as if this is tied up as a key part of my identity. At the same time… I don’t think I can just shuck it off as easily either. We didn’t even have evidence that this condition was real until now. Are we likely to find a cure all that quickly?”

“You know, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel cuts in, “Grandpa Shermie says that worrying about the future is a good way to ruin the present. If you’re too worried about what might happen with you and Grunkle Stan–”

“I’ll lose what time I do have with him, I know,” he mutters. “Honestly, you grandfather can–” He cuts himself off before he says something a bit too intense in front of the kids. “Great, we just told him that I’m alive and Stan was pretending to be me all these years, and now… I get to tell him I’m a vampire!” He puts his face in his hands.

“Yeah, poor Grandpa,” Mabel says. “He is not having any luck with his brothers.”

“Well, he’s at least had the calmest life out of the three of us,” Ford points out. “Or, at the very least he’s never been to jail in Columbia, tricked by a triangle god, caught in an armageddon, or turned into a vampire.”

“Yeah, before we found out about you guys his biggest story was about nearly hitting Ronald Reagan with his car while he was still an actor,” Dipper says. He puts on a deeper voice, “‘If I’d have known, I would’ve floored it,’” he says in a strong imitation of what Ford remembers of most recently seeing his brother.

Ford laughs. “If only he had.” He sobers, his smile starting to slip as his thoughts flit back to Stan.

“If you can’t not be a vampire,” Mabel says, “why don’t you just make Grunkle Stan one too? Then it doesn’t matter that you’re not aging, ‘cause neither is he.” She holds her arms out in excitement. “I think I’m onto something big, here. I’m a genius.”

“And if Grunkle Stan doesn’t want to be a vampire?” Dipper asks.

“Then he’s boring,” Mabel says, simply.

Dipper sighs. “It’s not exactly something to just, take lightly,” he points out. “It’s one thing for Grunkle Ford since he didn’t even have a choice, but when you do have the option–”

“I’d still go for it,” Mabel argues. She turns to Ford, holds out her arm. “Turn me!”

Ford delicately pushes her arm back down. “No, thank you, Mabel. I don’t think being eternally thirteen is as appealing as you might think right now.”

Mabel considers this. “So, we can revisit this conversation when I’m thirty…?”

Ford just raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

“Well, even if you won’t give me eternal life, beauty, and romance,” Mabel says, “I think you should consider discussing it with Grunkle Stan. I know that if my twin was a vampire, I’d want to be one too,” she adds, shooting a glance at Dipper.

“If you were a vampire, I would probably still not want to be one,” Dipper says, matter-of-factly. “But that’s okay, we don’t always have to do the same things.”

“That’s for like, you not being as into glittery crafts and me thinking you’re being nerdy,” Mabel argues. “Not for being a vampire !” 

“Kids,” Ford says. “Ideally, no one else would have to become a vampire here, but I think we’re getting a little bit distracted from the point. You have your entire lives ahead of you, but your grunkle and I…” He can’t bring himself to quite finish the sentence, trailing off into the night. 

“Should you talk to him about this?” Mabel asks. “I mean, I pride myself on being a relationship expert who can solve any problem, but I think sometimes you just need to let the person know how you’re feeling. And then you can work it out together!”

Dipper nods. “That’s actually pretty good advice.”

Ford starts to pull in a deep breath, and is halfway through remembering that that does essentially nothing, when he turns–a sort of tingling sense in his head urging his attention to his left–and catches Stan’s eye. 

“Are we having a party up here without me?” he asks, shuffling slowly. Ford’s been aware since the moment he returned through the portal that the past thirty–forty–years have been harder on Stan than they have himself–for reasons Ford still can’t quite understand, given that Stan wasn’t running across the multiverse trying to keep himself alive. But regardless of the why , he knows that Stan is in rough shape. It hurts even more, though, seeing him like this and knowing time will just make it worse, tighten the screws on the pain he’s already feeling. Ford may, in a legal sense, be dead now, but he also has never felt quite so alive. The only time he even felt the smallest stab of pain was when he nearly ran into the sun.

There are dark circles under Stan’s eyes. It’s clear that he desperately needs more sleep, but he’s up here anyway. Mabel holds her arm out to welcome him into the circle, smiling brightly. She loves him so much, and suddenly Ford has access to an entirely new dimension of grief, the awareness that when this man dies, it won’t just hurt Ford himself. It will hurt the children he’s growing to love as if they’re his own.

His eyes sting, and he feels something glide down his cheek, a wetness that almost shocks Ford. He didn’t know vampires could cry–though, he honestly hadn’t even thought to interrogate the possibility of it. A new piece of information for his research.

“Stanley,” he says, his voice cracking down the middle of the word. Stan looks up.

“Are you okay, Sixer?” he asks. “You look a bit like someone just killed your best friend.”

“I–” 

“Maybe we should leave the two of you to talk,” Mabel says, detaching from Stan’s side and immediately rushing to grab Dipper’s arm and nearly yank him out of there. “Good luck,” she whispers as she passes in front of Ford.

“Good night, Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper calls as he’s pulled away. Ford would be amused if he weren’t still so distraught at the same time.

“They acting weirder than usual?” Stan asks. 

“Uh, perhaps a bit,” Ford says. “Though, things maybe are a bit weirder than normal, so who could blame them?”

Stan eyes Ford, looking him up and down. “Well, there’s something you want to talk about?”

Ford feels his heart sink, suddenly so heavy he’s not sure he could ever pull it back up. “Uhh… well…”

Stan frowns, the lines of his face deepening. “It aint good, is it? Is it something to do with your, uh… condition?”

Ford shakes his head, then pauses and nods. He wishes he actually had Dipper and Mabel still to lean on as a distraction. Maybe he could just push them into Stan and run. 

“The thing is…” Ford says. “We’re just worried about what this means for, long term.”

“Well, yeah, stealing from the blood bank may be easy enough now, but in ten, twenty, thirty years, they might wisen up a bit.”

Stan’s eyes glitter with the humor, until he seems to put two and two together. “Oh,” he breathes out, a single syllable pulsing through the dark night air. “Right. You’re not going to have me to lean on forever.” His voice raises up an octave as he says it, as if he’s trying to pitch it into something lighter. But it’s clear on his face, the way his mouth tightens. “Vampires… they live forever.”

“So goes the lore,” Ford says. 

“Old men in their sixties with a bad back and the type of diet that should’ve already killed ‘em…”

“Yeah,” Ford breathes out.

“Fuck,” Stan says. “I… I hadn’t considered that.”

“Neither had I.”

The two of them fall into a contemplative silence, both of them searching for where to go from here, how to change their fates.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do, here,” Stan speaks after several beats.

“You think so?” 

He nods. Ford prepares himself for the words, but what comes out is not quite what he anticipated. “When I’m ready to die, dramatic murder-suicide.”

“What?” Ford asks.

“I stab you with a stake, or cut your head off, or shove you into the sun, or whatever people are supposed to do with vampires, and then I gracefully and with much dignity overdose on whatever pills they got me on at that point.”

“ Stanley ,” Ford says, utter exasperation flooding through him.

“What?”

“I’m being serious! I don’t want to have to watch you die!”

“So? You don’t have to. I just said that. We continue on as we should have before this happened and we just gotta take matters into our own hands a little bit to get the ending back on track.”

Pressure builds behind Ford’s eyes, an almost stinging pain. “You’re impossible.”

“Well, what did you want me to do? You’re the one pointing out that I’m an old fucking man. It’s a bit late to fix that.”

“I need more time,” Ford shouts.

“Well, it’s not like I’m dropping dead tomorrow,” Stan argues.

“You could . God, with the way you eat, all of your habits, you absolutely could!”

Stan steps back like he’s been slapped. “As if you’re much better! You run into danger any chance you get! You ran into a forest alone in the middle of the night because something called to you, and now we’re in this mess! ” His eyes shine in the moonlight. “What if you had died? Did you think about that? Do you think about how it’s going to impact the rest of us that you’re like this now?”

Ford wants to bite back, dig his teeth into this argument and draw blood. But he attempts to center himself. “Stanley,” he says, as softly as he can. “I’m sorry.”

Stan deflates slightly. “You think I like thinking about my own mortality either?” he asks. “I finally have a family again. Something to actually lose. And it’s when I’m nearly one foot in the grave.”

“Then, let’s do something,” Ford says, suddenly overcome with urgency. “I’m sure I can figure out how–I could make you like me.” He pauses, the promise of eternity washing over him. “Maybe not forever,” he adds. “Maybe one day we do get the wooden stakes out and go murder-suicide, but… well, we’ve wasted so much time caught up in all of it. We could claim some of that back.”

Stan nods, soaking it in. “It would be nice,” he says, “to think I might actually make it to see the kids get older. Be there for the many graduations Dipper probably has in store. See whatever creative pursuit Mabel finally commits herself to, or if she can somehow make it all of them. Maybe even see ‘em get married. Either one of them is probably going to have a very interesting spouse.”

“Exactly,” Ford says.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” Stan says after a couple moments pass. “If anything crops up before I’m ready where it’s like life or death, sure, but…”

Ford nods. “The longer you take, though, the more time will pass between the two of us.” He imagines watching Stan’s features change while he stays the same. He thought in reverse in the years he spent in other dimensions, catching the occasional glimpse of himself that thrust him into questions of what Stan would look like by then, forever frozen at twenty-nine with a terrible mullet in his mind.

Stan smiles, yellowed teeth on display. “I’m excited to finally be the older twin,” he says. “Mabel says it’s great.”

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking this means you’ll somehow have more authority than me,” Ford says. “I’m still oldest in all the ways that matter most.”

“Sure, Fangs,” Stan says. He seems to think it over. “No, sticking with Sixer, actually. Still the defining physical trait.”

“I have grown fond of it,” Ford tells him, and he’s glad to be able to say it with sincerity. There was a point in time after he returned that he struggled with the name, the reminders of Bill after he co-opted it for his own use. But it was Stan’s term of affection for him first. And it’s Stan who matters, in the end. 

“I gotta be honest,” Stan says, and there’s a moment where Ford starts to prepare himself for some sort of deep confession of a dark truth, except…

“I am really fucking tired,” is how he follows it up. “I need to go back to bed.”

Ford places a hand on his back, smiling at him. “You want me to come with?”

“Don’t suppose you could actually help me down,” Stan says. He leans into his brother, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Are you going to fall asleep on me if I don’t?” Ford asks.

“Probably,” Stan mutters. 

Ford sighs before pulling Stan to his feet. He’s forced to half-carry him down into the cabin, amazed at how light he is with his newfound strength. He hoists him into his bunk with ease, and Stan immediately pulls the covers up to his face, snuggling in.

“Goodnight, Stanley,” Ford says, relief and affection mingling with the slight bit of panic that still moves through him to look at his brother so vulnerable.

“Night, Sixer.”