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2025-05-31
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2025-06-14
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Unknown Scars

Summary:

March 14th, 2013

I have discovered some new scars on Stanley's body, although they are not the product of any recent altercation. He has not regained that memory yet, which is most definitely worrying: his worst ones are those that take longer to come back, as I have been noticing lately. If I had to guess, I would assume they belong to his decade away from home; this part of his mind is still locked away somewhere in his mindscape, and I’m fairly certain that it is more than just the effects of the memory gun.

⪻ ⪻ ⪻ ⨳ ⪼ ⪼ ⪼

A small drabble about the Stan twins at sea and hidden memories.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

There’re a few scars that Stanley doesn't remember getting, after the memory wipe.

It makes sense, of course, but it is a reminder of the parts of his life that he's missing. Part of him tries to convince himself that it's better this way; the last one he remembered was the one at the base of his left foot, and boy that memory sucked. He could've gone the rest of his days without ever feeling that glass again.

However, these remain a mystery. Ford asked him about them as soon as he saw them, worried about their size. Stanley simply made a joke, as he usually did whenever he found it difficult to talk about something. Seeing Ford's expression, Stan shrugged and admitted that he had no clue.

Obviously, that didn't stop his hypochondriac twin from writing down every single detail about them. Stan wasn't happy about it, but obliged, probably because he knew Stanford would otherwise interrogate him relentlessly. In his new journal, next to their encounters in the last months at sea and some sticky notes courtesy of Stan, there was a page dedicated to their injuries, a way to keep track of the damage the creatures (or the stove, in Ford's case) had dealt them. The new text read:

March 14th, 2013

I have discovered some new scars on Stanley's body, although they are not the product of any recent altercation. He has not regained that memory yet, which is most definitely worrying: his worst ones are those that take longer to come back, as I have been noticing lately. If I had to guess, I would assume they belong to his decade away from home; this part of his mind is still locked away somewhere in his mindscape, and I’m fairly certain that it is more than just the effects of the memory gun.

They are located on both sides of his torso: two sets of semi-even parallel lines over his ribs. On each set, the upper scar is around six inches below the armpit, and the remaining two are three inches apart from each other. What concerns me about these scars in particular is their size: they are about eight inches long, horizontal, not straight but parallel between them. Their even distribution leads me to believe that each set was done at the same time, probably with a sharp object with three blades, like a trident of some sort. I have yet to figure out what could’ve caused such strange markings. Stanley said he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Wolverine during his 20s, quote “he didn’t take it well when I told him we should break up”. As stupid as the joke might’ve been, it made me think about the possibility of some animal-like creature being the culprit of the scars. However, as I said before, it is highly unlikely that Stanley encountered supernatural creatures before arriving in Gravity Falls, whether he remembers it or not. Therefore, I believe it is more plausible that whatever happened occurred before we reunited the first time.

The “animal” theory would make sense, if it weren’t for the way the scars look. They are nothing like some of the others I’ve previously seen on him. The first one that comes to mind whose size resembles these new ones is the one above his left kidney– or rather, where his left kidney used to be. It is a long and poorly healed line that, even 30 years later, still looks like it was heavily infected, forcefully done and clumsily stitched back together, probably several times. These new, unknown scars are completely different: they're roughly the same color as the rest of his skin, which usually means it wasn’t a deep cut, but they have a slight relief, which means that it was. They don’t have any noticeable stitch signs, even though cuts this big would almost definitely need them, and judging by some other scars on his body, I doubt he ever managed to get suture thread and/or staples. Although wobbly, they look neatly done, which makes me skeptical to believe it was some vicious animal.

The nature of these scars remains a mystery for the time being. Even though I would like to ask him more questions until we figure it out, I don’t want to force him to remember something that his brain is obviously trying to lock away. I will keep my inquiries at bay. In the meantime, I will do some research to at least figure out what the weapon was.

 

⪻ ⪻ ⪻ ⨳ ⪼ ⪼ ⪼

 

It's a rough night for the Pines twins. Ford's latest research had led them further from land that they had expected, and it was too late to turn back. Now they are right in the middle of a storm, a pretty wild one at that.

Both men are doing their best to keep their ship afloat. Even though the boat is resilient, the waves are slamming hard against its side and crashing onto the deck, making it almost impossible to stand straight.

“There's no reason for a storm of this size to have formed in such a short time! There must be some sort of climate irregularities of supernatural ilk, otherwise–”

“Sixer, does it look like the time right now?!” Stan's voice roars over the storm, cutting his brother's train of thought. He cannot afford to have Ford distracted. “Go downstairs and get the life jackets, now!”

“Are you insane? I cannot leave you here by yourself, the boom is too heavy!”

“Well you better hurry the fuck up, then!”

“Stanley, you can't handle this on your own, if a bigger wave hits it'll—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE LIFE JACKETS!” Stan's voice is now impossibly louder, and desperate. “If I let go, the boat will overturn. If you stay, we'll both die out here. Get the damn jackets before the big wave hits, now!”

Stanford is quick to puff his cheeks in annoyance, but as stubborn as he is, he's not an idiot. He runs to the cabin, rushing downstairs to get the only thing that might keep them alive in case the sea decides to eat their boat for dinner. As he reaches their bedroom, lightning crosses the sky outside their window, and he makes out the shape of the life jackets, their color heightened by the sudden light. He quickly puts on his own, damp hands shaking with cold, and makes his way out of the room.

He barely has time to process where he is when the boat shakes, almost as if it had collided with another at an intersection. The crash is so brutal that it sends him almost flying against the opposite wall, falling to the ground unceremoniously. Thankfully, the cabin has a good few layers to protect the ship from impacts like this, so he isn't too worried about the hull.

The exterior will be fine. What won't be is whatever is on it.

Ford's vision goes tunnel in an instant. That was the Big Wave, and it was hard enough to make him lose his usually impeccable balance. But Stan isn't as agile, and he's outside, on his own, and without a life jacket.

He's out of the cabin in a matter of seconds, although in his mind it might as well have been hours. His eyes scan the deck, finding only a pool of water covering it and some broken boxes they didn't manage to put away in time, as well as Stan's fishing chair stuck in a corner.

STANLEY. WHERE. SEARCH. NOW

His mind, usually as eloquent as his speech, is now screaming the words he can’t manage to get past his throat. Another bolt lights up the night, and Ford can clearly see everything for a few moments.

Everything and nothing. His brother is not on the deck.

STANLEY. WHERE. WHERE

Stanley was holding the rope when he left, making sure the sail wouldn’t turn around and disrupt the ship’s balance— or worse, break the mast with its weight. Ford’s eyes follow the mast, then the boom, then the rope Stan was gripping. He stares at the spot he was at, noticing that the rope is now securely tied around a cleat. No trace of his brother.

WHERE. STANLEY

Ford’s ears are starting to ring from how hard his jaw is clenched. He walks around the deck, checking every single corner behind the cabin, the only place that was out of his view when he exited. Stan is nowhere to be seen.

NOWHERE. WHERE. NO

With his right hand still firmly gripping his twin’s jacket, Ford makes his way to the gunwale and looks around the water. The boat isn’t shaking as violently as before now that the sail is tied in place, but the waves haven’t stopped hitting the hull the whole time. His eyes stare at the infinite mass of water in front of him, which now resembles more a deadly trap than the freeing space they both have loved since childhood.

He wants to shout his brother’s name, but the screaming words in his mind can’t seem to make their way to his vocal cords. Instead, all he manages to emit is a sort of roar that emerges from his guts. It isn’t entirely animalistic, but it definitely isn’t human either. His vision is getting blurry, and he quickly wipes his eyes. There’s no hint of Stan anywhere, the waves making it impossible to discern any shapes on the surface.

GIVE HIM BACK

The smallest voice at the back of his head, the only remnant of his non-wild persona, keeps him from jumping overboard and swimming until he finds Stan. It would be useless; the waves don’t appear to be slowing down any further, and the water would be too turbid to see anything regardless. Besides, even though they’re not far from the equator and it’s spring, the water might still be cold enough to provoke hypothermia if exposed to it for too long. The risk is too high.

A bright red spot appears on top of the next wave. Stanley’s beanie.

Ford’s inside voice stays complicitly quiet as the man jumps overboard.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Feral Ford be upon ye! Enjoy!

Chapter Text

STANLEY!

No answer. Which probably makes sense, considering the word hasn't left his mouth. And also...

UNDERWATER. SURFACE. IDIOT

Ford swims upwards only when he feels his lungs about to give up. The water is freezing cold, but luckily enough he’s got experience with icy temperatures. After the fifth time he almost froze to death, he actually learned how to train his body to withstand the cold. Over 200 dimensions with below-zero average temperatures will acclimatize anyone, provided they don't die first.

Swimming, diving, and holding his breath are also things he never thought he would train so heavily for, but he had to regardless. They started as small skills he nurtured when he was younger, when the thought of sailing the seven seas was first implanted in his mind. Then, as years went by through the multiverse, these abilities were helpful, to an extent. He quickly learned the hard way that his only way of surviving was to actually improve his physique and his athleticism, to a level that had only been attainable to his brother at that point.

The last step, the real cherry on top, was only reserved for the roughest of situations. Times when his life truly was on the line. When the immediacy of a threat was such that only a mere second-long reaction would save him. Times when a simple man could not deal with whatever situation he would find himself in.

The result was some sort of wild-like creature, a feral beast of sorts.

This alternate persona was one that Ford didn’t really like, specially in the beginning. He was well aware of how it began: Dimension 34¨Y68/, one in which spoken communication was non-existent. The inhabitants weren’t even remotely anthropomorphic, and they much more resembled animals than any other speaking creatures that Ford had encountered before. It was also one of the longest stays in his journey; around four years. From ages 39 to 43, he lived amongst “animals”, in a place with unknown biomes and no hierarchy other than the food chain. Out of necessity, this alter ego was born to suppress his human need for communication and connection, and to allow him to live as a new creature amongst the rest.

After he left that dimension, it became difficult to forget the ways of that wild life. Even when surrounded by beings that were able to understand him and talk back, he kept feeling like an animal that had been stripped out of his homeland and put in a cage. He found ways to manage eventually, switching his instincts for guns and returning, slowly but surely, to his usual reasoning. With time, he even reached a point of gratitude towards this alternate version of himself. After all, it was there to keep him alive when nothing else would've.

He hadn’t seen the beast in a long time, but it’s not a surprise that it came back now. It isn’t the first time he’s found himself surrounded by a moving mass of water, and given their journey, it probably won’t be the last. He knows that, if needed, his feral side will be there with its one and only, immovable mission.

However, it seems like this other version has also found the only thing that could disrupt even its most unwavering surviving instincts: protecting Stan.

Ford manages to reach the surface, and he barely has time to breathe before he retches the water that has gotten into his system. The next wave looms over him, and he dives again to avoid a bigger impact.

CALL. SHOUT. FIND HIM

He resurfaces again, looking around in vain. He screams Stan's name, but once again, no words make it past his throat. His previous roar now resembles more of a wail, high-pitched and miserable.

LOUDER. AGAIN. FIND HIM

The next call is cut short by a wave that catches him off guard. It plunges him underwater and against the Stan O’ War II. Ford manages to stop the impact right on time, saving himself from a concussion. He turns his back to the ship, eyeing the water around him. The night sky lights up again, enough to see Stan's life jacket floating away.

YOU DROPPED IT. IDIOT. HE NEEDS IT

It’s alright, Ford tells himself. Stan can have the jacket he’s currently wearing himself. He hasn’t inflated it yet, it would’ve been impossible to dive in and properly search for him if he had. Stan needs it the most. He can have his jacket.

HE TOLD YOU. YOU DIDN’T LISTEN

It was a mistake. He should’ve done as he was told sooner.  He should’ve listened to Stan the previous day when he told him to bring the jackets to their place in the kitchen, instead of leaving them in their room. But no, he just had to finish his route calculations and promptly forget to do the one thing his brother asked of him. It would’ve been quicker if the jackets had been in their place. Stan could’ve had his own jacket.

HE MIGHT NOT NEED IT ANYMORE

Shut it. He won't make the mistake of underestimating his twin. Stan is a great swimmer, and incredibly resilient despite his age and bodily aches. He has a drive to live through thick and thin, has survived hell on Earth, has lost and recovered his entire self. The sea is his element. He's smart, and capable. He will be okay.

YOU WEREN’T THERE

Ford shakes his head, willing his thoughts to get out of his mind. He can’t have them taking up space in his brain. He needs to be sharp, as he always is when his alternate self takes over: calculating, defensive, alert. It’s proving harder to focus now, knowing it’s not only himself he has to protect, but also someone else. Someone who is the undisputable priority. It's a situation that his feral side has never found itself in, and clearly wasn't prepared to deal with.

He looks around again, fighting to stay afloat against the ship. He notices the remainder of the rope that Stan used to tie the boom, now hanging limply against the hull just about ten feet away. With some difficulty, he swims towards it and holds on to it.

His eyes sting from the saltpeter, but he keeps them open regardless. The water is too turbid to see anything, looking around underwater is pointless. All he can do is just stay where he is and keep watch until he finds Stan.

USELESS. FIND HIM

A growl dies in his throat. He can’t do anything else. Swimming without a goal would be dangerous, and Stan needs to get the life jacket on. He can't take too many risks, it's–

Something catches Ford's attention. About 20 yards away from him, there’s a large light brown object floating… Stan’s coat.

Yes! That’s good! If Stan were unconscious, he wouldn’t have been able to shed it off. It’s a dead weight, he must’ve taken it off in order to swim better. If that's the case, then he surely must've taken his boots off too. A brilliant idea!

A HINT. MOVE. SAVE HIM

Ford plunges forward, his hope lit anew. If he swims towards the coat, Stan will probably see his bright yellow life jacket, even without his glasses. He can find–

A big wooden box that Ford recognizes bumps into him, disrupting his strokes. The wave that follows lifts him and he’s pulled back, away from the coat, away from his brother.

In spite of his protests, the wave crashes against the hull, along with his head. The impact is immediate, numbing his whole body. His limbs don’t respond to him anymore.

DON’T FALL ASLEEP. STOP

The water envelops his body, no longer feeling cold. His eyes close against his will, and he can do nothing but sink further into a near-sure death. Not just his, but also his brother's.

His last conscious thought is a wordless apology.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed so far! You can find many more headcanons at @hellsquills on Tumblr :D