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Stan yawns, stretching as he looks out to the horizon from the deck of the Stan O' War II. The morning sky is slowly turning gold as the sun rises from the expanse of sea and ice, its reflection dancing on the water like a sparking flame.
Since setting sail on the Stan O' War II, he's taken to watching the sunrise. There's some comfort in it. They're proof that time is still marching on — that the sky hasn't suddenly turned into a red, bleeding gash, spewing forth monstrosities even Gravity Falls was unequipped to deal with while they weren't looking.
Proof that they've made it.
The ship rocks rhythmically, spurred on by the gentle waves that lap at its hull. The smell of seawater has grown familiar over the course of their trip, but it still makes his heart ache in nostalgia.
He thinks of being twelve, blissfully unaware of what was to come and running around the seaside with his brother. He thinks of being seventeen, abruptly torn from his home. The first time he was away from the sea for so long. He thinks of being twenty, then thirty, then forty, growing more and more certain that he will never be welcomed back as himself — only ever as a ghost of a man he might as well have killed.
He thinks of being fifty-nine, after everything, and picking out a boat with his brother.
Things between them aren't perfect. Just yesterday, they snapped at each other over the way Ford shaves (no, Ford, you will not light your face on fire in a cramped, wooden boat, are you fucking kidding—)
Both of them know the argument wasn't really about Ford's unorthodox shaving methods. It devolved into petty insults and hurtful jabs too quickly to be just that.
It was about the forty odd years of lingering resentment between them. It was about Ford's refusal to listen to Stan, about Stan not trusting Ford to know what's safe and what isn't, about the way their long years of separation have changed them from the inseparable kids they once were. And, okay, maybe it was a little bit about Ford's shaving methods, because like hell is Stan going to risk their ship burning down because Ford can't stop trying to be cool for five seconds.
And then Stan nearly retorted to Ford's comment about Stan never hearing out his ideas with 'Yeah, like how summoning Bill was one of your brilliant ideas—' barely managing to stop himself before the thoughtless jab came out of his mouth. The fight drained out of both of them after that, neither really in the mood to continue.
There's an ugly part of Stan that's still angry at the child that closed the curtains on him all those years ago, and he's sure there's a part of Ford that's still mad at him for everything he's fucked up, but it's easier to ignore when his brother is right next to him. The bitterness is so insignificant in the face of everything else they have now.
It's more than he deserves. So, so much more than he ever thought he'd get.
He feels like a fraud, which really shouldn't be anything new.
Stan cranes his head back at the tap of gentle footsteps, and finds Ford approaching, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand. He perches on the railing with Stan. A warm smile grows on his face, but then it twists downwards, like he's not quite sure how to say something. In the end, he remains silent, just handing Stan a cup and looking out at the skyline. The steam curls against Stan's face as he takes a sip and mumbles a thanks in his brother's direction.
For a moment, they both bask in the silent company. It's like they're children again, just like Dipper and Mabel, still dreaming of one day sailing the seas together. He wishes this moment could last forever.
Ford eventually breaks the stillness. "I suppose I never really thanked you for saving me from that portal," he says, face set in a thoughtful frown. "Properly, I mean. I believe what I said during Weirdmagendon was rather… lackluster."
Stan can't stop the laugh that bubbles out of him.
In truth, he hasn't thought about that moment since the ensuing confrontation with Bill. He'd been so pissed at Ford at the time that he was ready to damn the entire world to get the last word in. Now, their argument seems so petty next to the danger they were all in. The danger that Stan put them in. Mabel and Dipper could've died because he, a grown man, refused to hold hands with his brother.
And Ford is thanking him?
To Stan's chagrin, Ford soldiers on, speaking in rapid-fire. "Don't get me wrong, I still think it was an extremely risky move, and saving me wasn't worth potentially destroying the world — but!” Ford enunciates the last word with great fervor. When he speaks again, he is looking directly at Stan. “Thank you, Stanley. I was too occupied by Bill to truly appreciate your sacrifice back then, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren't for you. It's been…" Ford's voice falters, "…far too long since I've seen the sunrise. None of the other stars in the multiverse were ever quite the same.”
Guilt coils around Stan like a vice. Ford looks at him expectantly, and Stan shrinks under the weight of his gaze. The silence quickly turns suffocating. It's Stan who breaks first. "C'mon," he says a bit too loudly, slapping Ford's back. "Don't get sappy on me now, Sixer."
Ford shakes Stan off with a fond huff. "We're old men living out our childhood dream, Stan. Can you blame me for being sentimental?"
"Pshhh, sentimental-schmentimental!" Stan throws his hands up in the air in a dismissive gesture (ignoring the concerned look Ford throws his way at the sloshing mug of hot liquid), and pretends to be utterly absorbed by the sight of a bird flying past. Ford follows his gaze, and before Stan knows it, he's launched into a lecture about Arctic terns. Apparently they're the bird with the longest migration path, who knew?
Stan just stands there and listens to his brother ramble on about terns — apparently, he went to a dimension where birds were the dominant species once. Weird. It's nice, almost reminds him of their childhood, back when Ford would pick up a book on some random new topic and proceed to talk his ear off about it for days on end.
His mouth moves before he can think. "I used to think I'd never see you again."
At that, Ford freezes, stopping himself from going on what must've been a tirade on anomalous bird migration, or something like that. Stan's about to gesture for him to continue, but then he notices Ford's stricken expression. He looks like he's been stabbed in the gut.
Damn his traitorous mouth.
Ford sighs. "Stanley… I'm sorry. I should've reached out, after Dad—"
Stan elbows him — lightly (see, Ford, he can be mindful about not accidentally spilling his coffee too!). "I'm not talking about that, genius. I was talkin' about after the portal. Back then, I—" No matter what anyone asks, Stan Pines, professional liar and conman, will maintain that his voice did not wobble. "—I was sure you were dead."
With a sympathetic grimace, Ford places his free hand on Stan's shoulder, and the gesture should be comforting, but it just makes him feel more undeserving.
Stan sighs. Fine, if they're talking about this, might as well continue digging his own grave. "Y'know," he says conversationally, "after the first decade or so, I figured I'd be lucky to pull a corpse out from that portal. 'Least I'd have a body to bury." He laughs again. This time, it tastes like ash in his mouth. Ford visibly winces. "After the second, that much seemed like a damn pipe dream. Turns out reinventing interdimensional physics is pretty fuckin' hard. Who would've guessed?"
That was the only reason he let Dipper and Mabel into the Shack, really. He was going down there less and less by the day, and there didn't seem to be much hope of that changing. Stan sighs, a warm feeling growing in his chest despite it all. "Leave it to the kids to find your damn journal on their first day here."
Ford visibly softens at the mention of the twins. "They certainly seem to work miracles. I've wondered if they've been magically blessed with good luck. It's never been substantiated, but I've heard rumors related to gnomes…"
"Wouldn't be surprised." Stan takes another sip from his mug, catching his reflection in it. It looks like Ford, of course. That's another thing. It's strange to have someone else with his face again.
He still wouldn't trade it for the world.
"…'m sorry, Ford."
Ford looks taken aback by his apology. So is Stan, to be entirely honest. He's… never been great at these things. What do people usually say during apologies? "I, uh, fucked up. A lot. Sorry."
He wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but Ford falling into that portal was one of the best things to ever happen to him. It was the only reason he ended up sticking around in Gravity Falls, opening the Mystery Shack, his most (and only) successful business venture yet, under Ford's name. And it all came at the cost of the real Ford fighting for his life in god knows which dimensions.
Ford falling into that portal may well be the only reason he's still alive.
He owes Ford a whole lot more than a mere apology, and he'd been prepared to give it when Ford pointed that memory gun at him. But he lived, and that's a lot more difficult to navigate than a heroic sacrifice.
So, an apology. It's a start.
"I'm sorry, too," Ford says. "For not saying anything when Dad kicked you out. For dragging you into my mess with Bill. And for… punching you in the face, I suppose," his face pinches as he says the last part like it physically pains him. "I don't blame you for pushing me into the portal. I was the one who made it, after all. Besides, my time in the multiverse wasn't all bad. If nothing else, it's given me a lot of interesting stories. You're not the only one who's been on the run."
Stan perks up his ears at that. "Oh yeah? Try me."
Ford visibly brightens as he launches into another story. “Have I ever told you about the time I had to go undercover in a band of evil clowns?"