Chapter Text
Fireflies were dancing around just on the edge of the woods. The first of the group would light up just before dusk, the rest joining soon with the setting sun. They seemed to like the heavy, warm air that bubbled up in the heat of the summer. Gravity Falls was home to the strange and unusual, yes–but was so equally mundane that it was almost baffling.
Stanford Pines sat on the old couch that lived on the porch of the Mystery Shack. The bugs in front of him and the cold beer in his hand were almost enough to trick him into thinking it was 1981 again. He almost wished it was.
He had excused himself from dinner early. The kids and Stan didn't put up a fight, though the younger child, Dipper, didn’t take his eyes off of him the whole time. His brother ‘saves’ him from the multiverse, nearly destroys the universe, and expects to share laughs over a pan of lasagna on the same afternoon? Ford didn't know these children–he barely recognized himself in the mirror.
“When have we become old men?”
“You look like Dad.”
“Don't say that!”
Stan had made a mockery of his life's work, and his life had gone up in flames with it. He had stolen his whole life. His school, his name, his house–anything he could get his hands on. Ford spent years dreaming about what it would be like to return to Gravity Falls. He always suspected that the towns’ strange properties would pull him back to it eventually; it turned out he was right. His fantasies died the moment he stepped out of that portal to see Stan, two children, and a gopher man. She wasn't there.
His breath was sharp and heavy. Fighting through the muggy air and the festering discontent building up inside him. Why he had let himself think for thirty years that she would've waited for him was beyond him. A foolish notion; she was a woman of her own volition, and he had basically tortured her for years straight. It only made sense that she would flee as soon as she was no longer morally bound to him. That's not even considering what Cipher could've done to her directly to push the matter. Ford set his empty bottle on the ground by his feet, letting himself sink into the musty old cushions. He deserved this, didn't he? His failed career, his failed invention…his failed marriage.
He held his six-fingered hands up in front of him. He had sold off his wedding band in some dimension to get out of dodge. He could no longer remember the details, but now he wished he could. He had practiced his speech over and over.
He would say. ‘Not my best bargain, I suppose.’
And she would say. ‘Weeell, as long as you don't do it again.’
And they would laugh.
But there was nobody there to share the spoils. Ford kicked the bottle over, letting it roll off the porch and tumble to the overgrown grass below. He would get it later, or maybe that goat would eat it and save him the trouble.
He heard the door open as Stan struggled to get through the adjoining bug screen.
“Oh goddamnit-”
That alone told him the kids were off to their room for the night. Ford didn't bother to look at his brother, just accepted the soda and made room for him on the couch. Stan eyed the treeline, watching as more and more fireflies seemed to overtake the yard with the remaining sunlight.
“Those things are gonna eat you alive out here.” He joked and handed him a soda, but Ford only huffed in reply.
“Ya know…they uh-changed the recipe of these Pitt Cola’s since you been gone? Try it–you'll be mad. It took me a couple years to get over it.”
Ford looked down at the pink can and then back up to Stan. The thing looked like a child’s toy in his oversized hand. He cracked the seal and took a sip, keeping eye-contact with his brother. His face said it all. It was different. Different and bad. Ford couldn't keep a straight face. He brought his hand to his mouth to cover his disgust and equally to keep the liquid from spilling back out as he laughed.
“Sweet Moses! What have they done to you?” He spoke to the drink, turning it over in his hand to read the ingredients.
“Listen-I’ve committed crimes, but that's just unforgivable.”
Ford smiled wide as he read the label.
“Yeesh. I remember when they used cane sugar. Almost as cheap as dad-”
He caught himself in the insult, giving Stan that ‘spooked owl’ look for a beat before the two could no longer hold in the laughter.
“Watch it, or I’m gonna pawn that can off a ya for the aluminum.” Stan was usually the one with the better quips.
He chuckled and nudged his brother's side. Ford’s smile slowly fell, and he dug his thumbnail into the side of the can.
“Why are you wearing that?” He asked Stan.
“Wearin’ what? I always wear this.” He looked down at the Mr. Mystery suit that had definitely seen better days.
“My suit. You’re wearing it.” Ford kept his gaze down, his finger digging deeper into the can.
“Oh, I-...I dunno. I don't think I’ve thought about it. Didn't think you would care after ya know.” It had become his brand. The fact that it was his brother hadn't crossed his mind since the 80s.
“Dad gave me that for my wedding.” He spoke quietly, but his father's voice came out of his throat.
Stan sighed and took off the jacket, setting it down between him and his twin.
“I’m sorry, Stanford.”
Ford thumbed the lapel of the jacket, as if touching alone would magically take him back to his wedding day.
“Where did she go, Stan?”
Stan froze up. He knew this conversation was bound to happen if he ever got Ford back, but it would've been easier had he fixed the portal in under three decades. Ford cut off that train of thought.
“That poor woman. You don't even know the half of what I did to her. What I put her through-and for what? For this?” He gestured around the shack.
“I was so foolish to think she would've waited for me. Did she say anything to you on her way out?”
Stan sighed and looked back out into the treeline.
“She said, ‘Be home for dinner next time.’”
“What does that mean-’be home for dinner.’ Do you think I’m joking?”
“She’s gone, Ford. I’m sorry.”
Stanford sat in that chair. The only thing he could do was sit in that chair. His soda propped between his legs and a type of stillness Stan had never seen his brother achieve. No–he spent day after day, year after year, knowing that if he ever made it home, she would be there. Stan tried to reach for his shoulder but was quickly smacked away.
“Ford-I’m sorry. I miss Bett too, and I-”
“‘Bett’?’” If she didn't walk out…then.
“Oh, so she’s your wife now, you knucklehead? You steal my name, my house, and now my wife? Are you out of your mind?”
Stan backed down; there was no point trying to fight Ford now. He learned that lesson the last time.
“No. Stanford. I did not ‘steal your wife.’”
“Then what? Did you kill her?”
“No! You gotta be joking.”
“Joking? You think I find any of this funny? I come back after thirty years to see you and a couple of kids in my house with no sign of my wife. What did you do to her?”
Stan sighed and finished his soda, leaving it with Ford’s abandoned beer bottle.
“Get in the car.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, get in the car.”
The drive was long and quiet. Ford looked out the window, trying to take in how much Gravity Falls had changed in the last thirty years. What Betty had done without him for thirty years. What Stan possibly could've done to her.
Stan pulled the El Diablo up to a rock dirty road just off the Pike. He weaved through the mountain road before pulling up to a large iron gate. He stuck his head out the window and said something unintelligible to the operator.
It was a cemetery. He was in a cemetery. Stan parked and came around to open the door for his twin brother.
“C’mon.” He was quieter and more gentle than Ford had ever seen him as he led the two to the grave in the corner of the plot.
Betty Pines
1948-2010
Sister
Wife
Mother
Ford had never even considered the possibility that she might have died. He stood there, above her grave, before his knees gave out and he was knuckles deep in the grass.
“It was a couple a’ years ago. ‘M so sorry, Ford, I-”
Ford let out a ragged sob, his voice completely lost.
Stan knelt beside him and put a hand on his brother's back.
“I know- I know, buddy.”
Ford leaned into the touch, crying more silent tears. She was dead. She was dead, and he missed it. Missed it by two years. He could've been there; he should've been there.
“She never left ya’. You think I coulda’ rebuilt that portal by myself? Nah, that was all Bett’.”
Ford stared at her headstone.
“Hell-she was more determined to get you back than I was…not that I wasn't. I was determined…not the time for that. But really-she never left ya.”
“Stanley, you don't understand what I did to that woman. My work, what it did to me. What it did to her. I’m sure I terrified her. Even if she were alive, she wouldn't want to see me.”
Stan looked around the cemetery; the coast was clear.
“Ehhh-no, actually, I do. I lived with her for twenty-eight years. I’ve heard it all. She never blamed you for any of it. Your whole uh-...muse thing. She wanted nothing more than to see you. She stole radioactive waste for you, bro.”
Ford sat criss-cross as he picked at the grass like a small child for a long while.
“So you did steal my wife?” He gave Stan a half smile. Stan chuckled and plucked some grass before putting it in his brother's hair.
‘Yeah. Guess that’s why I’m a catch. I miss her too. The customers loved her. Hasn't been the same since. Had it totally made too- Mr. Mystery and she would sit at this table with an…orb thing and tell ‘fortunes’ while I pickpocketed those Canadian tourists. They didn't know what hit ‘em, eh?”
Ford couldn't imagine Betty scamming people. She was always honest and intellectual. Stan must've rubbed off on her since college.
“You’ve been with her longer than I was…” Stan looked around. There was nothing he could say that could make that statement not true.
“Hey, uh-Poindexter. You might wanna read that headstone again.”
“Why would I even want to look at it agai-”
Ford’s eyes scanned the headstone as he talked.
Sister
Wife
Mother
Ford tried to do the math in his head, but for once, his internal calculator short-circuited.
“If you did what you think I did, I will shoot you right here.”
Stan held his hands up in defence.
‘Woah-woah-woah! She’s thirty.”
Ford wasn't supposed to have a heart attack until 92, but he was getting damn close with this one.
“Stan-I can't handle any more surprises. I’m an old man.”
“Yeah. And you're also a dad. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“That doesn't make any sense. I was already gone.”
“The kids’ got six fingers. Shes’ yours. Trust me.”
Ford couldn't believe it. Not only was his wife…dead. But he had a daughter he never knew about? Luckily, his idiot brother was there to clear the air.
“She didn't know until…after. Not gonna say it was easy. It wasn't. It wasn't easy. She’s a good kid. Went to college, lives in Philly now, prolly gonna get married soon, I dunno. Bett’ used to take her to see Ma and Pa when she was little.”
For obvious reasons, Stan couldn't go with. Stanford didn't know if he should be overjoyed or immensely angry. He was a father (sort of), but he had missed it all, and Stan lived it. Stan lived his life. Another thing to add to the laundry list of things Stan stole from him. But was it stealing? It was Ford’s own ambitions…his need for knowledge above all else that stole this away from him. It was too late for Betty, but maybe he could live out the rest of his years–he counted on his six fingers–well, fourteen of them…a better man.
“Let’s go back to the house, please.”