Chapter Text
His name was Grunkle…? Or maybe it was Stanley. There was something about that name that didn't fit quite right, like gloves with extra fingers or gross slippers soaked in milk. …Hm. No idea how his brain was coming up with this stuff.
But anyway, Stanley still didn't know the old guy constantly lurking behind his back. When Soos had found them after… whatever just happened, he’d looked like someone had died. Maybe the old guy wasn’t as devastated but he came pretty close.
…Okay, fine, thinking of him as 'old guy’ didn't really work when it turned out he looked like a slightly younger, fitter version of himself. But when the kids' faces stirred something familiar but not quite remembered yet, Stanley felt nothing when seeing him.
The guy had hid his moping with that painfully hopeful look every time Stanley talked to him. There were a lot less photos of him in Mabel's scrapbook and were all confined to the last quarter at most.
A clear pattern from the few that existed was quick to spot. Either he was with one or both of the twins or they were clearly unannounced shots resulting in blurry photos where he had owl-like looks of surprise.
None of them had him and Stanley in the same frame. If one did exist then the kid didn't bother putting it in her scrapbook. Instead she seemed to settle on drawing it herself. ‘HUG IT OUT ALREADY!!! ’ underlined a doodle of two old men with equally grumpy expressions, surrounded by colorful frowny face stickers.
After spotting the pattern, Stanley made a joke about how it could’ve been the same guy pretending to be both and… yeesh, never saying that again.
Stanley's gaze fell, feeling awkward about the indescribable mix of emotions on the fellow old guy’s face. And… huh.
His head had been filled with what felt like cotton fluff when they first met so it was only now he noticed the six fingers. Cool.
A while later, a tall girl wearing plaid and an old hillbilly along with even more strangers showed up. Guess they were here to clean up the place because that's all Stanley saw them do as they gave them space and pitying looks.
Sixer had disappeared sometime during the second go-around of the scrapbook (or rather the “now it's your turn to tell us what happened!!!” edition). He quietly joined them again with an old photo album held carefully in his arms and his eyes looking puffier than before. When he flipped the album open for a moment, Stanley caught a glimpse of two small boys with identical faces and grins.
Sixer had a small but fond smile as he gazed at the page. All Stanley could feel was some distant emotion. But… it was something. Even a speck was infinitely more than the hollow he was when he first woke up.
He was about to get ready to start the next round of cramming info into his slightly-filled-but-mostly-empty head but Sixer caught his gaze.
“That's enough for now. We don't want to overwhelm him.”
The baseball cap twin looked like he was gonna protest but instead bit his lip. “I guess… It did take McGucket a while to get his memories back too.”
Soos wrung his hands together, clearly contemplating an idea.
“What if Stan tries doing his daily routine– y'know, do whatever feels right? Follow your instincts or whatever! It might be like sleepwalking, like how you can navigate the house with your eyes closed!”
“...Am I a sleepwalker?”
“Nope!” Soos said with far too much confidence for a guy Stanley was pretty sure didn’t live at the Shack.
Okay then. Muscle memory. “I mean… sure? Seems worth a shot,” he shrugged.
He felt like a damn tour guide without a script as they all intensely waited for him to pick a direction. ‘Whatever felt right’ huh.
Well, that just ended up with him quickly stopping in front of a vending machine for some reason. Sure, he felt hungry, he guessed? Except the thing was crushed, the glass pane shattered into pieces. Even if it wasn't, the vending machine had been emptied of its contents and the power was off, the buttons all dim. What was he trying to do? Grab non-existent chips?
…Would that really be so ingrained into his muscle memory when he apparently owned the damn thing.
After far too long of his family awkwardly staring at each other (seriously, what was their deal??), Sixer pressed a button on what looked like a fancy sci-fi watch. And then pressed it again when nothing proceeded to happen. He grumbled.
“Soos, can you…?”
“Got it, Dr Pines.”
The two men wrenched the vending machine off the wall and Stanley couldn't help but whistle as a stairway was revealed.
“Whoa, nice secret passageway!”
The five of them squeezed into the small stairway and once they reached the end, uh, Maple? …Mabel. Mabel grabbed his sleeve and pointed at the keypad next to an elevator door.
“Do you know the password, Grunkle Stan?” she asked, looking up at him with those hopeful big ol’ eyes.
He didn't but his finger moved to the right buttons anyway.
“Uh.”
After cramming the five of them and the pig into the elevator, he didn't expect the place to lead to a giant triangle. His family looked just as shocked but clearly for an entirely different reason. Eurgh, just standing here was giving him a bad feeling.
“I didn't think undoing Weirdmageddon was going to restore this too,” murmured Dipper.
All of them stared up at the hulking mass of metal in silence until…
“...I'm gonna chuck a rock at this dumb machine,” said Mabel.
Her brother was already on it, scooping up a pile of debris into his arms. “I'm gonna throw a bigger one.”
“Oh guys, look! There's a convenient crowbar right over there!”
Clanging metal soon echoed throughout the cavern as the three attempted to beat up the machine. But they were missing one.
“Hey–” Stanley turned to face Sixer who was still standing at the doorway but then he froze. He looked like he was gonna barf.
(--Could only stand there dumbly as his brother screamed for help– )
“Oy, you okay…?”
“I'm fine.”
(–the man who was a reflection, or maybe Stan was the twisted reflection, looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, he was even more of a mess than Stan was–)
Stanley cleared his throat roughly, causing Sixer to jump. “Oh my, my old man body needs to sit down and I can't recall where that comfy sofa is and those kids don't seem like they're gonna quit beating up that hunk of metal anytime soon. Whatever shall I do?” For good measure, he threw in some jazz hands. He was answered by a distant battlecry and another thud.
Sixer looked back at him with a bitter smile. “...I suppose I can show you the way.”
Somehow the elevator ride back up was even more awkward than the first. Not as cramped but that hopeful moping was intensified into just one person.
“So… some place we got here, eh Sixer?”
Shit. That was a mistake.
Sixer looked like he was trapped, the fragile composure he'd put up since sobbing his eyes out back in the clearing was now shattering before Stanley's eyes. He really looked like he was going to be sick this time.
“Whoa, hey, I'm sorry!” Stanley held his hands up to pacify him. “Is it…” his words stuck in his throat as his gaze darted to the hands covering Sixer's mouth. But it wasn't misery that shrouded him. He looked scared. Of Stanley.
“I'm sorry,” he said again.
“Don't apologize!” the man yelled.
Stanley stayed quiet as Sixer took a shuddering breath, rubbing his wrists before a hand drifted over his chest and he gritted his teeth.
The elevator had long since stopped and the automatic opening doors had already shut on them. Sixer would be pacing around if he had room.
“I dragged you into this mess! I'm… I'm the reason you– argh, is there a point in telling you this?!” He was back to anger in an instant, his fingers roughly combing through his hair. “You can barely understand what is going on but all I'm thinking about is myself and how Bill could still be–!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “This is your chance to shut me out of your life for good.”
“...Is that what you want?”
The man stared at metal doors for a long while, struggling for an answer.
Stanley could barely make out their reflection on the doors. Seeing their faces together. Then it clicked into place.
“It's what I deserve.”
“Deserve, deschmerve. Who the hell cares about that! I’m asking you what you want.”
No answer.
Stanley sighed. “C'mon, let's get some air.”
He managed to find their way back to the porch with the broken old couch covered in twigs, aged further by exposure to the elements. The folks trying to nail the house into better shape were smart enough to steer clear of him and his brother for now.
Bill. That was a dumb name for a demon or chaos god or evil stale nacho. Everyone had been really vague about it…
“That Bill guy you mentioned, ain't he–”
“You killed him.” Sixer slumped back against the couch. A wry smile grew on his face. “If I ever find his remains, I'm going smash it to bits with your car.”
Stanley let out a loud laugh. “Sounds good to me. We can finish him off by blowing him up with those illegal fireworks. I’m sure the kids know where they are.”
That finally got a proper smile outta him. Too bad he was about to ruin it.
“So…”
“So,” his brother echoed back.
“You gonna finally explain why I don't recognise you?”
Unsurprisingly, Sixer clammed up.
“I mean, those photos you were carrying? Yeah, I recognise those. Sorta anyway. But you? The guy right now in front of me– you're my twin, aren't you? And you never bothered to mention that. I was guessin’ that I was way older than you but–”
“I'm fifteen minutes older.” Sixer's hands squeezed together and he took in a deep breath as he stared at them. “...I believe I can count the number of times we've talked to each other in the past forty years on my hands.”
“But not mine?” Stanley said immediately, that instinctive part of him being genuinely curious, but yeesh, definitely the wrong time and place, mouth. Both of them winced. “Sorry.”
Sixer shook his head with a mournful smile. “Probably yours as well.”
They fell into a quiet. Definitely not a comfortable one but it was familiar. It was getting pretty dark out but Stanley could make out the rustling of the trees, the toppled-over totem pole and– he squinted. …And what looked like a tiny bearded man wrestling trash from a raccoon. Just gonna ignore that.
The kids had been pretty brief about Sixer’s return this summer, as if they knew they weren't the ones supposed to talk about it. And boy, didn't that go against their plan of yapping on until something unsticks from Stan's clogged up brain.
And judging from how Sixer looked so tired and how Stanley felt a weird hollow every time he looked at him, it wasn't something his brother wanted to talk about.
But they had time. For now, Stanley was content to stare out into the woods, side by side with his mysterious mopey twin.
If someone had told Ford as a teen that Stanley would end up being the cautious twin, he would've looked at them as if they had grown a second head.
The past few months of planning for their trip to the Arctic involved slowly getting to know each other again. Sometimes, Ford could tell exactly what Stanley was thinking. At others, it was like being next to a complete stranger. They were far different people than they had been before Weirdmaggedon, let alone thirty years ago and especially the teenagers of forty years ago. Their relationship would never be the same as how it once was, but Ford wouldn't give it up for the world.
And learning about his brother meant also getting to know those who were part of Stanley's life, who soon became part of his own. Soos and Wendy were as adventurous and resourceful as his niece and nephew, and assisted him with the baffled anomalies that had made their way through the smaller rifts. They were also frequently there for movie nights as Ford caught up on decades of pop culture– and nothing could forge bonds better than the Trojan Couch Rat incident. Although Ford was becoming concerned about Soos' odd requests (Ford neither knew what a funko nor amiibo was and his instincts told him to steer clear).
It was surprising how quickly the people of Gravity Falls became accustomed to him, although it was a hassle correcting them on the exact details of his brother taking over his identity. The town that Ford had ignored back when he had been a researcher proved to be as odd as the anomalies he had chased.
Needless to say, he was thankful he had the chance to reconnect with Fiddleford, even if saying things were awkward around his son was an understatement. However he gently but firmly rejected Fiddleford and Soos’ offer to join them for …Annie-May? …Hopefully it had nothing to do with his ex-wife. Whatever it was, they certainly did inspire Fiddleford's new inventions, for better or for worse. The cardboard-and-tape rifle that folded out into a saber seemed more inconvenient than anything else but that didn't stop their family from destroying countless vegetables with it.
While Mabel and Dipper had visited for a week during one of their school breaks, Ford ended up spending most of it dealing with the Book Incident. And what a waste of time that was in the end! To make up for it, he and Stanley video-chatted with the twins as often as they could as both gradually forced themselves to learn how to use those damn computing phones and laptop applications. Even months later they remained no less infuriating to use. (Why were they so thin?! It felt like they could snap in half at any moment and don’t get him started on those neverending apps!)
The past week alone was spent prepping the Stan-o-War II with the last of their supplies and equipment. It was Stanley out of the two of them who was insistent on triple checking everything. “I didn't wait my whole life for this only for us to run out of food in like a week, Poindexter,” he had said flatly. “And I’m not an idiot either– half of those harpoons are gonna be lost overboard within a month.”
Soos had driven them to the port town, the three of them crammed into Stanley’s El Diablo with the rest of their belongings. Despite having taken over the Mystery Shack, Soos seemed intent on spending as much time as he could with them before they finally left.
By the time they finished the last round of unpacking, he had already said goodbye a number of times.
Ford had received a few crushing hugs of his own. But then the next thing he knew, it had been half an hour and Ford was sipping his second cup of coffee, camera in his other hand, as he leaned on the boat’s railing. If he had been taking photos of the scene before him to send to Dipper and Mabel then Stanley wouldn't have to know.
The last farewell seemed to be finally winding down as Ford watched Soos at last burst into tears and bear-hugged Stanley once again. Hm, guess he lost that bet with Wendy. It really took this long for Soos to cry.
“Urgh– easy there, Soos.” His brother still patted him on the back despite having the air squeezed out of him. “C'mon, ain't the Shack open tomorrow? You can't be hugging an old man all day!”
Ford knew full well by this point that Soos definitely could.
The new Mr Mystery at last let go of Stanley and wiped his eyes. “I'll make you proud, Mr Pines!”
Stanley was quiet, clearly struggling with what to say next.
“...You're gettin’ snot all over your suit, Soos,” he settled for finally and readjusted the fez on Soos’ head. Ford liked to think Soos got the message loud and clear.
“Take care of him, Dr Pines! Make sure he takes his meds and doesn’t get eaten by an evil zombie shark!” Soos called over as he opened the car door.
He waved back. “Will do.”
“Hey, he's my twin, not a caretaker! Plus he gets into way more trouble than I do!”
Now he had a clear escape route, the words Soos clearly wanted to say for years finally burst out. “Bye, dad! Don't forget to not send any postcards!”
And Soos promptly dove into Stanley's car for a mostly clean getaway. He was still waving even as the car pulled away from the marina.
Stanley climbed back onto the deck of their trawler as Ford quickly tucked the camera inside his jacket. Stan let out a huff.
“Well, that only puts us an entire day behind schedule. That guy, I swear,” he shook his head with a grumble but Ford could clearly see his brother's eyes grow watery. And if he let out a suspicious sniff as Ford placed his hand on his shoulder then it’d be a secret between them.
The speck of red was soon out of sight but the two twins continued to watch the port around them. It was a far different sight from the one of their childhood but the sounds of gulls, foghorns and waves were almost able to stir the same emotions he had all those years ago.
The childish excitement Ford had the moment he stepped aboard the trawler several hours ago may have waned ever so slightly but the energy returned in an instant as he tossed Stanley his lifejacket.
“Whoa– hey, give a guy a warning!”
There was a giant grin on Ford's face as he finally asked, “Ready to go, Stanley?”
“Hey, Sixer? You think we’ll really be adventuring for the rest of our lives? ”
“I don't just want someone to come with me, Stanley. I want it to be you.”
He received a mischievous smirk back before both twins bolted towards the helm, laughing as they shoved at each other.
“Shotgun sailing us outta here, Sixer!”