Chapter Text
Stan winces as he lies on his side, facing the wall. He can’t get comfortable no matter what position he tries. Every part of him feels sore and worked over. Not that it really matters. Not a hell of a lot does considering how his life is going of late. He tries to think of something positive, like the kids, but his mind can’t help circling back to the newest occupant of the Mystery Shack.
Stanford. His brother. He has him back, after all this time, and they can’t even look at one another. Stan shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. It was like he told Ford; the kids are the only real family he has left. But it’s hard to feel that way whenever he sees his brother at the kitchen table or in the hallway. Ford has kept to his word, mostly sticking to the basement but every now and then they cross paths. They’ve been civil to one another, mumbled monosyllabic conversations like ‘hey’ and ‘excuse me’ but not much else.
Mabel, sweet girl she is, has tried her best to get them past it. She’s tried family dinners and game nights and come just short of hog tying them to one another to get them to talk. But there’s nothing to say. What can they say? Their relationship is gone, broken. It’s a long forgotten legend like most of the occurrences in Gravity Falls.
And maybe it’s better this way. It’s been a long, long time. They’re not kids anymore. It’s too late for them to sail around the world now. Gray hair, bad eyes, wrinkling skin – none of it adds up to adventure and excitement and treasure hunting. Honestly, what exactly did Stan think was going to happen when he brought Ford back? That his twin would embrace him with open arms? That they’d run the Mystery Shack together? Ford wasn’t the type to con the unassuming populace and there was no way Stan could do any of the nerdy, boring stuff Ford was into like – quantum mechanical mineral measuring or whatever.
Everything he had done to get the portal up and running had taken what little geekery he might have had inside him. And it wasn’t much. Hell, everything that had involved the portal and its repairs had been like pulling teeth. Slow, arduous, bordering on masochism but he had done it – all of it – to bring Ford back because that was all that mattered. But, like most things, he just hadn’t thought it through.
It doesn’t matter if they are in the same house now because he realizes that he was actually closer to his brother when there was a dimensional rift between them. Stan starts counting dollar bills in his mind; a surefire classic that usually helps him catch some z’s when he hears his bedroom door squeak. He starts to turn to see who it is when a deep voice asks in a cautious whisper, “Stanley? Are you awake?”
Stan’s mouth goes dry and his whole body pulls into a tighter ball. He thinks about not answering but his smart mouth beats him to the punch, “No, I’m playing poker.”
Stan hears Ford shift his weight and he bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should roll over and face him, stop him, do something. But the choice is taken away from him as he hears his door close. But he can still feel Ford. He knows his brother is still in the room, hears him let out a heavy sigh and his voice is quietly muffled, “I can leave if you want.”
Stan doesn’t have to look to know Ford is talking more to the closed door than to him. He can picture him there, forehead pressed against the wood. Stan doesn’t know why he’s so apprehensive. While they’ve been civil to one another as of late, Ford was nothing short of condescending when he first arrived.
Give me back my name; give me back my house – that had been the gist of it. No, ‘thank you’. No, ‘I missed you’. Just the same regurgitated rhetoric – you ruined my life, you made me lose out on my dream school, you’re an irresponsible moron and yes, he hadn’t exactly said the last one but he may as well have. His whole being had radiated with it and wasn’t that always the way? Ford was right, Stan was wrong. Ford was the golden child and Stan was the worthless lunkhead.
My god, how had they even been close in the first place? Was it merely the bond brought about by being twins? Or was it…
Stan quickly banishes those heated memories from his mind and instead tries to focus on the important facts. Ford is a blazing jerk who always thinks he’s right and he’s done nothing short of run his mouth off since he came back. But right now, in this moment, he’s acting…hesitant.
Stan hears the knob start to turn and the words leap out of him, “What do you want, Ford?”
Silence answers him for several heartbeats before he hears a gentle, “To talk.”
“So…talk.”
Ford doesn’t say a word and Stan feels his sarcastic nature rising to the forefront. He’s just about to dryly point out that Ford is doing quite the opposite of talking when he hears heavy footsteps. Ford approaches his bed and Stan again debates the merits of turning to face him. Ford’s voice is uncomfortably close, “Is it-is it okay if I sit?”
Stan shrugs, “It’s a free country.”
“Is it?”
Stan’s eyes narrow and Ford elaborates, “I’ve been gone a long time. Thirty years. A lot could have changed. For all I know, we’ve been overrun by Australia.”
Stan can’t help but smirk, “Australia?”
“They could have weaponized kangaroos.”
“That supposed to be funny?”
“Maybe.”
He rolls his eyes, “Leave the jokes to me, Poindexter.”
The bed dips with Ford’s added weight and Stan ignores how his cheeks heat up. He’s too old to feel this kind of shit. Instead he clears his throat, “So, what do you want?”
Ford is sitting up but the bed is really too small for two. Stan can feel Ford’s body touching his and its like that stupid lightning ball doohickey he has in the Shack. You touch the globe and the purple ‘lightning’ twines towards your fingertips. That’s what their contact is like. Light but oddly electrifying. Again, too old for this kind of shit but he feels it all the same and it’s hard to ignore.
“I want to tell you why I didn’t thank you.”
Stan lets out a groan, “Never mind. Get out. I can fight with you in the morning.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Ford says but the words still carry some heat, “I want to explain.”
“Fine, fine. Go ahead. This oughta be rich.”
Ford huffs and for a second Stan thinks he’s going to leave but instead his brother waits, as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks next his words are cooler, “I didn’t thank you because it was a reckless thing to do.”
“Thought you said you didn’t want to fight.”
“Just shut up and let me finish!” Ford snaps, then curses under his breath, “Jesus, Stanley, I’m…I’m trying to tell you, alright? Just…would you let me? Please?”
Stan harrumphs and waves a hand above his head to signal him to continue. Ford starts again, “It was a reckless thing to do but I’m not saying you were stupid for doing it. I know that’s what you think I mean when I say it but it’s not. You’re not stupid, Stanley.”
The sentence makes a lump form in his throat. One he viciously gulps down as Ford continues, “But you are reckless. A reckless knucklehead that I was worried about and I did a pretty poor job of explaining that when I came out of the portal and I wanted to…apologize for that. It’s…taken me a couple of days to-to acclimate back to this dimension. Especially considering I never expected to return to it.”
“You saying you were suffering from jet lag?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ford mutters, “And we do have a lot of unresolved issues. Ones we never got to talk about. When I had you come here all those years ago I was…” Ford pauses and Stan gets the impression he’s struggling for how to continue. Eventually he does, “There was so much going on. So much I had been through and I was so focused on it, too focused on it. There were things happening here. Unexplainable, awful things and I was in such a hurry to try and fix it that I didn’t take into account your own troubles.”
“Like my mullet?” Stan offers out of nowhere and Ford lets out a breath, “Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Better than your weaponized kangaroos.”
“That mullet was pretty awful.”
A laugh bottles in Stan’s throat but doesn’t quite escape, “Go on.”
“Anyway, we fought. Again. I’ve…regretted that.”
Stan swears his marked shoulder twinges and he rubs at it, “Me too.”
“Then I was…gone. I was…there. And I expected to stay there but when you brought me back and I realized you used the portal I was upset because I was worried for you,” the bed makes noise as Ford shifts to look at him, “Do you understand? When I first returned I didn’t see the children or Soos…I just saw you. You activating the portal and possibly throwing your life away. Anything could have come through, Stan. You have to understand that. Anything.”
The way Ford says the word makes Stan’s veins turn to ice and he realizes, with a jolt, that while Ford said he was worried what he really meant was that he was scared. And Stan can feel that fear. Can feel it settle over him like a cold, wet blanket . In a whisper, he asks, “What was it like? Where…where you were?”
Ford is silent for a long time and Stan doesn’t think he’s going to answer until he hears a soft, “Don’t ever ask me that again.”
Stan swallows thickly and he wonders what will happen now when he suddenly feels Ford’s hand on his own. He forgot he’d been rubbing at his shoulder. Ford’s hand is large and warm and the extra finger feels so perfectly familiar that the lump returns to Stan’s throat. Ford’s voice is normal again when he speaks, “But I am glad to be back. And that you are safe and that I got to meet the children. They’re quite delightful. Even if Dipper is a bit…overzealous.”
“You telling me you don’t like the hero worship?”
“I’m not much of a hero.”
Stan wants to argue but doesn’t even know where to begin. Instead he feels gentle fingers trace his shoulder, pushing aside his own hand and the edges of his shirt to reveal his scar. He shrinks away from the contact and he can feel Ford stiffen, “I…caused that.”
“Yes.”
“Stan…”
“Enough with the apologies, don’tcha think? You and I could apologize to one another for centuries and nothing’d make up for everything that’s happened. ‘Sides, I’ve said I’m sorry loads of times and I ain’t seen anyone forgiving me.”
“I take it you are referring to the incident involving my dream school.”
“That’d be the one.”
Stan really expects Ford to leave now. This is usually where their fighting starts. Instead, much to his surprise, Ford lies down next to him. Stan is more tempted than ever to roll over but he continues to resist, instead curling up tighter. Ford seems undeterred by the action, “Dad shouldn’t have kicked you out.”
Stan’s eyes widen at that but Ford goes on, “I talked to him about it. It wasn’t until a long while afterwards. I’ll admit I was mad. I was mad for a long, long time. Honestly, I’m still mad about it sometimes but…I did talk to him about it. Made some throw away remark about whether or not he’d talked to you, whether or not he regretted what he did but he was…you know, our father. Stoic, proud.”
“Not impressed?”
Ford grunts, “He’s stubborn and inflexible.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
“Look who’s talking. Why don’t you look in a mirror sometime?”
“I’d just see your face.”
“Think we established you’d see Dad’s face.”
Stan grimaces, “I told you not to say that. I don’t look like him.”
Stan can’t see him but he imagines Ford is grinning, “Still, the impression I got was that he did regret it but that it was too late to do anything about it. He’d put his foot down and that was that.”
“That was Pops for you.”
“I…take it him and Mom…?”
Stan nods then remembers Ford probably can’t see him in the dark room. Or maybe he can because Ford just lets out a breath, “I figured. Shermy?”
“Gone. That’s why I got the kids. Their parents didn’t have too many other options. Sent them to me for the summer so they could get some fresh air and sunshine.”
“Bet they’d be upset to know they’re getting an awful lot more than that.”
“Yeah,” Stan agrees, “Don’t think they’d be too jazzed to hear about the whole opening portals to other dimensions and facing off against zombies and pterodactyls.”
“Wait - you faced a pterodactyl?”
Stan nods again, “Punched it too.”
Ford lets out a laugh. The sound is dry, like he hasn’t done it in a long, long time but Stan remembers the sound and hearing it makes his own heart constrict painfully in his chest. It feels so good that for a few moments he forgets all about the mountains of shit they have between them. After all, it’s not like Ford’s changed his mind about his name and the future of the Shack. And it’s not like they can turn back the clock and get back all that lost time. Still, the sound is nice and Stan decides to just throw caution to the wind and enjoy it for a little while.
But when Ford speaks again the laughter is gone and there’s a melancholy tone, “Seems I missed a lot.”
The words are out before Stan can stop them, “You really never thought you’d come back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Stan can feel the bed move, knows Ford shrugged, “There was no reason to think otherwise. I didn’t expect you to restart the portal. I assumed you would read the journal and know not to.”
Stan’s mouth sets into a firm line, “You shoulda known I would stop at nothing to get you back.”
“We hadn’t spoken in years. When last I saw you, we fought. I didn’t…”
Stan finally does roll over and he looks into Ford’s face. The darkness is not as resolute as he thought and he can see every line, ever curve and he speaks firmly, “Stanford, you’re my brother. You’re my twin.”
Ford looks up at him, voice quiet; “I know.”
Stan repeats himself, “Then you shoulda known I would stop at nothing to get you back. Nothing.”
Ford licks his lips, “Stan…there’s…there’s something else you should know. It’s the other reason I came here tonight. It’s another reason I was…so-so livid when I returned.”
“What?”
Ford looks away, “Where I was….it was vast. It-It wasn’t like I was waiting where the portal first dropped me. As I’ve said, I never expected to return. When you reopened the portal it came to me. It was drawn to me. Because of you.”
Stan slowly digests this, “So…wait…what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the bond between us transcended two dimensions. It pulled me to you.”
“…Because we’re twins?”
The look Ford gives him is telling and Stan feels his heart thump awkwardly in his chest, “Oh.”
“Exactly. Now do you see why I was understandably alarmed when I arrived here?”
“But-but that was a long time ago! A lifetime ago.”
“Apparently not as far as we’re concerned. At least subconsciously we both feel…we still feel…” Ford can’t seem to continue and frankly Stan’s not sure he wants him to. He thought that was over. Done. But as he lies here in bed with his brother he knows that’s not true. It’s never been true. He feels his face heat up, pulse jittery and he tries to write it off with a bad joke, “So I shoulda told the kids about what happened after that dance then, huh?”
Ford clears his throat, “That would have been entirely inappropriate.”
“Since when do I care about being appropriate?” Stan grumbles but he knows Ford is right. That’s why he only mentioned the part where Angie McCorkle threw her punch in Ford’s face and him doing the same to himself right after in solidarity. The bit afterwards, the bit when they went home – that was private. Private and not something the kids should know about. Ever.
In fact, it was something that no one should ever know. No one but the two of them. The memories of that night surface, rising from the dark depths of his mind where he always pushes them and he valiantly tries to stamp them back. It’s best left forgotten.
Or is it?
Stan thinks over what Ford told him about their connection and says, “Wait, earlier you said it was ‘we’. You, uh, you said we both feel…”
“Yes, it works both ways,” Ford grudgingly admits, “Once you reopened the portal it found an easy path to me. And not just because you wanted me back. Part of me must have wanted to return and in particular wanted to return to, ah…”
He doesn’t say it but Stan still hears the ‘you’. Ford wanted to come back to him. Whether he wants to admit it aloud or not. Stan looks over at him, “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Clearly you don’t understand the insanity of the situation,” Ford rubs at his face, “Christ, you’d think after thirty years I would be over this! Smarter than this.”
“I don’t follow.”
Ford lets out an aggravated groan and ruffles his hair, “Goddammit, Stanley, you infuriating idiot! How can you not get the simple logistics of this? The violation of social mores! My intellect should be better, stronger, and more powerful than my emotions – particularly my baser ones!”
“Is this your weird way of saying you still got a crush on me?” The question bitterly leaves Stan before he can stop it. He doesn’t know why he says it. It doesn’t really matter. The moment he’s done Ford is letting out a snarl and rolling over top of him, pinning him down to the mattress hard. He slants his lips across Stan’s in a rough, awkward kiss.
For a second Stan is back in time, back to that moment after the dance, when they had been kids and up in their room. They’d just been fooling around. Just been trying to get over the disappointment of the night. Blue and pink suits covered in punch to one side, both of them inside their blanket fort dubbed ‘Fort Stan’. And somehow, someway, it had led to a kiss. Their first – not their last. And now Stan is back in the present and it’s like trying to relearn to ride a bicycle. Or maybe something even more difficult to tackle – like a unicycle.
Ford draws back quickly, looking beyond mortified and he’s shaking his head, muttering under his breath, “So stupid, such a mistake. Should just forget I ever…we shouldn’t…”
But Stan stops him, hands threading into the hair at the back of his head and drawing him downwards once more, “No. We should. Absolutely.”
And then Stan is kissing Ford. And it’s still terribly weird. Ford’s lips are soft and warm. They’re damp and sweet. Stan knows his are chapped and dry and probably aren’t all that pleasant. But he keeps trying – head angling for a better connection, a deeper contact. It’s like trying to light a fire with damp matches but he won’t give up, insistent, eager to get the flame going.
Ford’s own lips move a fraction as his body becomes less stiff, mouth parting just enough to allow Stan’s tongue access and that’s when the spark ignites. A deep chested sound of pleasure reverberates through Ford’s whole body and it lights Stan’s up like a Christmas tree. Like old machinery coming back to life they start to work together, against one another, fluid and perfect. Any semblance of the original awkwardness immediately flees in light of this new unity.
The kisses become hot and desperate. Hungry with crushing need. Stan’s hands are now clutching at Ford’s arms, his back, damn near clawing at him. He wants him closer, needs him closer. It’s as if he’s trying to absorb the other man into him, merge them into one person. A sort of hysteria builds up inside him. It’s been too long. It’s just been too damn long. And he missed him So. Fucking. Much.
And he thinks he might be saying these things between the kisses, the heavy breaths and pants and Ford’s forehead rubs against his own and their hips inadvertently grind together and the sound that leaves Stan isn’t even human. And at that, Ford tries to pull back, tries to catch his breath, tries to regain control but Stan won’t let him, dragging him back down, kissing him again and again.
All sense of time and space leaves and there is just this. Just them. And Stan wants more. He wants it all. He needs it all. His hands go for the bottom hem of Ford’s shirt; starts to tug it up, his hot palms meeting warm flesh but that seems to snap his brother out of it. Ford forcibly drags himself away, sits up on the bed, breathless and wild eyed as he breathes, “Can’t…not now. Not yet…”
Stan lays there, heart pounding, body more alive than it’s ever been, wild heat coursing throughout every vein. He feels like he could power an entire city, fight a whole army and as always he speaks before he thinks, “Good to know I won’t be needing Viagra anytime soon.”
“Who is Viagra?”
Stan snorts, “Not a who. A what. It’s a drug for…” he waves to his lower extremities, “Y’know, older men who can’t get the flag up the flagpole.”
Ford looks to where Stan is gesturing and even in the dark Stan knows he has to be bright red, especially when he mumbles, “You are unbelievably crude.”
“Mmm and you love me for it.” The words come out unbidden and they both grow quiet. Ford sighs and rubs at the back of his neck, “I…you’re my brother, Stanley. You’re my twin.”
“And they say you’re a genius.”
“Stanley…,” Ford says quietly, tone chastising and Stan’s eyes close, the high from their kisses starting to fade as reality sets back in, “Ford, I know. Okay. I know you’re family. I know it’s wrong. I know that that bugs you and that to the world as a whole everything we just did is…” he swallows, “Look, I know. Okay? I really do but…I just…I don’t care. I never have.”
“I know. But I do.” Ford says firmly, “I always have.”
“Yeah. That’s our problem. Well…one of ‘em anyway.”
Ford slowly rises from the bed and Stan feels the loss of it far more dramatically than he should. Ford goes to the door and his hand hovers over the knob, “I should go.”
“Ford…”
“I told you what I needed to, Stanley. I…explained myself. At least a little better than I did when I first arrived. And we have a lot to work through. Obviously. But…I think we made some progress.”
Before Stan can say another word Ford is gone. Huh. Made some progress. His brother…ever the scientist. Stan lies back down and looks at the ceiling. He runs a hand along his lips, feels the heat there. Then he sets his mouth into a hard line. No. They haven’t made progress. Not yet. Not where it counts. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.