Chapter Text
Ford certainly hadn't expected to encounter a wolf during his hike through the forest, or at least, not a wolf like this.
It was huge, easily twice the size of what would typically be seen in the area, and it seemed to be in terrible condition. Ford had originally gone out to further study the gnomes, but he'd instead gone to track the creature and was now crouched in some tall grass, watching the wolf limp toward a small pond. It dipped its blood-covered snout into the water, lapping at it gently, before backing away and plopping to the ground with a huff, clearly exhausted. Its thick fur– which was an interesting mix of red, brown, and black– was matted with blood and mud, a few long, thin, perfectly straight cuts running along its side, looking medical in nature. Had it escaped from a vet of some sort? Or was it being experimented on? The latter thought sent a bolt of anger through Ford. Sure, he conducted experiments with the creatures of Gravity Falls, but he only did so with their consent! He'd never hurt them, and certainly not to the extent that the wolf was hurt. He was pulled from his thoughts by a low rumbling, and he looked up to see the poor animal panting and twitching uncomfortably. The wolf was in such poor condition Ford didn't think it could pose much of a threat, and so he stood up and did something most would call stupid– He approached it.
He took slow, cautious steps, his hands held up in a show of peace as he inched closer. The wolf barely moved even when Ford's boots crunched on some leaves, proving just how weak it must be. Up close, Ford could see various areas where the fur was thin, showing off stitched-up incisions. On the creature's right hind leg, there was a section of fur that was shaved down to reveal a number and letters– 108-LEE– tattooed in bold, black ink. The wolf snuffled, having finally caught Ford's scent, and turned to him, growling lowly. Ford scooted back a bit.
"Greetings. I– I mean no harm. I want to help you. May I?"
The growling continued but was quickly replaced with a yelp as a sharp snap rang out. Ford startled. What in the name of Tesla was that? Another snap followed, then another, the wolf whimpering pitifully as it writhed, its bones shifting within its body. What– What was happening?! Ford had never seen anything like this before, he had no idea how to– Ford blinked. The wolf's fur was thinning out and fading away, its claws and muzzle shortening, its body taking on a new shape as bones slid into different positions. Of course! A werewolf! Ford should have guessed sooner just off the size alone! The reddish-brown fur gave way to pale, scar-ridden skin (and also revealed several needle punctures, Ford noted grimly), claws faded to short and dirty fingernails, and the bones settled into place to reveal a young man. He looked even worse as a human– his skin filthy, and his long hair just as greasy and matted as the fur had been. His face was badly bruised, blood leaking from a nose that looked like it had been broken several times over, and– Wait. Wait. Ford knew that face. The chiseled jaw, the thick brows– the face looked different now, beat up as it was, but it was all too similar to the face that stared back at him in the mirror.
"Stanley?" Ford gawked, confused and horrified all at once. How– Why– Where–? Stan whimpered again, the noise sounding off somehow, and Ford shook himself, scrabbling to get closer to his brother.
"Stan, can you hear me? Open your eyes. It's me, Ford!" He said, slightly frantic. Stan's face twitched and his eyes opened slightly, squinting up at him, another low, guttural noise rising from his throat. Perhaps he was still transitioning from being a wolf, Ford thought distantly.
"Stanley, can you stand? You need help, and I'm not sure I can carry you."
Stan blinked twice, letting the request sink in, before grunting and rolling onto his front, pushing himself from the ground with trembling arms. Ford hooked his own arms underneath Stan's and helped him stand on uneasy feet, both of them swaying uneasily. They couldn't be more than twenty minutes from the house, Ford guessed.
"Ok. Come on, this way." He said, doing his best to guide his brother (his brother, Stan was here) in the right direction. Stan, for his part, didn't contribute much, his limbs barely moving and his head lolling against Ford's arm. By the time they were stumbling into Ford's living room, Stan was officially done, nearly collapsing to the floor. Ford held him and lowered him down carefully, removing his trenchcoat and folding it to place under Stan's head. Standing back, Ford realized that his brother was still entirely undressed, and he scrambled to find a blanket to throw over him. Stan groaned and nuzzled into the soft material, but otherwise remained still. Ford paced, struggling to gather his scattered thoughts.
1: Stan was a werewolf.
2: Stan was hurt.
3: Stan needed his wounds cleaned and bandaged.
4: Stan probably needed food and water.
5: Stan had very likely been experimented on.
Clenching his fists, he focused on taking care of Stan's injuries first and foremost, so he stalked off to the kitchen where Fiddleford had stored a med kit "Jus' in case! ya never know where or when you'll be needin' one!" He'd have to remember to thank his friend once he came back from his trip to California. Going back to the living room, Ford sat on the floor and opened the kit, pulling out a bottle of saline and some gauze so he could wash away the debris from the cuts. He pulled down the blanket, uncovering the incisions on Stan's side, but froze when he heard a deep, rumbling sound. The noise, Ford realized with a start, was coming from his brother, whose lips were pulled back to reveal teeth that were mostly normal, though both the upper and lower canines were longer and sharper than usual. Stan was growling at him, his eyes glassy and... fearful.
"It's ok, Stanley, I'm– I'm just trying to clean your wounds. I want to help." Ford said quietly. The growling didn't stop, but Stan did stop barring his teeth, so Ford took it as a win.
"Ok, I'm going to pour this saline onto the cuts to clean them. It may sting a bit, and be a little cold, but it shouldn't hurt." Ford explained, moving slower than normal as Stan watched him with wary eyes, tracking his every movement. Ford hated treating his brother like a wild animal, but that's what Stan was, whether Ford liked it or not. He was a hurt, scared wild animal that wouldn't hesitate to snap at whatever he perceived to be a threat. Ford just wished he knew what had caused Stan to be in such a state. The minutes dragged on, but eventually, Ford cleaned away the worst of the dirt from the wounds littering Stan's body, and he sprayed them all with a disinfectant spray just to be safe. Stan hissed at that, barring his teeth again, but his hackles didn't stay raised for long once Ford explained why he was doing it. Ford suspected that Stan didn't actually understand everything he said, but was rather just soothed by the calm voice. Finally, Ford bandaged what he could, putting bandaids on the small scrapes before sitting back. Stan was still watching him with lidded eyes. Ford sighed.
"Are you hungry? You're rather thin... What do you eat? You're part wolf, so I must assume you like meat, but do you still eat other foods as well? Are there things that would make you sick, such as chocolate?" Stan blinked sluggishly. Ford shook his head.
"Never mind. I believe I have some stew meat in my fridge that Fiddleford bought, I suppose that will have to be good enough for now." Ford went back to the kitchen to pull out the black styrofoam tray, setting it on the counter while he rooted around for a pan. It had been quite some time since he'd cooked, but surely he should still remember where he'd put the pans! Unless Fiddleford had reorganized. He heard a floorboard creak and felt something rush up behind him, and he turned with a shout, expecting to see Stan lunging at him. Instead, Stan had gone for the meat, tearing open the plastic and shoving the raw, bloody meat into his mouth with a snarl, his teeth tearing through it like a hot knife through butter. Ford sat, shocked, watching his brother eat so savagely.
"Stan..."
Stanley's head jerked to look at him, a growl rising in his throat, his chin and hands coated with blood as he held the food closer to himself as if Ford would try and take it.
"It's ok... Go ahead, it's yours. I– I was going to, um, cook it first, but– If you prefer it this way..." Ford made a vague gesture with his hand. Stan stared at him a moment longer, then shoved the last of the meat into his mouth, licking his hands and lips greedily before staring down at the tray almost longingly. Still hungry then, Ford guessed.
"Are you– Would you like more?" He asked. Stan looked at him and tilted his head, then dipped his chin toward his chest in a nod, and Ford smiled widely. This was the first real communication he's had with Stan thus far! So Stan did understand Ford, then.
"Ok! Yes! I'll need to run to the store then... Are you ok here?"
Stan tilted his hand the other way, looking a bit like a puppy, crouched on the floor and– Oh, still naked.
"Ah, I'll get you some clothes, first."
Stan ended up in grey sweatpants and a blue sweater that was just a bit too big on him, and while the clothing seemed to irritate him a bit, it was a big step up from wearing nothing and helped keep Stan warmer. Stan was still weak and shaky, but he'd been strong enough to climb the stairs, so Ford decided to give Stan his bedroom for the time being. That was where Ford had left him, curled up on the bed and dozing. It would only take about twenty minutes to drive Fiddlefords car to the store and back, so chances were that Stan wouldn't even know Ford was gone. He needed meat, and lots of it, and some food for himself too. What else? Ford entered the Dusk-2-Dawn and looked around, humming to himself quietly. Ah! Milk! And eggs, too. He grabbed a cart and headed toward the butcher, ignoring the strange look the woman gave him as he loaded two hams, five steaks, and three packs of stew meat into the cart. He grabbed milk, eggs, bread, jellybeans, mayo, and sliced turkey, too, and went to pay.
"Hey, Aren't you that mysterious science man?" A woman asked, approaching him. Ford winced, sweat forming on the palms of his hands. He'd hoped to make this shopping trip without getting hounded by the locals, but it seemed that wasn't going to happen.
"Uh, yes, I suppose. I'm a scientist. Nothing too mysterious about it." That wasn't entirely true, but he didn't want to give them any more reason to follow him around asking questions.
"I don't know about that! Your cabin in the woods has become a bit of a local legend! I've seen strange lights coming from that place, and Monica Cutebiker says she swears she's heard screams!"
"That– That's not true, I assure you. Well, there may have been lights, but that was just an experiment I was doing. There's no screaming at my house, however." Ford said, intent to clear away these rumors. The townsfolk here could be rather ridiculous. You'd think they'd spend more time freaking out over the gnomes in their trashcans. The woman shrugged, smiling.
"Glad to hear that, then. Well, have a good day then!" She said, waving. Ford nodded and hurried off to the cashier who, luckily, was in no mood to talk as they scanned his items with a bored expression. Five minutes later, Ford was back in the car, groceries loaded in the passenger seat, and doors locked. He took a deep breath. He was grateful that Fiddleford had left the car here while in Palo Alto. He'd insisted that Ford needed the car more and that he would just take the bus. Seemed like Fiddleford was right. Ford started the car and made his way back to the cabin, hoping that Stan was still doing well.
Lee curled further into himself as he looked around, eyes flitting rapidly. He had no idea where he was, which was not good, he just knew he was away from the Bad Place, which was good– But for how long? How long until this place became Bad, too? That Man was so familiar (that man is your brother, don't you remember?!) but he couldn't quite place him. He just knew the Man was safe. But was this place safe? The Man wasn't here now. What if the Bad People came? What if they hurt Lee again? He shuddered, pinching the fabric covering his arms, and was startled when he heard a creak. What was that? Was someone here? Were they here to take him again? A whine rose in his throat. No, he didn't want to go back! He wouldn't let them take him! Without thinking he lept to the floor and crawled under the bed in one fluid motion, his breath coming out in ragged pants that he struggled to control. He had to be quiet, he had to hide, he couldn't let them find him. Breathe, be quiet, stay hidden, don't move.
He wished the Man would come back.
Ford locked the door behind him and set the groceries down with a grunt, hurrying to place the meat in the fridge and leaving only one tray out, which he was going to bring to Stan to eat. Stan was probably starving again by now, Ford thought with no small amount of guilt. Once everything that needed to be refrigerated was put away (the rest could wait), Ford went upstairs, the tray of steak in hand.
"Stanley, I'm back," Ford said, trying not to be too loud in case Stan was still sleeping. Peeking into the dark room, Ford's heart dropped when he saw the bed was empty.
"Stan? Stan! Where are you?!" He shouted. Where could his brother have gone? Had he left the house?! No, the door had been locked and there were no footprints outside that Ford could see. But– What if Stan had escaped through a window? He wasn't exactly of sound mind at the moment, after all. Ford was prepared to run back downstairs and tear the house apart when he heard it– A quiet, tiny whine, like something a puppy would make. It had... come from Ford's bedroom. So Stan was still there, but where?
"Stan? Stan, please, it's me, Ford. I won't hurt you." He said, listening intently for any sound. There was another whine and some shuffling, and Ford followed it to his bed, which was very much empty. He took a deep breath, and kneeled on the floor, looking underneath the bed. Stanley was there, curled up as tightly as possible, his eyes shining in a decidedly inhuman way as he peered back at Ford, his face streaked with tears. Ford felt a lump grow in his throat at the sight.
"Oh, Stan..."
Stan grunted and whined again, his tongue clicking and throat bobbing before a low, drawn-out, raspy sound escaped, something that almost sounded like words. Ford leaned in closer, eyes wide.
"What? Stan, what did you say?"
"Mmm... B... Ba-ck? Y-you?" Stan grunted again, the voice barely sounding like him. But it was him, and Ford felt ecstatic at the fact that Stanley was actually talking to him.
"Yes! Yes, I'm back! I just went to get more food, see?" Ford said, pulling the steak across the floor and pushing it over to Stan, who eyed it hungrily. Oddly enough, Stan didn't tear into it like before. Instead, he studied it, sniffing it warily.
"Go on, help yourself." Ford encouraged.
"S-safe?" Stan asked.
"Yes, of course." Ford nodded. That was all his brother needed before grabbing the steak in his hands, chewing on it in much the same way a dog chewed on a bone. Ford hated to make the comparison, but it was an apt one. Still, Stan wasn't eating nearly as ferociously as before, though it was still a bloody mess. Ugh, great, now Ford would need to clean blood from under his bed. Oh well, not like he actually slept in here too often. Stan finished within minutes, licking his chops in satisfaction and looking more content than Ford had seen him so far.
"Better?" Ford asked. Stan hummed.
"Better."
Ford nodded. He was glad Stan seemed to be on the road to recovery, but there were still a million questions floating through his head regarding Stan and his situation. Where had he gone after (being kicked out) leaving home? How had he become a werewolf? How had he been captured, and for how long? How had he ended up in Gravity Falls? He barely managed to bite his tongue, deciding that now was not, perhaps, the best time to question Stan, who was still lying under the bed.
"Why don't you get back into bed and rest a while? We can talk more later."
Stan swallowed thickly and nodded, slinking back onto the bed with supernatural grace.
"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," Ford said before leaving. Once in the living room, he sighed deeply, feeling a sort of bone-deep wariness overcome him. He flopped down onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Gravity Falls had a habit of attracting all sorts of weird things, but his estranged brother who was also a werewolf who's also been the target of inhumane experimental treatment? Yeah, that took the cake.
"What am I going to do...?"