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Some part of Stan always knows where his girl is, so while Ford is busy with his useless investigations through the ground floor of the shack and Dipper is commiserating with Wendy, Stan slips away and beyond the tree-line, until he finds the spot where the stream winds its way closest to the shack. Sure enough, sitting on the bank of the river with her sweater pulled over her knees, is Mabel.
Stan grunts as he lowers himself to the ground, sitting down heavily next to Mabel, and he kicks off his shoes and socks, dipping his feet in the clear water of the stream. “You got me, kid. What’s eating ya?”
Mabel sniffs, and doesn’t look up at him, just keeps on staring at her own broken reflection in the rippling water. “You’ll think I’m bad.”
He raises an eyebrow, even though she’s not looking, and sticks his hand in the water too. It’s getting colder as the weather’s starting to turn from summer into autumn, and pretty soon it’ll be too cold for dips in the river like this. Today, though, he wants to appreciate the bright, fresh water while he can, wants to take in the forest and the stream and the teenager at his side. “Sweetie, I promise you, however bad you try to be, you’ll never get worse than me.”
“Don’t say that about yourself, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel says, tipping her head until she’s leaning into his side. “It’s not true.”
“Well, I’m at least an authority on bad people,” Stan acquiesces. “You’ll believe that one, right?”
Mabel huffs. “Yeah, okay.”
They sit in silence broken only by the rushing of the stream, until Mabel un-burrows her head from his jacket, looking up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Grunkle Stan…” she runs out of words again, swiping under her nose with the back of her hand. “What if I said that, um, I wasn’t really looking forward to going home?”
To his credit, Stan manages to swallow down his initial reaction, patting Mabel’s soft sweater-covered shoulder while he thinks. “Uh, well, I’d say there’s definitely stuff you’re looking forward to,” he extemporises. There’s a line between validating Mabel’s feelings and still encouraging her to go home, and it’s a hard one to tread. Stan’s very aware that he hasn’t always been the best at considering the twins’ feelings, he remembers that all too well, but he’s trying his best. “You want to see the cat, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Mabel sniffs. “I miss the cat. But I know I’m going to miss Waddles just as much when I have to go! It’s not fair, Grunkle Stan. I hate that I have to… leave everything behind.”
“Hey, hey, where’s this coming from?” Stan asks, letting his hand rest on the top of her head, and beginning to gently scratch her scalp. “Okay, sure, you gotta leave Waddles, and I’m sorry about that, pumpkin. But you’re not leavin’ anything else, are you? Your friends are back in Cali. Heck, your family’s back in Cali! You got a whole life to get back to, sweetie. C’mon, what are you leaving here, huh? A shack that’s falling to bits and a town full of weirdos?”
Mabel shoves him, tears shining brightly in the corners of her eyes. She looks mad, looks upset, and she won’t look him in the eye. “Grunkle Stan, you’re being so stupid!”
He rubs at his arm where she pushed him, genuinely confused and hurt. “Hey, what gives?”
“I’m going to miss you, you – you knucklehead!” With the words having exploded out of her, Mabel tucks her knees back against her chest, head turned stubbornly away. “And Candy and Grenda, and Waddles, and Great Uncle Ford, and Wendy and Soos. I’m going to miss everyone and everything. And you’re part of that. Duh.”
Stan sighs. He should have guessed that the kids would have formed an attachment to Gravity Falls – Dipper’s found a town with all the mysteries he could ever want, and a great uncle to help him navigate them, and Mabel’s found people who understand her in Candy and Grenda. It never crossed his mind, though, that the twins might be apprehensive in the least about leaving him.
“But you didn’t want to stay,” Stan says, mouth twisting down in a frown he can’t stop. “You and Dipper had to shake a magic eight ball for it. And heck, sweetie, I’ve been terrible! I dropped you into a night in county jail, I’ve made you work all summer… I was selfish enough opening the portal that I created an interdimensional rift and let that pointy jerk into our world, and then I wouldn’t even hold my brother’s hand to do my bit to get rid of him. You gotta go back home, Mabel, you gotta go back to where you’re runnin’ free.”
She’s already shaking her head before he’s finished speaking. “Stop being so stupid, Grunkle Stan! We decided ages ago that we like spending time with you! And none of that stuff matters, anyway. You’re our Grunkle. I don’t want to leave you here and then not see you again. I wish…” she trails off, burying her face in her hands. “I still wish summer could last forever.” The words are muffled, but Stan still manages to make out what she’s saying.
He gnaws at his lip, wondering what he can possibly say. Wishing that kind of thing is dangerous. Hell, it’s what got them into the Weirdmageddon mess in the first place, though nobody blames Mabel for it. But there’s no real answer, nothing he can say to make it better. Truth be told Stan wishes that summer could last forever, too. There’s a liminal kind of joy about dusky summer evenings spent on the back porch with a can of Pitt, or sitting at the table in the living room and crushing the kids at cards. There’s a whole chapter of his life about to unfold, and it’s what he’s been dreaming of for his entire life. He couldn’t be more terrified.
“You gotta think of your parents,” Stan implores, changing tack. “If you were mine…” he can’t deny that he’s thought about it, thought about tucking Mabel and Dipper into his side and never letting them go – but they’re not his. They’re far too good for anyone, let alone him. “If you were mine, I’d never want to let you outta my sight. I bet your parents’re missing you and your brother like crazy right about now.”
Mabel shrugs. She still won’t look at him. “I just wish we could make summer last a little bit longer. I don’t want to say goodbye just yet. It’s too – scary.”
“I know how you feel,” Stan mutters. He doesn’t want to drop the kids off on a bus and watch them drive out the way they drove in. More than anything, he doesn’t want to close the door on what his life used to be, to have to turn to the life he’s living now. As soon as the kids leave, the summer’s over, and he’s Stanley Pines again. He’s going to have to pack up his life and leave Gravity Falls behind. He wishes just as much as Mabel that they could sit here in the woods by this stream forever, letting the thrill of summer tide them over, living in a perpetual sunlit contentment. “But sometimes we gotta do the scary thing.”
Sometimes you just have to keep going, keep moving forward, even when the world is crumbling around you. Stan can’t just hide in the shack anymore, can’t keep hiding behind the ghost of Stanford Pines. Funnily enough, it was Dipper that taught him that, dragging him out of his bubble of safety into the real world. It’s Stan’s chance to prove that old dogs can learn new tricks. If he’s refusing to let summer end, how can he expect Mabel to do any differently?
“But I don’t want to do the scary thing.” Mabel sounds sulky, and Stan laughs. The twins’ll be returning to Piedmont as teenagers, with all the struggles that entails. He doesn’t envy their parents in that, at least. “I just wish we could have one more day with you and Great Uncle Ford.”
Stan slings an arm around her shoulder, and Mabel finally turns to look at him. “Wishing for one more day is like putting things off for tomorrow, pumpkin. Every day you end up saying the same thing. Tomorrow’s got a tomorrow, too, ‘s the problem. Slippery slope, when you get down there.”
Mabel slumps into his side. “Why’d you have to be right, Grunkle Stan?”
“Ah, it’s a curse,” Stan says. “But you know what, sweetie, I might have an idea for how we can make goodbye a little easier.”
“You do?”
He ruffles her hair, pulling her up to her feet, and grabs his socks and shoes from the riverbank. “No need to sound so surprised. I do have some good ideas, y’know, once in a blue moon and all that.”
Together, they pick their way back to the shack, pine needles prickling the damp soles of Stan’s feet. Mabel has lost her withdrawn misery, but there’s still a hesitation in her step, like she’s wary of returning. Whether that’s just to the situation at hand – or to the shack – or worst of all, to her brother – Stan puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to be a grounding presence.
Dipper accepts her return with a quiet equanimity that Stan’s certain he didn’t possess at the beginning of the summer. It seems like just yesterday that Dipper was squeaking over the littlest of things, voice cracking with excitement as he waved a Sherlock Holmes book in Stan’s face. Now the kid has a deeper sort of strength about him, and doesn’t go off at the slightest provocation.
Not unless it’s Wendy doing the provoking, at any rate.
There’s something that pulls at Stan’s heartstrings in the way Dipper folds Mabel into his side, locking arms with her and tugging her close. He knows exactly what his sister needs, knows how to give it to her, how to be the brother she deserves. Stan feels as though he’s looking at the sun, feels the need to blink spasmodically to clear his eyes. It almost hurts to look upon their brightness.
Falling in next to him, Ford claps Stan on the shoulder as he straightens up from slipping his shoes back on. “Good job, Stanley. Now that the twins are both present and accounted for, we can send them off properly.”
Stan shrugs. Ford’s hand falls away. “I dunno, Sixer. Kid wasn’t real happy about having to go home and leave all this behind. I guess I just wonder if there isn’t anything we can do for them, make it all a bit easier, y’know?”
“Well, they’ll have to learn the difficult life lessons of separation soon enough,” Ford says stiffly, “but I suppose if you had an idea, it can’t hurt to… hear it out.”
“Gee, thanks,” Stan says, already in motion, striding off towards the back of the shack. “Always the tone of surprise with you, huh? I do occasionally have good ideas, I know it’s pretty unbelievable, but I’m not totally a disaster like you all seem to think-”
Ford honest-to-goodness tuts, in a move he’s copied directly from their mother, Stan would swear. “And are you going to get around to explaining this bright idea sometime in our lifetime, or not?”
With an unduly smug flourish, Stan pulls down the tarp, revealing the battered old RV. “Voila, or whatever it is they say in Italy.”
“France,” Ford says, distracted. Stan would put money on it being an automatic response, no brain input necessary. “Pardon me, but how is this going to help the twins feel less distressed about leaving Gravity Falls? As far as I can tell, it simply seems to be a… vehicle on the brink of condemnation.”
“Rude.”
The twins have come creeping round the corner, curious to a fault, and they squeal to see the RV. Mabel slaps the side – imitating car salesmen, Stan’s pretty sure, or maybe just showing the RV that she’s happy to see it. Dipper’s already swinging the door open and sticking his head inside before Stan can say anything. Ford looks on in bafflement.
“The Pinesmobile rides again,” Mabel crows, jumping up to wipe at a window with the sleeve of her sweater. “Why’ve we got the RV out, Grunkle Stan?”
Stan puts one hand on the door and uses the other to wave Ford inside. Overcome by curiosity, he goes – Stan doesn’t miss the way Ford’s gaze roves over the stained seats, the dated colour scheme. He knows they’re not seeing the RV the same way. For Ford, no doubt it’s something old, near-broken, another distasteful reminder of the depths to which Stan will sink.
For Stan, it was almost his only home. After Ford threatened to kick Stan out of the shack, he spent countless sleepless nights working on the RV instead of the portal, trying to envision living in it, trying to make it as different as possible to his old life on the road.
“I know you’re not lookin’ forward to the bus back home,” Stan says with a shrug, swinging on the step to grin at Mabel. “So I figured, why don’t I drive you back? ‘S not like I got much better to be doing.”
Soos has already proved himself as Mr Mystery. Stan’s not sure whether to be hurt that he’s so easily replaced, or proud that he’s trained the kid up so well. And he and Ford aren’t due to set out until the first week of September, and then his life will change again. A few more days with the kids in his backseat – well, he’ll take any chance he can get to cling to summer.
“You’d do that?” Dipper appears under Ford’s arm, blinking up at Stan from under the brim of his cap. “Piedmont’s a long drive away.”
“What, you don’t think I know that?” He’s not completely stupid. He can read a map. “No skin off my nose, really. I need an excuse to get outta town anyway. The, uh, never mind all that act – eh, I dunno, it’s just all a bit strange at the minute. Road trip sounds perfect to me.”
“Road trip!”
Mabel’s squealing easily cuts through any tension, and she barrels into the RV, diving between Dipper and Ford to hurl herself onto the lumpy seats. Already the misery has cleared from her face, and she beams at her family, resting her head against the padding.
“Your plan is to take the twins on a road trip… yourself?” Ford sounds genuinely baffled. Stan doesn’t know if the derision he hears is imagined, doesn’t want to try and guess at what his brother is thinking. He might have agreed to spend the next chapter of his life on a boat with Ford, but he’s still so afraid that they’ll never get back that easy camaraderie, that Ford still holds a grudge. “Is that really practical?”
Stan bristles. “In case you’d forgotten, IQ, I’ve done it before,” he points out. “You didn’t come with, but somehow we managed to have a decent time.”
Ford frowns. “I was rather occupied at the time,” he says stiffly. “You’ll forgive me for not having jumped at the occasion to go on a – revenge tour of Oregon, surely, given that I was quite firmly indisposed.”
“Well,” Dipper cuts in, eyes flicking between Stan and Ford. He’s sweating, although that’s – usual for Dipper, anxious or otherwise. “Maybe now you’ll get a chance to come with us, Great Uncle Ford?”
“What, in this deathtrap?” The words tumble out of Ford’s mouth before he realises what he’s said, it seems. Stan keeps his mouth shut, although he catalogues the quick flash of Dipper’s rueful smile, the immediate downturn of Mabel’s mouth. “Well. I suppose it would be nice to all be together a little while longer.”
Ford’s shooting beseeching glances at Stan, though he’s not sure why. It seems like he’s looking for something from Stan. What can Stan possibly have to offer him? Even the RV is technically in Ford’s name. It doesn’t make sense for Ford to be looking at him like he’s – asking for something from Stan.
“Sounds like we’re sorted, then,” Stan says. “Kids, d’you wanna grab your stuff? Sixer’ll have to pack, so you’re good to take your time if you’ve got last goodbyes you wanna say.”
“We have to say goodbye to Wendy and Soos,” Mabel says solemnly, even as she slips involuntarily down the seat.
Dipper gives her a hand up, hauling her up from the floor of the RV. “But we’ll come straight back here when we’re done!” He’s bustling past Stan and Ford and halfway towards the shack when he wheels around and cups his hands ‘round his mouth to holler back at them. “Mabel and I dibs the top bunk!”
“Yeah, what he said!”
Stan can’t help the way his gaze flicks back to Ford, back to the rear of the RV where the beds pull down. “Guess we’re sharing the bottom bunk, then,” he says bleakly.
“Do you not have to pack?”
“What?” The non-sequitur throws Stan. He would say that usually Ford makes more sense than that, although that’s not necessarily true – but usually Ford doesn’t make sense in a completely different way.
Ford frowns at him. “You told the children that I would have to pack, so they could take their time. Do you not have to pack as well?”
“Oh, right,” Stan says. “Well, no.”
It’s not enough for Ford. “Why not?”
There are different ways Stan could answer, different truths, half-truths, or fabrications he could spin up. He could tell Ford that he’s had a go-bag packed in his old duffel for donkey’s years, that he’s been ready to run at the drop of a hat since he was living out of his car, since he was on the run from Rico’s enforcers, since their father thrust a bag at him and it became all he had to live on. He could tell Ford that he’s been preparing to leave the Mystery Shack since the night Ford came out of the portal and gave him an ultimatum, that he’s been collecting everything that means something to him and getting ready to take it all with him when he inevitably has to leave. He could just tell Ford that he’d made a start on packing for their boat trip, he was that excited about it.
“‘Cause I’m already all packed,” Stan says instead. It’s true, if facetious; it answers Ford’s question in the most literal sense. “Isn’t that the boy scout motto, huh? Always be prepared? Woulda thought between the two of us that you’d be the better organised one.”
“You were never a boy scout,” Ford says accusingly. “Stanley, wait–”
“Sorry,” Stan says, waving up at the RV from solid ground and making tracks back to the shack. “Got places to be, people to see. I wanna know if Soos’ abuelita will give me her cookie recipe before we leave. I figure if I say it’s for Mabel, I got a better shot.”
He high-tails it back to his room, leaving Ford sputtering like a broken engine behind him. He does have some bags already packed, but there’s still some reorganising to be done, sorting out what he needs for the trip and what he can leave behind to pick up later. The sweater Mabel made for him goes into his duffel, but he carefully takes out the photo of the twins and sets it on his dresser. He’ll take it with him when he leaves the shack for good, but there’s no need for him to have a memento of the twins if he’s going on a road trip with the twins. Having them in his backseat is decidedly preferable to simply having them in his back pocket.
When he dares to stick his head back out of his bedroom, he finds Wendy sitting at the foot of the stairs, dragging one foot back and forth. Her head shoots up when she sees him, although she’s wearing Dipper’s cap, instead of her usual hat. Stan raises an eyebrow.
“Is Soos gonna be enough to keep you from raising hell while I’m gone?”
Wendy rolls her eyes. “I think high school will do that, Mr Pines.” She wraps her arms around herself, hands disappearing under her flannel. “More like, am I going to be enough to keep Soos from having a meltdown while you’re gone.”
“He’ll do great,” Stan says, waving a hand flippantly. “Kid’s been trained by the best in the business, hasn’t he?”
“Has he,” Wendy says darkly. She breaks easily enough, and the pair of them trade chuckles. Wendy leans up against the wall, and Stan lowers himself onto the staircase, winding an arm around a bannister. “It’s a sweet thing you’re doing, y’know. Taking the twins back.”
“I know,” Stan replies, trying to affect a level of grandiosity he doesn’t really feel. Coming from Wendy, it means more than he wants to admit. “Hey, you know they’ve got a phone between ‘em, right? ‘S not like you’re saying goodbye to them forever.”
“No, I know,” Wendy says. She gives a little sigh, and – with a very deliberately casual air – leans a little into his side. “It’s just that everything’s changing, you know? High school’s gonna suck, and it’s not that I don’t love Soos, but it’s going to be… different ‘round here.”
Stan, attempting to match her nonchalance, makes as if he’s going to scratch his ear, and lets his arm fall around her shoulders, as if by total happenstance. “Well, kid, if you ever get desperate for someone to yell at you, you can gimme a call anytime.”
Wendy snorts. “Would Dr Pines be happy about that?” she asks shrewdly. “I get the sense he’s not really all too fond of Gravity Falls, the people. Just Gravity Falls, the weird.”
“Who cares!” Stan forgets their little game for a minute and squeezes her shoulder. “Heck knows I love my brother to the ends of the earth –”
“Further than that, dude,” Wendy murmurs.
“– but I thought the point of retirement was to do what you enjoy,” Stan soldiers on, “so obviously if you call I’m gonna get some recreational scolding in. I dunno how I’m going to spend my days without finding tourists to fleece or employees to yell at, I’ll tell you that for a fact.”
She shrugs. “I think you’ll manage.” Wendy goes quiet again, kicking her feet out until she’s stretching her whole body, and firmly blocking the hallway. If anyone tries to come in through the back porch door, they’ll have a delightful trip to enjoy. “We can’t have you forgetting us, old man. The Shack’ll be waiting for you whenever you want to – come home.”
“Yeah,” Stan says, knuckling at her head fondly through Dipper’s cap. “It damn well better be, Corduroy.”
In an unusual show of diligence, Wendy walks out with him and helps the twins load their bags into the RV. The label saying ‘PIEDMONT’ is still visible across Dipper’s bag, although Mabel’s sun visor never made a reappearance, Stan doesn’t think. They seem to mostly have everything they need. Although –
There’s a sweater draped oh-so-carelessly over one of the seats, and Mabel is tugging at the cuffs of her own sweater, running her teeth over the brackets of her braces as she keeps sneaking looks back. Stan would bet his bottom dollar that she’s hiding something under that sweater – and he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what.
“How am I gonna break it to her that she can’t take the pig to California?” Stan hisses to Wendy, jerking his head to point out the suspicious lump.
Wendy, the traitor, just laughs at him. “Stan, we all know you’re gonna fold on that so fast. Mabel’s going to look at you with her sad little eyes and you’re going to tell her she can have anything she wants, even a pig.”
“I pay you too much,” Stan grumbles, and Wendy easily dodges the swat he aims at her head. She’s grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and she punches him in the bicep.
“Soos says he’s gonna give me a raise,” she declares, and scampers off before Stan can respond. Brat. He’s going to miss her and Soos – before the twins, before Ford was a real living brother and not just the memory of one, those two were the little family he’d carved out for himself. Not in name, not in blood, not even really in anything more tangible than repressed emotions, but they were his all the same. He’s going to miss them, almost enough to make him wish he’d said something, let them know what they mean to him.
But that’s not how they work, really. He’ll content himself with the knowledge that their unspoken arrangement has held up for a good while now, and it’ll likely hold up a while longer.
Dipper and Mabel are loaded up, unmentioned guest alongside them, and Stan’s brought his luggage up as well. He settles in behind the wheel, refamiliarising himself with the controls – slightly more modern than those of his beloved car, but not by much – and stares out at the beaten track and beyond it, the road stretching away from Gravity Falls.
He never thought that a place like this would become home to him. In his wildest imaginings, Stan had pictured grand houses in Vegas or Nashville, LA or the Hamptons, anywhere where he could live like a king in grandeur and style. Sometimes he fantasised about the well-worn, well-loved dream of the boat adventure, the Kings of New Jersey sailing around in the Stan O’ War, beaches and babes and buried treasure. Most of the time, though, when Stan thought of home, he thought of the cramped bedroom he’d shared with his brother, hidden behind a blanket fort, just the two of them against the world.
Oregon was colder than Jersey. It was less crowded. There were more trees, less beaches; at least in Gravity Falls, everyone knew everyone. It was about as far removed from any kind of life Stan had imagined for himself as anything could be. And yet, over the years, Stan found that there was something to be said for settling down. After years travelling around, never staying in one place long enough to put down solid, healthy roots, there was something refreshing about knowing that he had a place to come back to. That he had something permanent.
The thought of having to leave Gravity Falls has been hanging over his head for weeks, shadowing his thoughts with a creeping sort of dread. Now that he’s found a home, he’s loath to give it up, to leave behind his hard-won sense of belonging and strike out on his own again. The open road isn’t freedom, to Stan; he knows the price of independence.
Now, the open sea – that’ll be another matter.
Stan’s still not sure how it’s going to go. Him and Ford have developed a fragile sort of peace since Weirdmageddon – with Stan still recovering his memories, Ford had been attentive and kind, with a care that even then to Stan had reeked of guilt. Now that Stan’s mind is (relatively) intact, Ford has pulled away a little. Stan doesn’t like to linger on why. He is again the Stanley Pines that pushed his brother into an interdimensional portal – he doesn’t blame Ford for drawing away.
It seems strange that Ford should be the one with bags left to pack, given that he arrived with practically nothing from a portal just scant weeks ago, but Stan has been down to Ford’s room once or twice and seen the explosion of belongings. It’s evident to him, at least, that as soon as Ford stepped into his own room again, he relaxed into that permanence. Ford took the first opportunity to sprawl so completely into his own space so that he couldn’t be so easily removed again. He trusts the house he built to remain his own, a trust Stan nearly broke.
Still, it doesn’t take long before Ford rocks up at the step of the RV, a heavy-looking bag slung over his shoulder and his trench coat billowing out. Stan catches a glimpse of the blaster on his hip, and locks eyes with Ford. He has the decency to look chastised, and tugs his coat closed to hide it. It’s a little hypocritical of Stan to get his hackles raised over Ford’s blaster – goodness knows he’s got his fair share of weapons stashed on him, brass knuckles in his pocket and a penknife in his shoe – but Stan has seen (and felt) the ease with which a gun inflicts damage. He’s just leery of the thing being wielded around the kids, that’s all.
Ford has barely stepped through the door of the RV before the whole damn thing rocks, as one of the twins hurls themself from the back, exploding into the front seat with a violence that nearly tips the car.
“Sweet Moses!” Stan yelps, slamming a hand on the dashboard to steady himself. “Uh – Dipper, everything okay?”
Glowering at him from underneath Wendy’s hat, Dipper twists around to stick his tongue out at his sister. “I call shotgun!”
Stan sees the way Ford lingers in the doorway, and gives him a helpless shrug. “If that’s what you want, kid, sure. But you gotta let someone else have a turn at the next rest stop if they want.”
“Rest stop?” Ford has entered the vehicle properly, and he slams the door behind him, rocking the RV again. Instead of going to sit in the back, he leans over Stan’s seat, head poking over his shoulder. “Why would we need to stop?”
“Uh, ‘cause driving all the way to California with no breaks is kind of an insane thing to ask me to do?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Stanley,” Ford says, supercilious as ever. Stan wonders – not for the first time – if he genuinely doesn’t know how his tone comes across, or if he does it on purpose. “I can drive part of the way. We can swap!”
Stan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his battered leather wallet. Ignoring the crumpled bills and scratched bank cards, he tugs out his driver’s licence, dangling it in front of Ford’s nose. “Ya got one of these, Sixer?”
Ford snatches it from him, holding it up to the light and peering at it. “Isn’t this mine?”
“In name, I guess,” Stan grumbles. “Ford, I didn’t think you knew how to drive.”
“Of course I know how to drive!” Ford looks a little offended. “What do you think I’ve been doing for years? If I can drive a starship through the asteroid belt of exploding kittens in Dimension 78*B4, I think I can drive an RV.”
With panic, Stan twists around, but Mabel doesn’t seem to have heard. Exploding kittens, geez Louise, doesn’t he know that there’s a teenage girl in the car? “Name a single modern road law, Ford.”
He pauses. “Ah.”
“They’ve updated the DMV laws since 1982, Ford.”
“Yes, I understand, Stanley.”
“You gotta wear seatbelts now, Ford.”
“Alright, alright, I – wait, really?”
Stan has to laugh. Beside him, Dipper is giggling too. “Sorry, IQ, they’ve got laws about road safety now. Can’t drink and drive, gotta wear a seatbelt… go sit in the back, we’ve got lap belts on the benches.”
Ford heads into the back, sliding into a seat across from Mabel. “My goodness me, the world has changed,” he mutters darkly as he goes, and Stan trades a long-suffering look with Dipper. Sure, that’s what throws Ford about the modern world – attempts to make sure people don’t die in car crashes.
“Everyone said their goodbyes?” Stan asks. Dipper nods, Wendy’s hat in pride of place on his bobbing head, and when he twists around he can see Mabel nodding too. “Bags packed, belts buckled?”
“We’re all good, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel yells, throwing up two thumbs up for him to see in the rearview mirror. “But we should go soon before Soos gets a chance to sabotage the car!”
“Sabotage?” Ford sounds so genuinely baffled that Stan has to laugh again. The poor kid, Soos doesn’t want any of them leaving – Stan’s avoiding another teary hug by slipping out without saying anything, and he’ll catch hell for it when he gets back from California, he’s sure – it isn’t a stretch of the imagination at all that Soos would start resorting to drastic measures to keep the kids a little while longer.
Stan rolls his shoulders, clicks his own seatbelt on. “Mabel, see if you can get a seatbelt on Waddles, alright?” He ignores her sputtering and steps on the gas, pulling onto the dirt track and away from the Mystery Shack.
In his wing mirror, Wendy has her arm around Soos. They’re both teary, pressing each other close, and as the RV starts to head out, they break out into a run, waving madly to the departing twins. Stan’s heart could burst. He lays on the horn a little, beeping out a tune for the two of them, and rolls down his window to wave.
Before long, though, Wendy and Soos are just specks in the distance, and the RV is quiet. He’s not right next to Mabel, so he can’t hear the reassuring clacking of her needles that’s kept him company all summer, but he can tell she’s knitting nonetheless. Whenever he sneaks a glimpse in his rearview mirror, he can see Waddles’ pink nose peeking out of his sweater nest, and the ever-diminishing pile of wool by Mabel’s side slowly taking shape in her lap. It’s a deep red, as close in shade to Ford’s usual turtleneck as Mabel had in her stash, and Stan wonders who she’s making it for.
Ford’s well occupied too, one of his journals open on the little table separating him from Mabel and Waddles, but Dipper doesn’t have any equivalent kind of entertainment. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, head leaning up against the window, gaze fixed on the rolling Oregon landscape.
It’s definitely not interesting enough to keep a teenage boy’s attention. It’s trees, trees, and more trees.
“Everythin’ okay, kiddo?” Stan pitches his voice so it’s low enough not to be heard by the family in the back. He doesn’t know why Dipper called shotgun, nor really how the kid’s feeling about leaving Gravity Falls. He’s grown up after Weirdmageddon – Stan would say that he’s gained maturity, but in hindsight, the kid’s always been a sight more mature than Stan was at that age. Maybe what Dipper’s gained is confidence in his own maturity, confidence that he’s perfect just the way he is.
Dipper nods, keeping his eyes on the passing roadside. Stan takes his cue from him, and fixes his own gaze on the road, stopping sneaking his little glances at Dipper. If the kid doesn’t want eye contact, Stan will back off. It’s better for him to keep all his attention on the road anyway – there aren’t many other vehicles on the roads through their patch of roadkill county, but the ones that are, are heavy trucks and trailers, shuttling lumber out of Oregon. Stan’s seen the way Manly Dan drives, and it’s enough of a warning for him to be careful around any truck he comes across.
“‘Cause you know you can talk to me, if you like. I know I haven’t always given the best advice, but I’m still up for tryin’ if you are.”
“Thanks, Grunkle Stan.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stan catches the familiar motion of Dipper signing thank-you as he speaks, and then his hand falling into his lap. Dipper doesn’t seem miserable or upset the way Mabel was earlier, Stan thinks. He just seems tired, like every passing second wearies him further. “I guess I just needed a break.”
Stan drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Everything feeling a bit much?”
Dipper laughs mirthlessly. “Just a bit.”
“Guess this can be your break, then. Nothin’ to do but rest.” Stan can understand where Dipper’s coming from – Mabel might be quiet now, although there’s every chance she’s also humming under her breath and she’s just too far away for Stan’s hearing aids to pick up on it, but sitting in an enclosed space with her is bound to lead to antics and shenanigans at some point. Dipper’s had a lot on his shoulders in Gravity Falls, with the burden he’s carried all summer of the mystery of the author and then the responsibilities Ford half-knowingly put on his shoulders. And now the twins are headed home, and Stan would put money on Dipper feeling like he’s got to be the one to take care of Mabel when they get there. If Stan can offer a stretch of solace for Dipper in the passenger seat, he absolutely will.
“True,” Dipper says. “And Grunkle Stan, you know… we are excited to go home really, I promise.”
“Ah, kid, you really don’t gotta explain yourself to me,” Stan says. “Trust me, I get it, okay? You can feel a hundred different emotions about something, even if it’s something you’ve been looking forward to. That’s just human, Dipper.”
“Is that how you’re feeling about leaving Gravity Falls too?”
He doesn’t like the shrewd tone in Dipper’s voice. “Now, I thought we were talking ‘bout you here, not me, huh?”
“Sure,” Dipper acquiesces. “Just… Mabel’s not the only one worried about how well we’re going to stick together after summer.”
“You kids are gonna be fine,” Stan says automatically. “Don’t know how many times I’ve said it, but you’d do anything for each other, ‘s plain to see. And after the summer you’ve had – heck, Dip, you’ll be even closer. You’re good kids. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
Dipper turns towards him, and Stan takes his eyes off the road for a second to see the way he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks Grunkle Stan, I know all that. I just…” Stan’s eyes are back on the road, but it’s not hard to notice the way Dipper twists his whole body to look into the back of the RV where Mabel and Ford are sitting. “It’d be nice to know, rather than just knowing.”
“You know you’re not making any sense, right?” Stan grumbles, gently punching Dipper’s arm.
“I know.”
“Oh, good, well that’s sorted then.”
Dipper leans back against the window. He still seems tired, but – he’s said his piece, even if the message hasn’t quite reached Stan. Now’s the chance for the kid to get the rest he deserves, not for him to sit there and explain all his thoughts and feelings to his great-uncle.
Besides, Stan does know what he means. It’s a roundabout way of saying it – it’s very Dipper – but what he wants is to be able to trust that him and Mabel are going to be okay. Unfortunately for Stan, he’s pretty sure the only way Dipper’s going to be able to do that is if he sees the evidence of a successful twin relationship for himself, and that’s… well. It’s going to be tricky.
He’s pretty sure Dipper naps a bit, although the bumpy roads shake the window he’s leaning against, but when they pull into a service station for Stan to grab a coffee and stretch his legs, the kid surrenders his seat easily enough.
“My turn,” Mabel declares with glee, when Stan presents her with a bag of gummy worms and the opportunity to take shotgun. “Grunkle Stan, you won’t regret it.”
Stan doesn’t regret it, but he’s pretty sure that Ford does. They spend that leg of the journey with the radio on as loud as it will go, singing at the top of their lungs to BABBA and Journeys and the Spice Girl and all the other overplayed hits the radio offers. It cracks Stan up how well the kids know the songs of his and Ford’s youth – whenever Ford recognises a song, it guarantees that it’s at least thirty years old, yet the twins sing along with abandon, relishing the ridiculousness of what they’re doing.
After having to save the world and nearly witnessing the destruction of a town and the near-death of many of their friends, he’s pretty sure the kids deserve to be a little ridiculous. There’s something inspiring in their ability to bounce back, to find joy in the world despite all the pain and suffering. Stan would say that it’s an ability that old men don’t possess, something firmly in the wheelhouse of children and barely-teenagers – but he’s pretty sure that just once, in the rearview mirror, he catches the quickest flash of a smile on Ford’s face.
They stop again for a late lunch, and when they get ready to set off again, Mabel sets Waddles in the passenger seat. Ford looks stymied, like he hadn’t expected his place to be stolen by a pig of all creatures, but it makes Stan laugh.
“If Waddles turns out to be a backseat driver, I’m turning him into bacon,” he threatens, just to laugh at the way Mabel squeals and rushes to protect the honour of her pet.
By the time Ford finally gets his chance at shotgun, the sun is lower in the sky, and Stan is calculating how far it is to the nearest trailer park, where he can settle down and get the kids some dinner and then to bed. They’ll be in Piedmont before midday tomorrow, if all goes well, and it’ll be his turn to say goodbye to the twins. He’s saving his sweater specially.
Part of Stan is wary that Ford’s going to take the opportunity presented to ambush Stan into an emotional conversation, but as they start driving again, Ford seems content to sit quietly and stare out of the window. Stan is not sure what is so captivating outside of the window of an RV for someone with a brain as big as Ford’s. Maybe he should ask Dipper.
He can hear low murmurs from behind him, and figures that Mabel and Dipper are absorbed in their own conversation, free (for now) of adult supervision. Stan can’t hear them, and Ford clearly isn’t paying attention. He wonders what it is they’re talking about. Making game plans for what to confess to their parents of the summer they’ve had? Preparing for the start of school? Or just reassuring each other that everything they’ve faced has been real, that even if the rest of the world would think they’re crazy, they can rely on each other.
When he tries to think of the last time he had that kind of a close chat with Ford, just them, heads pressed together and utterly in one mindset, he draws a blank. It seems like lifetimes ago that they were children, and at the same time, everything in him still considers Ford his closest compatriot. He’s a different person now, though, far removed from the small New Jersey preteen who practised his boxing swings around the house with a gap-toothed smile. Ford’s a different person. Stan’s not so sure that either of them know who the other is anymore.
Then again, they haven’t stopped being twins just because they’ve been apart. Stan can spend his time obsessing over analysing Ford’s responses and actions and worrying what he’s thinking, or he can admit the truth. They might have grown up, but they’re still identical in all the ways that matter. Stan has libraries locked up in his head with all the words he can’t bring himself to say. Why should Ford be any different?
Still, even in this, Ford manages to prove him wrong. He cracks first. “I’m afraid I have to ask,” Ford says, eyes downcast as he fusses with cleaning off his glasses. Stan wonders if the refusal to make eye contact during emotionally fraught conversations is a family trait, or something Ford and Dipper share along with their fantastically fast minds. “Did you… no. Pardon me, please let me rephrase that. Are you upset that I came on this trip?”
“No!”
The wheel suddenly has a mind of its own, and Stan knuckles down, keeping his attention on the road and making sure the RV drives straight. No motion catches in his peripheral – Ford’s hands have stilled in his lap.
“That’s good,” Ford says lamely. “I – ah, I am aware that I somewhat… forced myself along without considering that you might not…”
“I might not what?” Stan hates the hesitation in Ford’s voice.
“Well, that you might not have wanted me to come.”
For a moment, Stan lives in a world where there’s no history between them. “Of course I wanted you to come! Why wouldn’t I?” It rings hollow, even to him. The silence stretches between them. Stan tries to put himself in Ford’s shoes, to see himself from a different angle. Has he been short with Ford, pushed him away? Has Ford noticed Stan’s mix of feelings about leaving Gravity Falls? He just doesn’t know. “Wait, is this about the RV?”
He’s thrown Ford with that, apparently. “Why would it be about the RV?”
“Ah,” Stan says. “Well, now I don’t want to say.”
“Stanley.”
“Stanford.” It’s clear that no further response from Ford will be forthcoming until Stan explains himself – and he picked up that frosty reaction from their mother, too – so Stan caves. “I thought that you thought that I thought that you wouldn’t want to come ‘cause it’s a trip in the RV, and this is where I was gonna live after the summer and you said we should put the past behind us.”
“What? I thought that you thought that I was reprehensible after recovering all of your memories and that you wanted to be as far away from me as possible!”
Stan frowns. “Why would I think that?”
“Why would you think that I didn’t want to know about the RV?” Ford asks, frantically. “You’re – you’re proving my point! I was going to kick you out of your home and make you live in a rundown motorhome! I’m…” Stan’s alarmed to see Ford retreating into his turtleneck. He looks like Mabel when he does that, and it makes Stan’s chest ache. “I’m just as bad as Dad,” Ford mutters sharply. “You’d be well within your rights to demand never to see me again after all I’ve done.”
“Sweet Moses, Sixer, lot to unpack there,” Stan quips, his shoulders hiking up. “Listen, if either of us is an awful person, it’s me, alright? I pushed you through an interdimensional portal and you were stranded for thirty years! Doesn’t get much worse than that!”
“I ended the world!” Ford wails.
The RV swerves as it takes everything Stan has not to lean over and bear hug his brother then and there. “I think Bill Cipher did that, poindexter,” Stan says, forcing his voice to gentle. “And the world doesn’t look ended to me. Listen, I…” Stan sighs. “I couldn’t care less about all the stupid stuff we’ve done to each other, alright? I blamed you, you blamed me, I blamed me, you blamed you, we got stuck in a circle and now you’re sittin’ there thinking I didn’t want you here and I’m sittin’ here thinking you didn’t want me there. It’s all a load of bullsh–”
The unspoken word hangs in the air as Stan takes a slow look in the rearview mirror. The twins take a moment to notice that they’ve been caught eavesdropping, and jump and yelp, diving back into whatever they were supposed to be doing. Stan shakes his head.
“Ford, I promise, I wanna be wherever you are,” he says gruffly. “I just think we still gotta take a little time to settle down, y’know? We’ve gotta meet each other where we’re at.”
“Putting the past behind us doesn’t mean ignoring it completely,” Ford offers. “In fact, I’d… it will make me feel awful. But I’d like to hear about it. So that I can understand you better, and so that I can avoid repeating the same mistakes.”
Stan thinks on that for a while, then nods. “Gotcha. And Ford, I’m gonna be over the moon to tell you when I do blame you for something, okay? Next time you’re in the kitchen and you don’t close the drawer all the way, I’m gonna march over and give you a piece of my mind. But not for – stuff from the past. That’s done. Over.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Ford nods firmly. “It isn’t a terrible RV,” he says at length. “I suppose in a way, it’s quite – homely.”
“Yeah,” Stan says. “S’pose it is. When it’s filled with the right people.”
“Indeed.”
Maybe Stan’s still not looking forward to being secluded on the high seas with just his brother and their volatile relationship for company. Maybe Mabel’s still not looking forward to going home and suddenly being back in a town where nothing weird ever happens. But that night, Stan lies beside his brother, the twins in arm’s reach just above him, Soos and Wendy still safe back home, and his whole world is tucked up, safe and sound under the stars. In the morning, when Stan’s alarm goes off to let the Pines family know that Piedmont and the end of summer lie ahead, he finds that sometime during the night, his and Ford’s hands – like birds taking rest after flight – have drifted together. Their fingers are interlaced, and suddenly they’re just children again. Five twisting around six, the way it was always meant to be.