Archive of Our Own

Today was a good day.

Things hadn’t looked too great recently, but today, Fiddleford couldn’t quite help but feel euphoric. Finally, everything would be settled. After months of work, and days of planning, everything was going according to plan.

He’d quickly changed from his casual wear to their formal one, the red hooded robe fitting him perfectly. The shared dress-code gave their group a sense of community and added to the ambiance of their head-quarters.

The added anonymity while they were out and about was another benefit, but that had only presented itself after their first few meetings. It was better if the people of Gravity Falls didn’t have to worry what their neighbours were up to.

When he entered their main hall, the room was still empty. There he prepared what would be needed, his legs occasionally tapping a bit harder than it was supposed to, but was just another sign that his body couldn’t quite contain his excitement.

He’d dreamed of this day.

He placed the familiar chest on top of the small table – one of the only pieces of furniture in the whole room – but kept its lid closed. If Fiddleford had learned one thing during his stay here, then that would be that showmanship mattered. Presentation was the key for success. And today’s meeting of the society of the blind eye was most important. (It might actually stop those small bits of residue of a terror long since deliberately forgotten).

With the one major prop ready and secured, Fiddleford looked around the room as more and more people wearing their red robes were walking in. The room was barren, and the stone walls were the perfect means to echo their group chants.

Throughout the past few months they had tried a few, to see how each of them worked, but Fiddleford admits that he was quite happy with their most recent one: memento oblivisci.

He could hear the chants starting, as each of his disciples took their respective spot. Their formation slowly creating an open circle – the opening being left deliberately for the arrival of their guest of honour. His eyes automatically returning to the small table and chest, where his most precious invention currently resided.

At first, he’d been the one to carry it with him at all times, but due to the growing nature of the society it made more sense to leave it in a safe spot, where his higher ranking members had also access to it if needed. Fiddleford still preferred to lead through these ceremonies, but he appreciated the help that was offered to him.

His gaze moved from the chest to the circle’s opening as the ominous chanting grew louder.

Soon.
Soon, it would all be over.

“My d-dearest d-disciples.” He had to pause for a moment, as to not let his irritation at his own stutter show; Its appearance being rather recent for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. However, he did not want these things to interfere with the effectiveness of his mission, nor with the eloquence that is expected from their society.

His next few words were, therefore, spoken rather carefully: “Today is a very special day, because we have finally managed to reach out to a very good friend of mine – and he has shown himself finally willing to listen to reason.”

The chanting reached its crescendo at those words, and then every member that was part of the circle lowered their gazes.

Fiddleford couldn’t quite stop the tapping of his foot, another nervous tick that he must have picked up at some point – but this one at least he could somewhat mask. All the members had stopped their chanting as the sound of the tap echoed through the room.

Their lowered gaze and silence a sign of devotion for their leader, a showcase that they would always pay attention to Fiddleford’s words.

This is what he’d managed to create in such a short amount of time. A collective with the goal to bring peace back into Gravity Falls. Without him, they wouldn’t have found their purpose. In a way, their reverence was completely logical. He was their saviour, the one to gift them the means of absolution.

And today, he would finally be able to save his former friend from ruin. Fiddleford could feel a smile forming on his face, but he had to remain composed for their ritual’s sake.

“Now, who is the subject of our meeting?”

At the sound of his voice reverberating through the room, all the figures that were part of the circle were lifting their gazes and turning towards the circle’s opening. It didn’t take long for four more figures to emerge and to make their way through this opening. Three of them were wearing the same robes as the rest – clearly designating them as part of the Society, while the fourth figure was being dragged along. The man was barely standing, most of his weight being carried by the hooded figures. He was wearing a pair of rather dirtied up pants, slightly crooked glasses, and a sweater; The sweater, Fiddleford had still recognised as one of his friend’s favourites, though the rest of the clothes looked rather worse for wear. Fiddleford couldn’t help but not the bad state of the man’s glasses, but at least he knew that he wasn’t to blame. He knew that the man had already looked pretty beaten up before Fiddleford or the Society had got hold of him, this was just further proof how far his former colleague had fallen.

His disciples did not refrain their call. “The local Scientist” could be heard as the chant echoed through the room, causing the tiniest stir from the man in their arms as he was dragged into the circle, and then dropped in front of Fiddleford.

There was the tiniest noise when the man’s knees hit the stone floor. For a moment, Fiddleford feared that Stanford would try and ruin this moment of reverence, but the other remained silent. He smiled benevolently, this truly could only be another sign that the other had finally come to reason. (Well, that – and they’d also given him some Secobarbital to ensure that the other remained calm and relaxed…)

And really, the other had looked like he’d needed it. When Fiddleford had approached him – he’d seen the state the other had been in; He’d looked worn down and like he’d barely slept at all in recent days. He had been fidgety, eyeing Fiddleford like he wasn’t sure if he could be trusted. Which…

They’d been friends for years, the fact that Stanford hadn’t even known how to react to Fiddleford had said it all. The decision to aid his former friend had come naturally. Just like in their college years (or at least he thinks that’s how it’d been…) hadn’t he been the one to ensure that his friend would rest?

The man on the ground managed to lift his head enough to make eye contact with Fiddleford. There was a fogginess to them, but they also looked far colder than he could remember. He didn’t let this intimidate him, though. He had a script to follow

“Stanford Pines, what is it that you have seen?”

It took the man a bit to reply, clearly the drug was still going through his research partner’s system, but he did manage a tired huff in response: “Shouldn’t you know exactly what I’ve seen?”

Fiddleford wasn’t impressed, his smile underneath the hood faltering just slightly. After all their work, Stanford was playing hard to get? They couldn’t have that, could they? But at least his own frustrations were hidden from his followers. He should have known that the other would need some more guidance.

“Sure, I might have once known the horrors behind the crimes you’ve committed – but I’ve unseen them.”

His disciples followed this up with a hushed “it was unseen!”, before falling silent once more, their attention once again captured by their leader.

“Even free of your sin, I was unable to rest – and we’ve all noted how you’ve brought unrest to the rest of Gravity Falls. It is clear to me – to our Society – that whatever you’ve been up to has caused larger ripples than even you could have known.”

“That, we have seen.” The circle chanted.

The man in front of them was silent, but it was clear that he was paying attention to them; Good. Though, Fiddleford could do without the man’s clearly unimpressed expression. He had to stop a sigh, he couldn’t let his frustration show. He had to stay focused. This was meant to help his friend, or former friend, as it were – and he’d just needed some patience. His work would be appreciated soon.

“Whatever you’ve kept in your basement, it is too dangerous for you to know. This is why I’d suggest you’ll tell us now where you’ve hidden your journals. We, just like you, want to erase all traces of that knowledge.”

That finally got a reaction from the man, a soft chuckle. “I can’t tell you where my journals are. I’ve given them away.” but the influence of the sedative seemed to push his friend into a somewhat more talkative mood, as he elaborated – much to Fiddleford’s delight.

“Called my no good brother for help, and… can you believe it? He actually showed up. Took them with him… long since gone, so what will you do with that, huh?”

This time, Fiddleford couldn’t quite hide his own surprise. Dropping the voice of the ‘leader’ for just a moment. “You talked to your twin, to Stanley? … that… that actually is quite surprising.”

The followers weren’t quite sure how to react either, but some of them were now murmuring the name amongst themselves. The word “Stanley” now echoing through the room, causing Stanford to flinch, and then for his eyes to widen.

He tried to say a few things, but seemed to struggle to get the words out, before finally settling on something. His gaze hardened as he forced eye contact with Fiddleford.

“It’s not like I wanted to talk to the guy. He was… as… as… obnoxious as always, you know? It was not a FUN talk. Like… we hate talking. And… since you know me, you must know how much I’m not good at that talking about stuff thing. So… I told him to take my books and sent him away – I don’t expect to see him again.”

His words were slightly slurred, a bit rougher on the edges than Fiddleford was used to – but that would fit Stanford’s overall state right now; Then again, it didn’t really matter – because what the other just revealed made everything so much easier.

His leg tapped a few more times, before he could reign it in, but even that wasn’t enough from stopping his elation. It really was all falling into line.

“That’s actually perfect. You won’t even mind too much if I’d have you forget him too. I had thought it not ideal… but really, if that’s your opinion on the guy it’s really a low cost when compared to your improved wellbeing. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Finally, back on track, all the figures that made the circle pulled the strings of their robes. It was another symbolic representation of their mandate. It will be unseen. He finally turned to the table and opened the chest, looking at his precious invention. It was beckoning him, not just to free his friend – but to also find peace for himself after; To finally let go of those memories as soon as he’d assured Stanford was stopped.

Soon. He’d be free too.
But first, his friend.

He took his magnum opus in hand and turned back, now feeling serene once again as he watched his friend below him.

“Stanford, you’re about to be absolved from your past mistakes, you’ll be freed from the burden of memory, and we will ensure that you will not fall victim to any such disastrous urges that will lead to your ruin ever again.”

The other had lowered his own gaze to the ground, clearly contemplating his next words. There was a sigh; It seems like the other was starting to understand.

And yet, he could see the other’s shoulders shake just slightly.

“What do you mean – burdened of memory - ? You’d have me… forget? How? ”

Stanford really must be out of it, but Fiddleford couldn’t help but brag a bit about his accomplishments – not many truly understood the beauty of his work. He knew, that his friend had the capabilities to get it.

“Oh, I know you’ve seen my prototype before. We even talked about it for a while, I think – but none of that should w- worry you a-any longer. This is simply meant to help you. I can help you! With this you’ll forget all about your project.”

He was quite familiar with the device, so changing the words for it to read “project in the basement” was simple. It was even simpler to line up the gun to his friend’s temple (he’d thought about this moment for much longer than he could recall); and then he shot his friend for the first time that night.

Fiddleford had seen his invention used many times in the past, but even now, it still fascinated him to witness the initial haze overtake the beneficiary of his blessing. The other man was still on his knees, he’d once again moved to look at Fiddleford, but by now the far away look had overtaken any other potential emotion.

It was also his experience that had Fiddleford continue to casually change the words on the memory gun. The idea of erasing multiple memories at once might have scared some of his followers at the start, but he’d long since learned that this was a safe procedure, even if it had left him in a state of confusion for a longer amount of time than initially expected. – That simply meant that they’d have to keep Stanford under supervision for a while. It would be fine.

“...What… what just…?” was barely audible. Oh, Fiddleford watched as the man was clasping his hands, before moving them out of sight. The other sounded so confused, but – luckily – Fiddleford was here to help.

“Don’t worry. Soon you’ll be completely free. There won’t be anything to bother you. We’ll help you forget all about your journals.” It was for the better.

Though, it seemed like Stanford was about to argue, there was a sharp intake of breath and even in that state he could see the other try and formulate a response. He couldn’t have that, and yet he understood to some degree.

There’s a reason he still remembered those journals himself – they’d been such a common sight during his work with the other (or at least he thought they were). It was obvious that his friend had loved to write down every single intricacy of the world. They had always been a pillar for Stanford to fall back on. It was the reason they had to destroy their presence from the other’s mind; To destroy the temptation was the best (and simplest) way to move forward.

He double-checked the dial on his invention, before lining up his invention for the second shot. It was as quick as the first shot – and still barely a reaction from the man beside him. Though, he did look pretty out of it already.

Usually, the people would also be somewhat reverent when offered absolution, but naturally, Stanford had to be an outlier through and through. There was no look of relief to be found, instead the other was frowning and biting his lips – signs of worry.

That was dangerous. Fiddleford knew that worry could lead one to dig deeper, which would undo all their work. They had to erase enough that Stanford wouldn’t even know what to look for. They had to ensure that his friend would not have the chance to relapse.

“This… no… no… I… this is wrong. I think? What are you… how? You can’t? What have you…. Have you?”

Resistance was very much in Stanford’s nature – he’d always struggled to accept Fiddleford’s reasoning and his help, but that’s why they were here; That’s why the Society had taken time and effort to look into his colleague’s dark dealings.

Moreover, Stanford had approached him. He must have known what that meant. He’d asked for help. This was the right thing to do.

“You might not be able to correctly assess everything right now, but you’re feeling better already, aren’t you? Trust me, it’s only one more step and then you’ll be good as rain.”

Even with all their members present, this moment between his friend and him felt intimate. They were finally sharing truth – just one more step before they’d be free. He made the necessary changes to his magnum opus, for the final time, and then softly cradled the face of his former best friend. The other hand moved the gun towards his temple, the other’s gaze barely able to focus on what’s happening in front of him.

“It’s alright if you’d like to close your eyes for this.” is what he offered, as his disciples started to proclaim their final “It will be unseen!”.

Their ceremony having reached its final moments.

Today had already proven itself to be a pretty bad day.

For one, Stanford Pines woke up in a comfortable bet. That might not seem bad at a glance, but it was already a source for his confusion. He can’t quite recall the last time he’d slept on anything this soft – but he couldn’t even enjoy these sensations, as he could feel his head throbbing in pain.

A few more slow movements and he managed to get out of bed and to move across the room; A very familiar room. It was just his room. It might look messier than usual, but it shouldn’t feel so unnatural to have stayed and to have slept in his room, right?

He let out a small sigh. He shouldn’t be too worried about the room, instead he should be worried about his ongoing headache. At least he knew that he had some painkillers left around – he had restocked them no too long ago.

As if on autopilot, he started rubbing his right eye, but that in itself didn’t do much against the pain either. Better to go and get those pills then, if he wanted to get anything done this day. A quick glance out of the window also confirmed that it was far beyond the morning hours already. That too, was out of the ordinary, wasn’t it? It should feel like an improvement, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to smile at the thought. It was not like he was feeling well rested.

He moved across the hall and towards the bathroom. He hesitated only for a moment, before entering – the room too looked far too messy; a bundle of dirtied and bloody clothes still strewn around, as well as some bloody bandages that had been thrown there carelessly.

It was far too easy to ignore the pile and move on to the bathroom sink – where he’d placed his first aid kit. Even without looking up, he could see his worn down reflection in the mirror. His exhaustion was far too visible – and Stanford really didn’t want to see it. It didn’t take long for him to find the bottle of pills he’d been looking for. Now he’d just had to leave the room and leave the evidence of exhaustion behind.

He still ended up splashing some water into his face to freshen up, before dry-swallowing some Tylenol, and putting the pill bottle into his pant pocket. Better to keep them with him.

Done with that, he decided it’d be for the best to simply get some coffee into his system. He still had a long day ahead of him, headache or not, so adding some coffee could only help improve his day.

The house was quiet, but it felt somewhat soothing – it was calm, in a way that felt foreign to Ford. It also felt empty.

He reached the ground floor and decided to take the mail with him, he hadn’t actually checked the mail in a while… and it wasn’t like the throbbing in his head could get any worse. He was sure he had missed paying a fair share of invoices as well, so better get that over with…

The track to his mailbox was quick, and Ford couldn’t help but glance around as he grabbed the pile of letters before nearly running back into the house, where he closed the door with its multiple locks without thinking. It still felt safer to stay inside. With the pile in hand, he quickly strode towards the kitchen where he found all the necessary equipment for a sense of normality.

Decent coffee.
He could do that.

The letters were placed on the kitchen table, and he was about to start the brewing process, when he noticed one of the letters being bulkier than the rest.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he stopped what he was doing to take another look. The writing looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

It didn’t take long for him to open it and to find himself confronted with a few pages of scribbles, a few pictures, and a letter written… or at least partially written in code? His gaze lowered towards the signature of the sender. It was signed by… Stanley?

A frown made its way onto his face, and Stanford couldn’t quite explain why, but the letter felt heavier than it had before. Nervously, he started to read – and translate a script that he hadn’t seen in years.

Ford, 

Sorry about all of this. You probably did not expect a letter to reach you this soon – or at all, if we’re completely honest. 
I know we haven’t parted in the best ways – but this has priority. 

There is something weird going on in your town – and it’s not what you mentioned. It’s nothing like that at all. I was about to dip – to do as you’ve told – when I heard them talk about you. 

Really, I would have thought their conversation malarkey if not those recent events. Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree. Maybe you’ve all got it sorted out and I shouldn’t have worried. But I couldn’t just leave you to the wolves. Not …

Anyway. I decided to stay for a bit. Check the scene, as it were – and see why they were so interested in you. I’ve got to say they’ve got their Stalker-stick down well. But I haven’t lived on the street been around places for this long without my own bag of tricks. 

Might have tried a few things to lure them away from you. Might have tried to get some evidence so that you could make a case against them if need be. Whatever. That stuff should be with this letter. 

Now, I do think I’ve had a bit of a breakthrough. I met a guy who seemed to know you – and I admit I had been curious. I’ve seen the guy around some of those stalker types. So I thought he might know more. Really, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to sweep in and see what the whole fuss was about. 

And before you call me a fool. Sure, but I’m just trying to keep my brother safe, you know? This isn’t my first rodeo with a bad crowd – and honestly, I’ve done a lot worse for less. This is the least I can do. 

...Poindexter, if you’re reading this, keep an eye out for this Society. 
I am about to hand this letter to the woman at the front desk of my current motel. Including some money for postage even. She’s supposed to send this if I’m not back by nightfall. 

Stay safe, I don’t want you to get hurt. 

Lo 

Stanley. 

PS. made sure it’s safe before leaving. Don’t worry too much, ok?” 

Stanford felt his grip on the letter weaken, a stinging not just in his right eye, but both of them, becoming more and more present. He turned it quickly to see if there was something else written – but there was nothing. A few wet drops had managed to land on the letter, threatening to smear the few words he had.

There were images of scratched out eyes, names of people that were probably living in Gravity Falls, and an assortment of things about the ‘potentially dangerous Scientist in the woods’.

The letter fell from his hands. His head was still throbbing, but he couldn’t get himself to move. He had no idea how long he stood there, but then he could hear noises from outside.

Why would anyone be here?

The day had started pretty alright, actually.

Stanley had found enough evidence to back up his claims, and he’d prepared the letter to ensure his brother’s safety. The Society of the Blind Eye, a group that had the means to somehow manipulate a person’s mind – to have them forget. A group that seemed far too interested in his brother and his work. (Work which he’d somewhat destroyed, because he’d decided to go against his brother’s wishes out of necessity. He’d ripped the questionable blueprints from Stanford’s journal and burnt that page. A sort of compromise.)

He’d watched the fire, and he felt his shoulder throb with it.

If Ford knew about this, he’d be angry for sure – but considering what Stanley was about to do, he’d assumed that his brother also preferred it those notes would not reach the wrong hands. After that, he’d hidden the journal in the Stanleymobil (inside its dashboard). It might not be the best hiding spot, but the best he could do at this point.

He’d checked the time – he was supposed to meet the guy far too soon. A quick check with the mirror and he’d noticed that he still looked far too tired.

Even with his brother’s help, it’d been rough to treat his newest injury. Add to this his own exhaustion from his journey from New Mexico to Gravity Falls, and his eye bags could rival his brother’s.

He huffed and then moved the hem of Stanford’s sweater. It had been given to him because Ford had felt too guilty about the burnt clothes.

“Just take it, I don’t really wear it much anyway.” Ford had told him before throwing the piece of cloth at him. It was soft, and warm – perfect for those cold winter days. Though, with the glasses that he’d nabbed from Ford’s desk, he had to admit that he sort of looked like a nerd too.

A decent guise to fool a few guys if needed.

He hadn’t wanted to cause too much of a stir – and he wanted to make sure that if they were up to something, that they’d interact with him.
(Ford was busy)
(Protecting his brother was all that he was good for)

…

The day had got worse when his point of contact proved to be the leader of the cult.

…

The day, then, had got even worse than that, when he’d realised that the guy managed to drug him.

...

In Stanley’s opinion, the room he’d found himself in really was too dark.

It was a random thought, but one of the few he was able to grasp as he’s shaking on the floor and trying to make sense of what is happening.

But every was just one step further – he couldn’t quite grasp it. There’s a guy in front of him – he’s seen him before; So many people in this room.

They’re all looking at him (not looking?)

It makes no sense. The guy talking like he knew him; Talking about … about what?

Focus. Focus.

About…

Ford?

He’d known it to be a risk to interact with the group. He’d known that them believing him to be Ford could be a blessing and a curse.

And… and…

He couldn’t see the thing. Everything was hazy.

...risk… protection… Ford. And … something

… something was wrong, but what?

It was so hard to focus. The man was talking again.
(He should have been more suspicious of the guy)

And here he was messing up everything once again. Ford… had given him his sweater after his jacket had burnt. (Stanley had taken the glasses, first as a reminder – and then as a guise)

He could feel his thoughts slowing down. He could feel his hands shake. He could barely see what was happening; Then he felt a hand on his face, and the cold barrel of a gun on his temple.

It wasn’t over.

He could sort of make out a: “It’s alright if you’d like to close your eyes for this.” from the other guy, but that was about it.

They wanted Ford to forget. It’s better if it’s him. They’d think it’s dealt with and leave him be. For a moment, he thinks of a letter; He hopes his brother won’t be too mad.

“What… what will I forget?” he managed to whisper. He was tired, he knew it’d been said before, but even that memory was already too foggy for him to grasp.

“Your brother.”

Oh.
Even in his current state of mind, he realised what that meant. The hand on his hand moved just a bit, wiping away a few tears that he hadn’t noticed amassing throughout.

“Please don’t cry.” said the guy, as if he wasn’t about to cause severe harm, “this is a gift.”

He knew that if he wanted to save himself – he’d have to admit the truth; But if he were to do that, he’d risk Ford. He’d take away the bits of time that he must have bought him. He hoped Ford wouldn’t be too mad at him for having ditched his other ‘mission’.

But if he had the choice between his brother’s life and his own… well.

He closed his eyes and thought of a future that they’d long since left in the past; of the ocean, a boat, and family...

And with a final noisy ‘zap’ Fiddleford erased “Stanley Pines”.

Stanford had moved closer towards the noise, but had refrained from leaving the house itself; His earlier headache now nearly all but forgotten.

He side-eyed the crossbow that was still leaning by the main door. But it was better if he refrained from storming out – he had to assess the situation first; Which was why he moved towards the window instead.

He could only hear one voice so far; 

“A- a- are you sure? T-This d-doesn’t ring any bell at all?” Either the other person was too quiet, or they didn’t provide a verbal answer; However, from the tone of voice from the first person, Stanford already noted the audible distress and worry in that voice. The person was clearly agitated.

He’d reached the window by now, and tried to take a look without being noticed. The other person didn’t even try lowering his voice, as if he wasn’t aware that Stanford could be around and listening.

“This shouldn’t…. no… no no… Why are you? It shouldn’t have been like… what even…”

Just as Ford finally found what he was looking for, he realised that he should have recognised the voice. There he was, his former research partner.

Initially, Stanford had assumed that Fiddleford had returned to his family. Moreover, he had also assumed that his friend would have been able to move on and get out of the near ruin that Ford had caused with his own stupidity. All of these assumptions were discarded as he regarded the form of the taller man: Fiddleford seemed jittery, his leg nervously tapping against the wooden porch that he’d been walking up. The man had also clearly lost some of his hair since their last meeting, and… he was wearing a red robe.

Hmm…
That’s when Ford’s attention shifted and reached the person that Fiddleford had been so focused on. The figure that had remained mostly quiet so far, and had seemed just a bit too out of view from this position.

But as Fiddleford dragged that other person closer to the main door, Ford was able to take a better look at the second man.

For some reason it was the sweater that he’d noticed first, the sweater that he’d given his brother – the simplest form of an apology, and a hopeful promise that they’d reunite at some point in the future. Stanford had known the chances were slim – that handing Stanley his journal like that had been him burning his last bridge (like he’d burnt his brother’s shoulder).

It had been so easy to give away his favourite sweater, to think that it was the least he could do to guarantee his brother wouldn’t freeze; To Imagine that Stanley would at least carry one positive thing with him – and not just a reminder of Ford’s mistakes. And then he hadn’t dared to tell Stanley any of that... And now he saw this figure that was shaped like his brother wear it. The man somehow managed to simultaneously look uncannily like Stanley, while missing most of his fervour and personality. This man looked… empty.

This man that shouldn’t be Stanley was also wearing an old pair of Ford’s glasses. They looked weird on him, it reminded him of their youth when Stanley had occasionally taken Ford’s glasses to trick Ford’s bullies into fighting him instead. This association in combination with the letter he’d just read led to a conclusion that Stanford didn’t want to reach. That couldn’t be it. Why would Stanley even…

“Stanford, you’re worrying me. You don’t remember this place at all?”

Fiddleford. He sounded… scared? Stanford actually didn’t care, instead he moved quickly – why did he think surveillance from afar was the correct idea?

The letter was still replaying itself in Ford’s mind. He’d just read it. The way Stanley had asked him to be careful; The way Stanley had implied that he’d just wanted to ensure that Ford was protected.

… the empty look on the face that was wearing his favourite sweater.

…

Truly, the next steps of action were absolutely logical.

Stanford hastened his steps and quickly unlocked the door, and then he tackled his former research assistant to the ground – the force of it causing the two of them to land on the harsh snow.

Fiddleford, who had neither expected for the door to open in the first place nor to be immediately tackled by an angry man, only managed to let out a surprise shriek before his breath was knocked out from the fall.

The figure in the sweater had remained on the porch, surprised – but also openly intrigued by the sudden change of atmosphere. He couldn’t quite stop a quiet “huh?” from escaping him, but neither person in the snow seemed to have heard him, so that was fine too.

Ford, meanwhile, had no time to think about the effects that his sudden entrance might have had on Stan, because his eyes were filled with untamed fury and directed at the person underneath him.

“FIDDLEFORD” he snarled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

The other just sank further into the snow and while not trying to get out of Ford’s grip, he also clearly did not look into his friend’s eyes. Instead, he’d turned his head and simply chanting a mixture of “oh no”’s and the occasional “you can’t be real, you can’t be here”.

Neither of these comments was able to calm Ford’s fury, instead it just enabled it further. He started to shake Fiddleford roughly, trying to force the other to look eye to eye with him.

“You’re not getting out of this”, he hissed, and then he slapped his former friend’s face. “WAS THAT REAL ENOUGH FOR YOU?”

“Uhm, sorry to interrupt. But… can you maybe… not? Rough-house with the only guy that seems to know who I am supposed to be?”

Ford didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest.

“Sure, I won’t rough-house with “the only guy that seems to know you” – but luckily that does not involve my dear old friend, here. Does it, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket?”

His friend shook his head, still trying to look away from him and instead over to Stanley and occasionally mumbling, but he couldn’t have that.

“FIDDLEFORD!”

The man underneath him finally stilled, but it was clear that he was afraid. Stanford closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he did so, he could hear Stanley move closer.

“Well, he seemed to know me well enough.” his brother grumbled. “Knew my name and all and wanted to help me back onto my feet after… after…?”

Stanford already feared for the worst.

He didn’t want to look at the man wearing Stanley’s face, who was acting so unlike what he imagined him to be; But he also didn’t want to agitate his brother further, who seemed confused enough by this whole situation.

He had to be calm. He had to be rational.

Fiddleford was still looking at him, his eyes wide – as if now unable to actually look away. Ford tried again, this time trying to keep his voice calm, even as he kept his tight grip on the other.

“I am real. This whole situation is very real… and I need to know what you’ve done to my brother.”

He could see Fiddleford mouth the words “your brother” and growing pale, but more importantly Stanley too had looked up, quite surprised. “I have a brother?” before trying to look at Fiddleford. “Why didn’t you tell me that before bringing me here?”

Ford sighed. “It seems like Fiddleford hasn’t said much at all, has he?”

Though, even with the attempted jab at his former friend, the other didn’t react. Instead, he’d started shaking again.

“yer… brother… yer brother… I’d… but…no… I wouldn’t have… ”

The nerve of him, oh Ford was still angry. “Yes, Fiddleford. My brother.” he said through gritted teeth.

And it seemed like all energy had left Fiddleford. His eyes showing pure terror as he turned to the man in the sweater. “Stanley…”

Ford wanted to say more, but it seems like Stanley saw that as a sign as he actually moved close enough to reach towards Stanford. Though, he seemed a bit insecure – as if he feared he’d be tackled next.

“So… uhm, nice to meet you… again? Brother?… Sorry about this, really. According to Fiddleford here I had a bit of a rough day myself and hit my head to hard? Woke up with no memory and he’s been trying to get me up to speed.”

Ford couldn’t breathe. How much….?

“So, nice to meet you Stanley, my name is Stanford Pines – but I guess you knew that… family relation and all…”

Stanford could feel the body under him shrink further into the snow, as Stanley spoke. Ford’s hand itched to punch his former colleague again, but managed to refrain. He shouldn’t scare Stanley off too much.

He needed to understand what happened. He needed to know if this was reversible.

“If I let you up, right now, are you going to run?” he hissed at Fiddleford, and to his immense surprise the other had quickly shaken his head.

Looking more closely, he noted that Fiddleford wasn’t simply nervous or shocked any longer. No, he looked worried and downright terrified… at Stanley.

The grip on the taller man finally loosened. Ford’s hands had fallen to his side. This time, his question was barely louder than a whisper: “What have you done?”

His former colleague turned to face Ford again, but the man’s gaze had now taken on a far away look – one that Stanford actually recognised from moments where the other had felt too overwhelmed.

“I- I- I didn’t know. I thought he was you. And… oh no. That’s… I… no, this was a good thing. It was supposed to be a good day! It was meant to be absolution, freedom… not… not…”

“I am still here, you know.” said Stanley, who sounded like he wasn’t quite sure how to act either. “Rather rude to leave your brother out in the cold, by the way.”

Ford could feel his exhaustion returning, as well as other feelings that he didn’t dare to name.

This was his fault. He’d handed Stanley his sweater, some money, and his journal. He’d told him to take it away, but to travel slowly and to let his shoulder heal. He’d made it so that Stanley stayed in Gravity Falls for longer than he’d ever planned. It was his fault that Stanley had come across those cultists. His fault, because he hadn’t even tried to warn his brother.

And Stanley had to pay the price for his stubbornness once again. “Just like with the brand” an inner voice told him gleefully. Even with the sweater, Stanley must be freezing by now. At least that he could rectify.

“You’re right. Let’s… let’s go inside…. And talk there, like adults.”

And then he removed himself from Fiddleford and waited for the other to get up too. He watched as his former colleague got up too; He didn’t want to give the other a chance to run. However, it seemed like he didn’t have to, because the man made no attempt to leave. Instead, he looked like he’d aged even more within the past ten minutes.

Stanley had already entered the house, probably because he didn’t know any better, but that didn’t matter at this moment. The house was mostly safe by now, so his brother should be fine.

Ford glowered at Fiddleford, and the other shuffled his feet, the robe that had previously looked well-kept now dirtied and slightly ripped from their tussle.

“Stanford…”

“Hmm…?”

“I- I’ll tell you about it. But...but really. I- This… This wasn’t meant to – I mean, I didn’t mean to…” he paused, trying to sort through the words in his mind - but nothing seemed adequate. Fiddleford deflated.

“I’m sorry. I- I really am.”

Stanford listened, but that still wasn’t an answer; but from what he’d seen, he was already imaging the worst. There had been no recognition. None.

He grabbed Fiddleford’s sleeve and pulled him inside the house.

“If you can’t reverse this, then you will be.”

He was angry. Stanford was angry because Fiddleford dared to intervene; he was angry because it was clear that Stanley hadn’t been the intended target; he was angry because he thought that he’d finally had a chance to relax after all that trouble with the Portal… But really, he was angry because if he couldn’t focus on his anger, then he’d only be left with sorrow.