#blaidd writes

“It’s okay. You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years, but he’s family, he’s not gonna bite,” the man told himself. He was standing on the front porch of a large shack or cottage in the woods, snow piling up in large mounds around the building. He had come here after getting a postcard in the mail, the only piece of contact he’d had with his brother aside from those brief phone calls he’d never had the nerve to actually say anything.

With a nervous breath, he reached out and knocked on the door with a mittened hand.

The door burst open, and the man could see his brother’s terrified face in the crack before suddenly getting a faceful of crossbow.

“Who is it! Have you come to steal my eyes?” his brother shouted. Some distant, disconnected part of the man’s mind, the part not overtaken by panic at a freaking crossbow pointed directly at his face, noted how his brother was quite honestly a mess. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, he had huge bags under his eyes, and he was paler than that one time he got a bad case of the flu and was sick for a week. The man took a breath, trying to remain calm.

“Woah, woah, calm down Stanford! It’s me, Stanley, your brother.” he said, confused and alarmed. When, why, did his brother get a crossbow?

Stanford lowered the crossbow, recognition glinting in his eyes. “Ah, come in, come in.”

Stanley walked in but before he could get more than the briefest of glimpses of the inside of his brother’s home, there was a bright light being shined in his eyes.

“Hey- what the heck?” he shoved Stanford away from him, defensive instincts still strong from the crossbow.

“I had to make sure you weren’t--” Stanford paused, glancing around as if he heard something and holding it scrunched up in his fist to his chest in a defensive-looking motion, “It’s, it’s nothing.” That didn’t bode well.

“Uhh, okay. Why did you want me here in the first place?” Stanley asked. He briefly thought about questioning his brother’s state of sanity (he wasn’t sure if it was more a lack of sanity, and he’d never admit it but-- that scared him. What could possibly make his brother act this way?) but figured it would probably get answered anyway, eventually. You don’t just desperately call up your estranged twin brother to your creepy house in the middle of winter after thirteen years for some mysterious reason and also coincidentally be a paranoid wreck losing your sanity. He didn’t dwell on it much, however, since Stanford needed him and he wasn’t going to be distracted by probably inconsequential things.

“...” Stanford glanced around again, as if someone was watching, before he turned the skull of the skeleton (why did he have a human skeleton? Stanford, as far as Stanley knew, wasn’t interested in biology.) to look away from them. “I made a huge mistake and I didn’t know who to trust.”

Trust, huh? Stanley didn’t know how to take that -- that he was his brother’s last resort apparently, or that his brother still trusted him. He hoped it was the latter.

“I- I have to show you something. Something you won’t believe.” Stanford said. Stanley noticed that despite his brother’s… intense paranoia, the huge nerd still couldn’t resist adding dramatic effect, emphasising “believe” and even waving his hand in front of him dramatically.

“Listen, I’ve been all around the world, okay? There’s nothing I won’t understand.” Stanley said. The words felt dry in his mouth, as if he were telling a lie, but he didn’t know why.

He came to regret saying that as soon as his brother led him down into an elevator and into a large, dark, and rather creepy room full of weird, almost futuristic technology. He stared at the gigantic, inverted triangle at the far end of the room, cables as thick as his wrist leading to four disks built into the ground and ceiling in front of the triangle.

“There is nothing about this I understand.” He stated.

Stanford sighed, “It’s a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe, but it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction!” Stanford said, gesturing as he talked. He pulled out a book from his coat, “That’s why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it.”

“There’s only one journal left.” Stanley listened as his brother stepped towards him. He didn’t know where Stanford was going with this, but he’d listen to what his brother wanted, and apparently he wanted Stanley to hold his journal, since he’d just put it in Stanley’s hands.

“You are the only person I can trust to take it.” Stanley looked at the book, taking in the gold-leaf handprint his brother, assumedly, had pasted on. It had the number “1” written in black ink in the middle of the hand, implying there was at least one other book. It also looked surprisingly beat up -- what was Stanford doing? Building science doomsday portals, writing nerd books.

“I have something to ask of you.” Stanford said in a low voice, drawing Stanley’s attention back to his twin. His brother looked him in the eyes. He looked tired and - desperate ? That wasn’t an expression that belonged on his brother. Of course, there were a lot of expressions he’d seen on his brother in the past half-hour at best he’d been with him that he didn’t think belonged on Stanford. He subconsciously opened his mouth slightly in concern.

“Remember our plans, to sail around the world on a boat?” Stanley gaped for the briefest of moments,  not believing what his twin seemed to be implying. He grinned, feeling the most hope he’d felt in a very long time. Was his brother finally offering to go with him on the Stan’o’war, like what they’d dreamed when they were children?

He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up like that.

“Take this book.” Stanford said, firmly. “Get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth!” He gestured wildly for a moment, then turned away from his brother and walked back towards the portal.

“Bury it where no one can find it!” He said over his shoulder at Stanley. He turned back towards the portal and folded his arms behind himself.

Stanley couldn’t believe it. He paused for a moment, just staring at his brother, trying to process what had just been said. His own brother brought his hopes up and then immediately brought them crashing down. Stomping on them and smothering them. He… he wanted nothing to do with Stanley.

He didn’t know why Stanford said all that, but he did know that you don’t… do that. You don’t call up your family for help after years of little to no communication, boost their hopes for reconciliation, only to tell them to get as far away as possible from you. He got mad, irrationally mad, at Stanford. His face grew angry, but he was still very, very hurt. A tiny, quiet part of his mind hidden far back whispered that he really shouldn’t get this mad, he didn’t mean it he didn’t mean to hurt you he’s a mess he probably didn’t realize what he’d been implying when he said that but his fight-or-flight response was tuned to “fight, always, when you’re hurt” and apparently emotional hurt was included.

“That’s it ? You finally want to see me after ten years, and it’s to tell me to get as far away from you as POSSIBLE? ” Stanley shouted. He couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice, probably couldn’t keep it from his face either, but he didn’t care.

Stanford stiffened. He turned back to his brother, holding up his hands in frustration. “Stanley you have no idea what I’m up again-- ”

He cut himself off and stopped, tensing up before slumping forward suddenly. He almost fell flat on his face but he caught himself in time.

Something screamed in the back of Stanley’s mind that something very, very wrong just happened, other than the obvious thing of Stanford almost passing out or something. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he could feel goosebumps prickle up on his arms. He had been about to shout at his brother again, but he stopped before the words left his mouth.

He watched, concerned, as Stanford straightened himself up. The movements looked wrong, somehow, as if he had suddenly become an entirely new person. And that person had no idea how to properly use a body.

Stanley took a step back, but his foot slipped on something and the noise made Stanford jerk his head toward him.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong this is so wrong his instincts screamed, but Stanley wouldn’t, or couldn’t, move it’s the eyes his eyes his eyes aren’t right so he talked instead, falling back to what he always did.

“H-hey Stanford, you feelin’ okay? You look…” unnatural, not yourself, like someone else, what did you do Stanford “unwell. You almost, uh, fell over right there. Out of nowhere.”

A grin formed over Stanford’s face. It was too wide, and looked like someone had just pulled at the edges of his mouth. Stanley took another step back. Everything about this situation was so very wrong.

“Oh, yes I’m feeling great ! I’m a little disappointed in Stanford, though. He honestly believed he could stop me ? HA! That’s hilarious, especially considering he thought hiding his dumb journals would do anything?” Stanford said, fully turning to face Stanley as he monologued.

“Stanford, what-- what has gotten into you? You’re… talking all weird, and you’re referring to yourself in third person, and…” Stanley said, trailing off as Stanford just stood there with his unnaturally wide grin and didn’t react at all to what he was saying. He realized he was holding the journal a little close to himself, almost protective, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would he be protecting the journal from the man who owned it, who created it? He forced himself to relax a little.

“You’re… you’re not doing to hot, are you? You look like you haven’t slept in-- in days, Stanford. Or eaten much. And now you’re acting all funny.” Stanley said, forcing himself to not sound concerned. That got a reaction out of his brother, fortunately.

“Yeah, good ‘ole Sixer here hasn’t been having a great time recently! HAHA! AHAHAHA! I’m HILARIOUS!” He said. Stanley didn’t get what was so funny, but Stanford continued to laugh for an uncomfortable amount of time before he stopped suddenly and looked Stanley dead in the eyes with an unsettlingly serious expression. Stanley froze, like a deer in headlights, or a mouse about to be eaten by a crazed, yellow-eyed tiger. Wait-- yellow eyes? No, his brother has brown eyes. He could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow, slit-pupiled eyes, though, instead of his brother’s normal eyes, but they were gone before he could fully process it. He must have been thinking about that crazy tiger metaphor really hard or something, enough to start seeing things.

“Alright, Mackerel. You obviously have no idea what’s happening, so I’ll give you the quick version and we’ll make a deal, capiche?” Mackerel? What kinda nickname is that ?

“No duh , I have no idea what’s happening! I didn’t even know this place existed, or that you were creating a freaking portal to another dimension or whatever!” Stanley growled.

“Exactly. SO! Sixer called you up here after years of no contact to tell you to go away. Bummer right? I bet you’re really mad.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.” Okay, so there was no way he was talking to his brother. Stanford would literally never say that, especially not in third person. He may do it, but he’d never say it that way. He’d have some probably reasonable excuse with lots of technobabble mixed in, but he didn’t know crap about social skills and wouldn’t even realize how what he was saying could hurt someone. (He was well-meaning but entirely too blunt and forward with many things.) Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t Stanford. Somehow. Stanley would never have believed this before now, but he figured if his brother built a portal to another dimension, he could… whatever this is.

“You’re WELCOME! Anyways~ Sixer wanted to stop me, but we’ve been friends for years now! I just want to party. He thinks that throwing away his fancy research will stop me, but it wont. I hate to admit it, however, but while it may not stop me, per se, it definitely will slow me down.” Stanford, or whoever was in his body, started gesticulating wildly and slowly pacing around Stanley.

“So I was thinking. Why don’t you give me that book there,” He pointed to the journal still held up to Stanley’s chest. “And we can make a deal. That book, and I’ll give you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and help me! Plus, you’ll get to spend time with your brother!”

First worthwhile thing? That little -- no, no! He took a deep breath. He had to stay calm.

“What’s in it for me?” Stanley said.

Stanford looked confused for a moment before grinning conspiratorially.

“Oh, you want more than that, huh? I don’t blame ya. That whole ‘worthwhile thing in your life’ came directly from Sixer here, you know that? Straight outta his mind. I wouldn’t wanna spend time with him either if I were you, HAHA!” Right out Stanford’s mind, huh? Ouch . That hurt, even if this guy was lying.

“So howabout this. I’m still gonna need that book and your help, but in return I’ll give you anything you’ve ever desired, and more! I can pay you handsomely for this, since your help will be extremely beneficial.” Anything. That’s pretty vague. Stanley’s brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“Anything, huh?” He mused, pretending to be genuinely thinking of something he would want instead of frantically thinking up a way to get this guy outta Stanford’s body. This guy was a con, but he was gonna con him back.

“Alright, let’s make a deal then. I’ll help you, and in exchange you’ll give me anything?” He asked, finally.

“Yup! Just… sit tight for one moment, we gotta make this official and to do that, I gotta, change into something else. HAHAHA!” He laughed, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell forward onto his face.

Stanley was about to rush over to help his brother, but he stopped himself. He didn’t like the way this other guy was talking just barely, and… The entire world just turned monochrome and had a slightly eye-straining quality about it. He turned around, feeling something watching him from behind.

“Heya, there, Fez!” said the triangle. The floating, snazzily dressed triangle. Which also had an eye, a single slit-pupiled eye. It looked… kinda cute, like a kid’s show character or something.

“I guess since you’re seeing me as, well, me , I’ll introduce myself! The name’s Bill Cipher, and I’m the guy who’s been in your brother’s body the past few minutes!” The triangle -- Bill -- said. He glowed brighter whenever he vocalized. Huh.

Stanley expected something was up with his brother, but triangular possession wasn’t it. Goes to show how the world loves to mess with ya. Especially today.

“Huh,” He replied, “Figured something was wrong. Guess that explains the whole ‘changing into something else’ joke ya made there.”

“Haha, you’re quick! Well, ready to make the deal?” Bill laughed, literally turning over and spinning.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose. Never made a deal with a talking triangle before.” Stanley held out his hand.

“It’s a deal, then!” Bill held out a thin, black arm with a hand covered in blue flames.

He stopped just before he was going to shake, and the flames went out. Stanley pulled his hand back, confused.

“No, no, no. I can’t do that, Mackerel.” Bill’s voice gained a dangerous edge.

“Wh…” Stanley didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What even was happening?

“You want me to never bother Fordsy again, but you see he’s already made a deal with me! It’ll cancel out the deal, and I just can’t let that happen.”

Oh. Crap.

Bill floated back. “Looks like you weren’t even intending to go along with my plans, were you?”

Crap .

The world jittered back to color, and Bill faded from view. Stanley thought he might have seen him flying back towards Stanford. He looked around frantically, unsure of what to do. Stanford was obviously unconscious and apparently a glowing fancy triangle wanted to do something very bad. Stanley was definitelynot panicking.

He felt around in his pockets for… well, he wasn’t sure why exactly, he just needed to do something , and apparently that was grabbing his lighter. He looked at the lighter, then the journal in his other hand, and realized -- if Bill wanted the journal, it’d be a good thing to get rid of it, right? Then he couldn’t ever use it.

He flicked it on and held it under the book, but before the flame could catch he was tackled from the side and both the journal and the lighter fell out of his hands.

“ Oof- What the-- Stanford ??” He shouted, wheezing. His brother grinned at him and his eyes flashed yellow again, filling Stanley with dread as he realized who was really there.

“Oh, SH--” Bill punched him right in the mouth, then scrambled over to the journal.

Stanley dived at the book, landing on top of it to stop Bill from grabbing it. Bill frowned (but with a lot more teeth showing than normal) and grabbed Stanley around the middle, heaving him off of the journal.

“HAHA! Wow, human bodies sure are neat! I am in physical agony from doing that -- I don’t think muscles are meant to be pushed that far haha -- and it sure is hilarious! Also, you’re fat.” Bill laughed, almost shrieking. He picked up the book.

Stanley lunged at bill, grabbing the book. The wrestled over it, carelessly knocking over things in their fight, only focused on each other. He finally managed to knock Bill over, giving himself leverage as he pulled up on the book with his entire body, but Bill would not let go and wasn’t deterred by pain or limits.

“Get out of my brother’s body, you isosceles monster! You’re the reason he’s like this, aren’t you!”

“Yeah, I am! And you know what else? I know his thoughts! I know what he thinks about you -- he hates you! He only asked you for help because the one other person in his life went insane trying to forget what he saw! Every time he thinks of you, you know what words go through his head?”

No, no, he didn’t want to know. He really didn’t want to know--

“Worthless! Knucklehead! Ignoramus! Selfish! Idiot! Traitor !” Bill shrieked giddily. “And if he catches himself thinking fondly of you, HE REMEMBERS HOW MUCH HE HATES YOU!”

Stanley couldn’t help but loosen his grip ever-so-slightly, then. Not because of the things Bill said Stanford thought about him, goodness knows he’s thought the same about himself, but because Stanford still had fond memories of him. Bill just let slip that Stanford doesn’t totally hate him. That… He’d probably not believe it in any other situation but this guy obviously didn’t know crap about how humans worked, nevermind their emotions.

Bill grinned. Stanley stared, confused why he stopped struggling over the book, before he felt a boot on his chest and a burning against his back.

He screamed. It was agony. All perception of everything became muted, dull, drowned out by the pain. He thought -- though thinking implies he had formed logical thought when it was more of a feeling, a recognition, than a thought. He was in too much pain to actually form thoughts forming actual sentences -- faintly to himself that burns didn’t hurt this bad, he’s had ‘em before…

STANLEY!

That sounded like… No, he’d been imagining things. He opened his eyes he didn’t realize he closed and saw Bill laughing as he held his foot against Stanley, keeping him against the burning, searing heat. Stanley lashed out desperately and managed to knock Bill’s boot off his chest. He leaned forward, gasping for air he didn’t realize he needed. He curled up, there on the spot, shaking and whimpering from the pain on his shoulder. He almost forgot entirely about Bill when he felt a familiar six-fingered hand grab him by his arm and yank him upwards. He was faced to stare directly into the unsettling slit-pupiled eyes of his possessed brother. One of them was dripping blood.

“HA! He’s crying. Talk about weak , huh? It’s just a little burn, Fezzy!” Bill forced Stanley to turn around so he could see the burn. “Oh, dang! That’s a lot worse than I thought, whoops! Haha, sucks for you, I guess.”

He dropped Stanley at that, then completely ignored him. Bill walked over and picked up the journal, laughing to himself. Stanley growled quietly. As if one burn -- an admittedly agonizing one, but the pain was fading to something more normal for a burn that size. It still felt horrible, but at least he could think through the pain -- as if one burn would be enough to down Stan Pines for long. He stood up, keeping one hand on his own shoulder, and tackled the journal out of a surprised Bill’s grip.

“AAH! What?” Bill said, tripping into the portal room. “Wow, looks like you’re in better shape than I thought! Whoops again!”

“Stay… Out…” Stanley said in a low voice. Well, he was meaning to say something more witty or eloquent but he’d take what he could get. Or say. Hey, was the portal a lot more blue and glow-y than it was before?

“No can do, bud! I made a deal, remember? And I’m not going back on having a free puppet any time soon.” Bill said, still smiling. There was an edge in his tone, but Stanley couldn’t tell what exactly it was. He stepped forward.

Bill took a step back.

Stanley stopped, surprised, but then grinned. Bill was scared of him, now. Wasn’t sure why, but he was definitely gonna use this to his advantage. One of the first things he learned on his own was to never show weakness, because if you do you’ll get picked to pieces before you even realized it. Another thing he learned, as a conman, was to use other’s weaknesses to your advantage.

“Stay. Out .” He said, more insistent this time, taking another step forward. Bill backed up more.

“Now, see Fez, maybe we can work something out. You’re made of a lot tougher stuff than I thought--” No, that’s not how it goes. Insulting the people you’re trying to calm down, even unintentionally, was never a good idea. “-- since that marking there sure wasn’t normal and yet here you are, still walking around fine and dandy! Let’s say we talk things out for a sec, eh? Besides, it’s not like you’d actually, haha, hurt this body, right?”

Maybe not. But then again, he might. He’d do almost anything to get that obnoxious shape outta his brothers mind, short of fatally or seriously harming him.

He stepped forward more, and Bill stepped back, not realizing he’d passed a barely-visible line on the ground. He began to float upward. Stanley couldn’t do anything but stare as his brother began to float towards the portal.

“Woah! Uh, oh, don’t wanna go back in there quite yet. Better ditch this body, huh Sixer?” Bill said as he slowly floated towards the bright portal, before going limp in the air.

Stanley reached his breaking point, then. Well, more a general, every brain function has now stopped point. One could only handle a small amount of strange and world-changing events in a day, after all, and Stanley was well past that point already. He stared, uncomprehending, as his brother -- his actual brother , his Stanford -- flinched awake, looking around in a panic before zeroing in on his brother.

“Stanley, Stanley, help! Do something!” Stanford shouted desperately. Stanley started, eyes going wide as he finally understood what was happening.

“Wh.. What do I do? Oh, no!” He couldn’t think, he just couldn’t pull enough brainpower to think through what he needed to do in time no matter how desperately he scrambled in his own mind, he was just in too much pain and shock.

“Stan-- Help!” Stanford was beginning to pass the glowing threshold of the portal, the ends of his coat disappearing as if they had just passed through a physical barrier.

“Oh, no oh no ohnoohno! This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Stanley looked desperately around him, finally managing to wrench his gaze away from his brother, but there was nothing near him he could see that could help. He looked back up at Stanford. He was almost completely sucked through.

“STANLEY!”

A glaring burst of white-blue light filled the room and a force (an explosion?) shoved Stanley away from the portal and knocked him onto the ground, unconscious.

He woke up only a moment later, a faint light still shining on the edges of the portal. He ran up to it, pounding desperately on the metal and shouting for his brother, but to no avail. After a while he tired himself out. He finally stopped and curled up on the ground, everything that happened and the reality of the situation finally crashing down over him and escaped through form of tears.

Stan watched his young employee work on fixing yet another broken thing in the Shack as he closed up for the day. The boy had been looking particularly down in the dumps that day, and if Stan was correct it was the same day the year before Soos was this way as well. It also happened to be the kid’s birthday -- which he knew because he actually hired the kid legally for once, and to do so he had to know his birthday. Apparently. There was a surprisingly large amount of paperwork when it came to hiring people which he wouldn’t normally do, but this kid was entirely too innocent and young for Stan to have the heart to not hire him legally (eventually). It would look good on the kid’s resume, or somethin’.

He didn’t blame the kid for not liking birthdays; goodness knows he would rather spend his own with his other half than on his own as he was now. But whenever Stan tried to bring up why Soos didn’t like his birthday, the boy only got more gloomy and quiet, and whenever Stan tried to celebrate the birthday in an attempt to lighten the mood, Soos practically outright avoided him. Stan would never admit it, but that hurt, and he wanted more than anything (well, almost anything) to be able to cheer the kid up at least a little bit.

His mind wandered to a few days ago, when Soos had come into work looking like he had gotten into a fistfight with a bunch of gnomes. Which he did, apparently. Stan insisted Soos tell him what had happened, and after an initial conversation of “I don’t know if you’ll believe me” and “Trust me kid, I’ve seen some weird stuff”, the boy finally admitted he had been ganged up on by a bunch of tiny men who had proceeded to steal his peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had intended to eat for lunch that day.

By the looks of it, Stan figured the boy didn’t, or wasn’t able to, fight back. He cleaned Soos up and told him to get something out of the fridge in the kitchen, then had a serious talk with the gnomes that lived in the woods. After that, Stan hoped there would be no more occurence with gnomes and Soos, but that didn’t change the fact that Soos didn’t know how to defend himself.

If he had anything to do with it, that my just change here soon. Wait, what? Apparently he was gonna teach the kid to fight, now. That wouldn’t look good on his reputation as the uncaring and money-loving boss, but he couldn’t just… let the kid get beat up because he couldn’t defend himself.

“Hey, Soos,” The words were out of Stan’s mouth before he realized what he was saying.

Soos looked up, surprised. He gently set down the tools he had been using, then turned to face Stan.

“Yes, Mr. Pines?” he asked. His voice didn’t give away any emotion, which was very odd for the kid. Stan drummed his fingers on the counter next to him in a quick rhythm.

“I, uh… Kid, stop workin’ on that thing, I gotta talk to ya about somethin’.” Wow, that was vague. Stan mentally kicked himself; he probably just confused the kid instead of… well, whatever he had intended to convey when he started talking.

Fortunately, the kid just gave him a curious glance before cleaning up his tools. Stan smiled the tiniest bit as he thought about how much the kid has taught himself. When Stan first hired him, it had been on a whim and only because the kid was holding a screwdriver. Turned out, Soos didn’t know know anything about being a handyman but he picked up on things incredibly quick. Stan thought briefly about firing him the first few days, but that idea had been thrown out the window once he realized how smart the kid was.

Soos finished cleaning up and walked up to Stan, pulling the old man out of his reminiscing. He looked up at Stan with an unreadable expression on his face. Stan realized how bad his statement could have been taken.

“Kid, it ain’t anythin’ bad.”

Soos relaxed, shoulders dropping as he released tension Stan didn’t notice the kid even had. He really needed to get better at reading body language, at least body language that wasn’t aggressive. Stan reached up and scratched the back of his head, pondering how to say what he had in mind next.

“So, Kid. Ya know how to fight?” He finally settled on saying. Which apparently wasn’t the best thing to say, as Soos’s mood seemed to worsen.

“No, Mr. Pines. I don’t want to hurt other people, you know, dude?” The boy said quietly, not looking at Stan’s face directly. Stan grimaced at his own choice of words.

“Nah, Kid, I didn’t mean it like that. Ya never know when you’ll need to defend yourself, like with the gnomes. Knowing a little bit of the basics of fighting isn’t a bad thing, as long as ya don’t go pickin’ fights.” Not that Stan was the best person to be telling the kid this, since he got in his own fair share of fights that could have definitely been avoided when he was younger. But knowing how to fight was useful, especially when, say, you were being cornered by people who really didn’t like you because you may or may not have conned them real good.

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.” Soos said. He still sounded entirely too mopey.

“Hey, what’s with the long face, Kid? Where’s your usual happy schtick?” Stan asked as he leaned down to look the kid in the eyes. That was gonna ache on his back later, he could tell, but right now it didn’t matter.

“It’s nothing… Sorry, dude.” He said after a moment. He looked away from Stan again, to a different part of the room.

Stan frowned. Normally, kids weren’t this mopey on birthdays. Stan had his own reasons for maybe not liking his birthday, but this was something different entirely.

“Alright kid, spill. What’s got ya down so much?” Stan said, before he quickly realized that made it sound like he, of all things, cared about the kid, “I, uh, can’t have ya moping around the shack like that, customers like happy faces.” There, better.

Soos gave him a thin smile, easily seeing through Stan’s weak attempt at hiding the fact that he cared about Soos. His smile dropped just as quick as it came as the kid thought over what Stan had asked of him.

“It’s nothing, dawg. Just…” He trailed off, usure what to say next.

“C’mon kid, nobody’s this sad on their birthday for no reason.”

At the mention of his birthday, Soos’s expression crumbled and he went silent. Stan rubbed his chin, processing the kid’s reaction and trying to puzzle out what he could do to cheer him up.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it. I get it. Howabout I teach ya how to defend yourself, like we were talkin’ just a second ago, eh?” Stan offered. Soos looked back up at him.

“Really?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. Stan couldn’t tell if he was asking about when Stan accepted the fact the kid didn’t want to talk about his birthday or the fact that Stan was offering to teach him how to fight.

“Really. Now, lemme see ya make a fist.”

“R-right now? It’s still during work, dawg!” Soos said. His voice was much more animated now. Stan smiled to himself.

“Yeah, right now. It may be during work hours but I’m your boss, remember?” Stan teased, tousling the kid’s hair almost subconsciously as he talked. Soos smiled, laughed even, at Stan’s words (or the hair thing).

“That’s true.”

Stan frowned seriously. “Now, kid, lemme see that fist.”

Soos complied to his request, making a fist with his right hand.

“Now, here we go kid. First thing ya need to know is that ya don’t put your thumb on the inside of your fist, ya put it on the outside, like this,” Stan made a fist with his own hand, showing Soos, “If ya don’t do that, It’ll hurt like h-heck when ya punch somethin’.”

Soos adjusted his thumb and smiled as Stan gave an approving nod.

“Now, let’s work on your stance. Ya want a good stance when ya punch, to get as much power as possible,” Stan continued.

Stan Pines had a choice. After recovering his home, and the second Journal, from that Gideon kid, his two great-niblings decided to show him something. The third Journal. Apparently, Dipper had found it at the beginning of summer. Heh, no wonder the kid kept on trying to find all the supernatural stuff with the town, that darn book.

The book he’d been searching for, for some thirty years. He was in shock by how suddenly not one, but both other Journals all but came into his possession. He contemplated what to say, turning pages in the book one by one as the twins watched until he came across a familiar blueprint.

Stan Pines had a choice. He could go the easy route, by lying to the kids and taking the book, playing it off as nonsense and inspiration. Or, he could tell them the truth. He could tell them he’d been lying about the supernatural, about everything. He could even pretend to believe them, keep up the ruse that he had no idea about anything supernatural in town, but with this evidence he might believe the kids.

Stan Pines made a choice. In one reality, he laughed it off, saying things about “spookums and monsters” and this book putting nonsense into the kids’ heads before going downstairs with all three journals finally in his possession. But here, in this reality, he made a different choice.

After a long pause, he slowly closed the journal, taking a long look at the six-fingered hand on the cover before turning his head towards the twins. Eye contact was suddenly a lot harder, the inquisitive looks the twins were giving him were much too innocent. And they might just change to something a lot less innocent, something much harder to look at once he admitted what he had done. He almost backed out at that thought, but he pushed forward. He’d been too silent for too long to play it off as nothing.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked, slowly. Stan looked back down to the book in his hands, letting out one final, world-weary, sigh before looking back up at each twin in turn.

“Kids, I, uh. I’ve been lying to you guys, I’m sorry.” He admitted. Dipper’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“What are you talking about, Grunkle Stan?” He asked. Stan could clearly hear the confusion in his tone, mixed with a little but of what seemed like anger.

“Look, I… I know about all this weirdness. I lied to you guys ‘cause I thought I could protect you from it.” Stan said, looking away and back down at the journal and into his reflection on the gold leaf, “Heh, looks like I couldn’t stop ya from messin’ with all this town’s weirdness, could I?”

“Wait, what?” Mabel said, after a tense silence. Stan didn’t dare even look at Dipper’s face. “So you’re saying…”

She trailed off, not finishing her thought completely. Stan tapped his foot impatiently, anxious as to what she was going to say, if she’d still like him or if they’d hate him now that he admitted to lying to them.

“Look kid, if ya hate m--” He was interrupted by a loud, high-pitched squeal coming from around the same area as his niece. “AAH! What the heck?”

“Ohmygosh Grunkle Stan, you weird old man! You really do care about us! And you’ve been trying to protect us in your own weird old man ways! Eeeee!” Mabel said, jumping at him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Woah, woah, Mabel! I haven’t even told ya everything, slow down a minute.” He said, setting down the journal and peeling Mabel off of himself. He looked over at Dipper, but the kid’s expression was unreadable.

“Everything? What do you mean by that?” Mabel asked, tilting her head to the side. Dipper gave him an inquisitive look, but fortunately it didn’t seem like he was too angry.

Stan looked around the room, trying to think of what to say next. “It, uh. It’s complicated…”

“I think… It might be better to show you guys.” He said after a moment. He was surprised the kids were being so patient with him, but he figured they could tell how hard this was for him to say. They were two of the sweetest kids he’d met, and quite mature and understanding for their age sometimes. He slowly stood up, grabbing the journal and tucking it into his jacket as he did so, and motioned to the twins to follow him. Dipper finally took the opportunity to talk, supposedly having finally taken in this new information and thoroughly thought it through.

“Grunkle Stan, I think… I get why you lied to us, a little bit, but I’m still kinda angry about it.” He said, slowly. Oh, good, the kid still wasn’t angry enough to not call him “grunkle” anymore. That was relieving, but there was still a lot that the kid was going to learn that might change that.

“Nah, Kid. I’d be angry too.” He admitted. “C’mere, you two. You guys deserve to see this.” He led them out of the attic and down into the gift shop. They all stood in front of the vending machine, Stan hesitating once again as he tried to think of what to say.

“The vending machine? Grunkle Stan, I hate to break this to you but we’ve seen this like, every time we’ve been in the gift shop.” Mabel said, incredulously.

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan, I thought you wanted to show us something important.” Dipper echoed.

Stan smiled at the two kids slightly, before turning back towards the vending machine. “Actually, kids, you may want to take that back.” he said as he inputted the code into the keypad. He stepped back, pulling the twins back as well so they wouldn’t get hit, as the machine let out a hiss of air and swung away from the wall. He looked straight ahead, trying his hardest to not let himself see the kids’ faces.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mabel begin to bounce excitedly and Dipper put his hand up to his chin in deep thought. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at that. They really were some great kids, and smart too, he wouldn’t blame them if they hated him after this.

“Oh, so that’s why it’s been out-of-order this entire summer!” Mabel shouted, suddenly motionless before bouncing even more excitedly. Stan looked over at her in surprise. Out of all the reactions he had been expecting, this was not one of them.

“Eh?”

“I’ve always wondered why nobody’s fixed it, but I get it now!” she said, looking up to Stan with stars in her eyes, “Nobody pays attention to an out-of-order vending machine, nevermind suspects it would be a secret door!”

She stilled, expression settling into something more serious. “Though… why do you have a secret door behind the vending machine?” She asked.

“Yeah, and where’s it lead?” Dipper asked. Whatever he had felt that had made him upset at Stan was gone, completely overrun by curiosity.

Stan looked away, an arm reaching up to scratch the back of his head.

“Well, uh, y’see... that’s the hard part. Just, don’t come to any conclusions until I’m done tellin’ ya everythin’, okay?” He asked, looking at Mabel and then Dipper. They both nodded, giving each other uncertain looks.

He reached out and gently took each twin by the hand, leading them down the stairs and into the elevator.

“Wooah, what is this place? Grunkle Stan, you didn’t tell us about a secret basement!” Dipper said, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes. Stan ruffled his hair.

“It wouldn’t be secret if I told ya, now, would it?” he said, light-heartedly. Dipper smiled at that.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” he admitted.

Mabel squeaked in surprise as the elevator stopped with a jerk and a loud groan.

“This elevator sure has character!” she said, nervously. “It’s not gonna break, is it? It’s like. A million years old! I guess that would be fun though.” she laughed. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Nah, ya gremlin. It’s been workin’ fine for some thirty years, it’s not gonna break anytime soon.”

The doors opened with a swoosh, creaking only a little bit, to reveal a long room filled with blinking lights and machines. The twins were silent as he led them towards the the end of the room. He pulled out the third journal and set it down on this desk below the observation window, setting it in clear sight before turning back towards the two kids.

“That Journal, I’ve been looking for it for some thirty years.” he admitted. Dipper nodded, a pen in his hand and notebook out that Stan hadn’t noticed he’d grabbed.

“And, uh, when that little goblin-boy Gideon was arrested, I found this.” He pulled out the second Journal and held it up for the twins to see.

“So he had it! That’s why he was so interested in my journal.” Dipper said, chewing on the tip of his pen as he thought.

“But why’d we have to come down here, in this creepy cool scifi basement, for you to show us that?” Mabel asked. Stan, after a moment of contemplation, pulled out the rolling chair and sat down in it with a sigh.

“Alright, kiddos, I’m gonna tell you two a story, and you’re gonna wanna sit down for this.” he said. The twins promptly did so, Mabel just plopping down on the spot while Dipper more sensibly found a box and pulled it over to sit on. They looked up at Stan with expectant expressions. Stan was surprised they’ve listened to him for so long; he supposed their natural curiosity kept them from getting angry and storming away or whatever kids do.

“Well then, where do I start…” Stan mused.

“Start with what the heck this place is!” Mabel interrupted. She leaned forward and rested her chin on Stan’s knee, putting on her best puppy-dog face.

“Yeesh kiddo, you know I can’t say no to that face,” he replied, and Dipper laughed at his sister’s antics. Stan shook his head.

“No, if I start with that you’ll only end up more confused. Howabout… let’s go to a lifetime ago, when I was just a kid like you two.” Stan said, looking off into the distance as he gathered his thoughts. He might have heard Mabel whisper to Dipper something about it being “a million years ago”, but he was too caught up in his own memory to correct her. He stopped himself from continuing, however, as he realized something that would be rather important for the kids to know. He looked back at them, putting a hand on his knee and leaning forward.

“You know, I had a twin just like you two?”

“Wait, what?” Mabel gasped dramatically, almost shouting. She paused, a look a realization crossing her face as she fully comprehended what Stan had just said. “Wait, WHAT? ”

“Hah! Yep, my twin brother. Not to be confused with your Grandpa, Shermie.” Stan laughed. Dipper nodded wisely before adopting a serious expression, a mixture of emotions crossing his face for a moment.

“Okay… how do we know you’re not making this up?” he asked, “I mean, we’ve never heard of a ‘twin brother’ before, how do we know you’re not gonna, I don’t know, pin the blame on ‘him’?” His voice began to rise, curiosity giving way to frustration.

Stan nodded and turned around instead of saying anything, pulling an aged piece of paper out of the cubby on the desk. He handed it to Dipper, letting the kid see for himself.

“Figured you’d say that. In fact, I was kinda wonderin’ where your usual suspicion was, to be honest.”

Dipper frowned, then showed the picture to Mabel. It depicted what looked like a young Stan with his arm around another, skinnier version of himself. They both were wearing boxing gloves and shorts, and no shirt on either one. The one that was obviously Stan had his hair slicked back, and the other was wearing glasses.

“That’s my twin brother. I get why ya don’t believe me quite yet, but it’ll all make sense when I’m done.” Stan explained. He really didn’t blame Dipper for getting frustrated, honestly he was just relieved the kid wasn’t taking all this any worse.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Grunkle Stan. ” Dipper said, tone accusatory. Mabel nodded along with his words, trying to put her most serious expression on. It didn’t really fit her.

“Okay, okay. Where were we? Oh, right, a lifetime ago…” Stan said, trailing off once again. He took a deep breath before launching into his story. He divulged the most important but basic details of his childhood, from how he and his brother would spend almost every waking moment together to their regular tormenting bullies. He told them about his brother’s birth defect, six fingers on each hand, and Dipper got a funny expression on his face, as if he thought he might have figured something out but wasn’t sure about it and didn’t know if it was actually true.

He told them about the Stan O’ War, how they found it when they were even younger than Dipper and Mabel, and how it became their own special pet project that they worked on through their adolescence and teenage years. A bittersweet smile formed on his face as he talked. The Stan O’ War had been one of his biggest and brightest dreams, but that dream had ended in a horrible way.

He told them how, as they grew up, his brother became more and more interested in school and college, until one day… one day, his brother’s science fair project was so amazing, so promising, that the admissions team from one of the biggest colleges in tech were personally coming from the other side of the country to see it. Stan hadn’t wanted his brother to leave him, since he knew there was no chance in heck he was going to the same place his brother was; his principal was right when he said Stan would be lucky if he even graduated high school.

He told them how with one dumb mistake he was kicked out of house and home, eliciting a whine of sadness from Mabel, a mistake that could have easily been prevented by any number of ways. He had been walking through the empty school and caught sight of his brother’s project, slamming the table in a fit of who-knows-what (rage? jealousy? fear?). He honestly thought the machine was fine, and didn’t want to bother his brother the night before his presentation (in reality, he was probably more afraid his brother would react negatively. Sometimes, the irony of that makes him laugh, a bitter, humorless laugh.).

He told them how his brother was upset, understandably enough, and Stan just had to try and cheer his brother up in just about the worst way possible. When he was just a teen, he hadn’t realized why his brother had gotten so upset, but years of contemplating on that night led him to conclude that it really was all his fault, even if he was too prideful to admit it.

He told them how he went on to travel the country (and sometimes outside of it), eventually ending up swindling people out of their money as a traveling salesman. He omitted the darker parts of those years, when he got in more than his fair share of trouble with all manner of deadly criminals, when he spent time in jail, when he felt like anything was better than living, when he lived out of just his car. Those years blended together into one long, painful, period of growth for him, as a person.

He told them how, after years of no contact at all, his brother sent him a postcard out of the blue with only the words “PLEASE COME” written on it. From what little he knew, his brother had managed to graduate from college, though not the one he wanted, with a Phd and a grant, and had gone off somewhere to do research. This postcard, which looked to be frantically written, was nothing close to what he had expected. He didn’t know what to think. Despite that, he left to Gravity Falls, Oregon, practically dropping everything (though there wasn’t much to drop) at the request of his brother.

He told them about the fight between he and his brother; his brother had greeted him at the door as a disheveled, paranoid mess with a crossbow pointed at Stan’s face, then said Stan was the only person he could trust. He showed him some weird scifi nonsense, then asked him to take his dumb book and get as far away from him as possible. His brother brought up their childhood dream, only to tell Stan to leave. Stan had been upset, but there was no reason for him to threaten to burn his brother’s book, which eventually led to a full-blown fight between the two, both wrestling for the book.

He told them how he got burned, how he wasn’t thinking as he shoved the book into his brother’s chest and sent him floating up towards the portal. How his brother had quickly been enveloped by the portal while Stan could do nothing but watch. How he could not sleep, for nights and nights after the incident. He spent the vast majority of his time down in the basement, trying anything and everything to get his brother back.

He told them how eventually, his brother’s food supply ran out and he had to go into town. They mistook him for his brother, and he had no choice but to make them believe it. He had to take his brother’s identity and ended up turning the house into a tourist trap to pay for the mortgage and repairs to the portal. He told them how his name was actually Stanley, not Stanford, that he’d been lying to everyone about everything, and how sorry he was but not really sorry, since this was all for his brother.

About how everything he worked for, everything he cared about, was for his family.

When he finished, he could only wait patiently for the kids to fully process what he told them. He wanted desperately a reaction out of them, any kind of reaction be it good or bad, but he knew that they needed time to sort everything out in their heads. They had identical shocked expressions on their faces. He rolled the chair back and swung his legs slightly, looking around for something to distract him from his thoughts.

“...” Mabel opened her mouth as if to talk, but closed it after a moment, seemingly trying to take in too much information to talk. It would have been better if his brother were here, telling the story alongside Stan.

“Wow, kiddo, didn’t know you could be at a loss of words, heh, you’ve always got somethin’ to say.” Stan said, nervously. He cursed at himself inwardly. He didn’t need the approval of a couple of kids, but he cared way too much for them to not like him anymore. Not that he’d blame them, of course, but he’d feel terrible if they hated him. The framed picture of the two sitting on the desk behind him attested to how much they mattered to him.

The silence stretched on, becoming almost tangible as it thickened with Stan’s tension. It was Dipper who finally spoke, breaking through the viscous atmosphere.

“So… it was your brother who wrote the Journals?” he asked, getting more excited and loud as he talked, unintentionally easing the mood. Stan smiled, glad that finally one of the kids said something, though he hadn’t been expecting that particular question.

“Uh, yep. He wrote all three of ‘em.” he reached behind him and pulled out the first journal, showing them the “Property of Stanford Pines” slip on one of the first pages. Mabel finally vocalized something as she read it.

“Augh! This story is so sad, Grunkle Stan!” she cried, suddenly moving forward. She jumped into his lap and snuggled into a ball, looking up at him with watery, but determined, eyes. “We need to get your brother back, ASAP.”

“Yeah!” Dipper affirmed. He looked at the journal in his hands almost reverently, but walked forward and placed it on the desk behind Stan.

“There was some sorta blueprint thing in my journal, I bet that was for this portal, and I bet these other two journals have the rest of the blueprints.” he said, flipping all three open and confirming his suspicions as he found the pages. Stan’s eyes went wide and he spun around, propping up the journals as he began to input the code he’d need.

Before his eyes and against all odds, lights began to switch on as the portal started up in front of them. He stood up quickly, almost unconsciously tucking his niece under his arm and ignoring the fact that he sent his chair flying out behind him, and ran to the door leading to the portal room. Dipper pressed a button and the door slid open, more lights switching on as the trio walked into the large room.

“Woaah, it’s working!” Mabel said. Stan grunted in reply. He couldn’t have said it better. He should have probably set her down before now, too.

But that didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered now was that he was so much closer to finally

finally getting his brother back.

After all these years.

He didn’t care what would happen next, he just knew that

nothing would get in his way

And no one would be able to stop them from getting his brother back.

Even if it meant the end of the world.