#scampfires

You don't want to think about that question too hard, but luckily Stan has backed into the log circle, forcing you back to the present. "Hey, aim that flashlight over here," he says. You point it towards him, and he throws you a mischievous look over his shoulder. "Enjoy the view," he says, then squats down to arrange more marshmallows on the ground.

Well. Those jeans looked pretty dang good on him.

"Yes sir!" you tell him, and he laughs, then lets out a sharp sound. "Stan, are you OK?" you stand up, worried.

"Just... just need a little help up," he says through gritted teeth, and you hold back a laugh as you race to help him.

He waves you off when he has halfway straightened out, and the two of you walk back to the log. Stan takes back the flashlight and turns it off, and in a few moments all you can see are the stars and the silhouettes of the trees against the moonlight.

"Now what?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"Shhh," Stan says. "They're a little skittish around newcomers. They love comin' up to me though. They're like feral cats," he says.

Before you can ask what he's talking about, you notice a glow coming out of the woods. It's close to the ground, and your imagination runs wild. A gnome? A fairy? Some sort of land version of those freaky fish that live at the bottom of the ocean and have those lure lights?

It comes closer, and you grab Stan's arm in fear.

But Stan just chuckles, and says. "Don' worry. I gotcha."

You look up at him, able to see his features in the moonlight, and the tightness in your chest eases at his grin.

You turn back to watch the glow, and soon...

A little fire is slowly walking up to you, using tiny little logs as legs for a body made out of pure flame. It toddles over to the next marshmallow in line, bending over so the flames can devour it, then straightens up again until it catches... sight of? smell of?... the next marshmallow, and starts again.

"Oh Stan," you breathe in fascination.

"You like that, huh?" Stan asks, and you can hear the pride in his voice. The two of you watch as the little fire makes its way towards you, finally settling down in the middle of the log circle to munch on the pile of marshmallows Stan left there. He nudges you, and you manage to tear your eyes away from the walking fire to see he's holding a marshmallow skewer, preloaded with two marshmallows. "One for you, one for him. When he burns up his, it's time to take yours out."

You take the skewer, shaking your head in awe. "This is really amazing, Stan," you say, looking up into his big brown eyes sparkling in the firelight. Despite the magical, living fire in front of you, you don't want to break his gaze...

A cry in the night like nothing you've ever heard before rings out from the woods, and you are so startled you drop your skewer and bury your face in Stan's chest, arms around his torso as you think of the awful things that could be out there. He immediately wraps his own arms around you, keeping you close. "Hey, it's OK," he murmurs. "If the little fire's not scared, we're fine," He lets you go, and you slowly and- yes, a little reluctantly- move out of his arms.

But before you can move back too much, he gently takes your chin and tilts it up so you are looking directly into his eyes. "Listen, babe," he says in a low voice. "You're safe with me, OK?"

You can't help but give him a soft smile. "OK," you say. You comfortably stay there for a few heartbeats, and then, as naturally as taking a breath, you move a few inches to give him a kiss. Stan immediately returns it, and turns the kiss into something long and slow.

You don't get any toasted marshmallows that night, but you don't mind.

He headed for the kitchen and cracked two eggs into the frying pan, then reached for the knob of the stovetop burner. He probably should’ve suspected something when it was already warm to the touch — if not even before, when he’d smelled the scent of burning wood wafting through the room — but as he turned the knob, the burner erupted into a giant column of orange flames that sent the frying pan flying and splattered crispy-around-the-edges eggs all over the wall.

“Fuck!” Stan shouted, narrowly avoiding a faceful of flames — but before he could even make a mad dash for the attic and carry the kids out of what he was sure would soon become a burning and crumbling house, the fire spluttered out, leaving only a few char marks on the ceiling. One degree at a time, Stan turned the knob back into the off position, and though it still felt warmer than it should, there were no explosions this time.

“Okay, that’s fucking weird. How the hell —” Stan muttered to himself while slowly backing away, only to be interrupted by the stove making a sound that could almost be mistaken for a burp.

“And that’s even weirder!” Pulling an oven mitt onto one hand and wielding a bowl of water in the other, Stan approached the stove once again, this time resting a hand on the handle to the oven door. “Let’s see what’s going on in there…”

A ball of sizzling orange flame sprung out, nearly stomping on Stan’s toes with its limbs made of lumber. It shook its head back and forth like a wet dog, sending ash and kindling spraying across the kitchen floor, then bounded towards Stan, who’d backed up so quickly that he’d ran into the opposite wall of the room.

“Hey, watch it!” Without meaning to, Stan spilled some of the water from the bowl he’d filled at the sink, and the fire recoiled. With streams of ash falling from its flickering eyes, it looked genuinely betrayed, and Stan couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained, putting on his calmest ‘talking to animals’ voice. “I’m guessing the smell of those chocolate cupcakes I baked in there yesterday drew you in or something and you got trapped there all night, ‘cause I’ve ran into little guys like you out in the woods before and you’re usually not so high-strung. You just gave me a scare, that’s all.”

The fire made a noise somewhere in between a hiss and gurgle, and the ash stopped falling from its eyes.

Stan lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I can’t keep you here because you’ll either burn this place to the ground or smoke me out of house and home, and I also can’t let the kids see you with me ‘cause then I’ll have to admit to them that the supernatural is real —”

As if on cue, he heard Dipper yell from the attic: “What’s going on down there, Grunkle Stan?! That sounds like a lot of explosions for just making breakfast!”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Stan yelled back: “I blew up your eggs in the microwave! Your fault for not telling me how you wanted them cooked!”

He turned back to his combusting companion. “See? Now that I’m making a racket, they’ll be out of bed and down here any minute, so if you’d just… lumber on out of here, pun totally intended, that would really be a big help to me.”

The fire showed no sign of understanding English, much less doing what Stan had asked of it, not even as a series of thuds from upstairs indicated that Dipper and Mabel were getting out of bed and soon to be on their way to the kitchen.

“You’re really not leaving me a lot of options here, punk,” Stan muttered, but he set the bowl of water down on the table. He’d always had a soft spot for the sentient campfires that roamed the woods of Gravity Falls, at least compared to the other local fauna — and most importantly, he was beginning to form a plan that didn’t involve extinguishing the little scamp.

“Even if little Brainiac Junior doesn’t try and use you as proof cryptids are real, then Mabel will probably adopt you as a pet and you’ll end up getting me framed for arson and insurance fraud,” he rambled on as he rummaged through the cabinets and fridge. “Not that I actually have insurance for the Shack. Or for anything else, really. You know, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Going off the his earlier hunch that the fire had a chocolate addiction, he opened a bag of chocolate chips and began to pour them onto the floor, creating a path out of the kitchen and onto the porch. The fire immediately proved his guess right, absorbing the morsels with a series of satisfied crackles until reaching the lawn, where Stan ran out of chocolate. He switched to a half-empty bag of marshmallows left over from last night’s party, which the fire slurped up at a downright unfair speed as it scurried after him towards the woods.

“Okay, buddy, I’ve got one last treat for you.” Stan ripped open a package of frozen hot dogs and held them just close enough to the fire to get its attention, then pulled out the hot dogs one by one and lobbed them into the forest in a variety of different directions. “Scavenger hunt for you! Try and find ‘em all before the gnomes do!”

The fire scampered into the woods, and Stan breathed a sigh of relief. “See ya, little spitfire.”

He stuffed the various pieces of junk food packaging into the trash can as he headed back to the Shack to do damage control, finding Dipper and Mabel standing in the kitchen.

“It smells good in here!” Mabel commented, still wearing her nightgown. “Kinda charred, but also kinda chocolatey!”

Dipper’s hair was uncombed and his eyes were weighed down with bags, but he’d still brought a magnifying glass to inspect the scene. “You said you blew up the microwave, but the exploded eggs are everywhere but there. What’s going on?”

Stan put on his best ‘hopeless incompetent old man’ face.

“That was actually a lie so you wouldn’t worry,” he told the kids. “I actually kinda blew up the whole stove. And on that note, would you rather order pizza or tacos for breakfast?”

***

End notes:

“Then it's my lucky day!” she sang. “C'mon, everybody! We've got two days left at the Falls and I've got BIG PLANS! WOOHOO!”

It took a few minutes, and a lot of loud singing, but eventually Ford let himself be led into the kitchen. Mabel had one hand on his sleeve and the other on Stan's old robe, with Dipper trailing behind.

“I'm gonna make you guys the best breakfast EVER!” she announced. “Smorelets and toast with jelly made from actual jelly beans and juice!”

“Fruit juice?” Dipper asked cautiously.

“Probably!”

Stanley snorted. “Yeah, no, I'm gonna cook 'cuz I ain't got a death wish.”

“I take it Mabel has cooked before,” Ford said wryly, taking a seat at the table.

Dipper shrugged. “Mostly she just makes Mabel Juice. You do not want to know.”

Stanley cooked pancakes while Mabel bounced around him, singing at the top of her lungs and pulling out every topping conceivable for said pancakes: the Jellybean Jelly, powdered sugar, Maple syrup, ice cream, and a rather frightening assortment of off-brand Halloween candy. No telling how old that was. As much as he loved the holiday, Ford made a mental note to stay clear.

Finally the meal was ready, and Stanley put a huge stack of pancakes in the middle of the table. Mabel insisted on putting the toppings all around the pancakes in a flower shape while Dipper passed out the plates. Ford, feeling rather obligated to help, offered to do the dishes.

“Sweet, now I can make as much of a mess as I want!” Mabel said gleefully. She grabbed a stack of pancakes with her hands, loaded her plate and drowned them with syrup. Ford laughed.

They settled down to eat. It was strange, eating with his family. Normally he was on the lookout for inter-dimensional bounty-hunters, and since his recent return to this dimension, he'd eaten in his lab (when he remembered to eat at all). This was different. Companionable. He found himself less interested in the pancakes than in watching his family.

Well, some of his family. Mabel shoved pancakes into her mouth at a frankly unnerving rate, so he quickly looked away. But Dipper and Stan, he noted, both ate their pancakes the same way: filling them with powdered sugar, rolling them up, and eating them like burritos.

Mabel caught him watching. “They call it the 'True Breakfast Burrito',” she said, spitting a few crumbs because her mouth was so full.

Dipper winced. “Ugh, Mabel...!”

“Don't just sit there, smart guy,” Stanley said, his mouth also incredibly full. He nodded at the pancakes. “It's a free-for-all. Take what you want.”

Ford took another pancake and put it on his plate, then scooped out a little pat of butter to put on top. He ate it slowly, listening to the breakfast conversation. Mabel and Dipper had planned a “Weirdmaggedon Outta Here” party for the supernatural creatures they'd met over the summer.

“We can do it tomorrow,” Dipper was saying. “Everybody's probably still freaked out over the whole Apocalypse thing, anyway. Betcha the hospital's packed with people.”

Ford raised his eyebrows. “The hospital? What made you think of that?”

“Oh, well...” He ducked his head. “I've, uh, been there before. Had some issues with...forks.”

“Ah.” One guess what that meant.

“Did you know Soos' mom used to be a nurse?” Mabel asked cheerfully, and poured maple syrup directly into her mouth.

Ford winced. “That can't be good for children.”

Dipper grinned. “Mabel hasn't exploded yet, but Stan and I took bets. I'm thinking she'll drop of a sugar coma by next Wednesday.”

“I've got money for this Saturday at the latest,” Stan said, putting another bottle of syrup on the table.

“Hey!” Dipper protested. “That's enabling! And cheating! You're not supposed to do anything to influence the bet!”

“Says you.”

Ford grinned. “I'm all for long shots. Put me down for three weeks from today.”

When they were done eating, the kids cleaned up and Mabel fed her pig. Stanley got dressed and Mabel hustled them all into the Stanley-Mobile car. There was a brief argument over who would stay to watch Waddles, but Mabel refused to stay behind, so they ended up squashing the pig in the back seat with the twins. They drove off, under orders from Mabel to head straight to the mall. Ford sat shotgun next to Stanley, who, quite frankly, drove as if he was half-blind.

“Are you sure you don't need stronger glasses?” Ford asked, gripping the car door as they took another wild turn.

“Sure I'm sure.” He ran over a road sign. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride, huh?”

“OOOOH!” Mabel shrieked, and Stan nearly flipped the car.

“What the Maple Syrup, Mabel?!”

“Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan, you have to stop the car!”

“What for?” he demanded, but Mabel opened the door and he stomped the brake so hard the car burned rubber. She jumped out, came around to Ford's door and pulled it open.

“C'mon, c'mon, Grunkle Ford, you have to see this!” she squealed.

“What, what is it?” he asked, but he let her pull him out of the car.

They'd stopped on a turnout, and the road, as ever, was lined with redwoods. Ford remembered the place dimly from his previous explorations of the forest. It was known for its weirdly glowing pink rocks and the little scampfires that liked to hide among them.

Mabel pulled him into the forest, the rest of the family hurrying to follow.

“Where are we going?” Ford asked her.

“You'll see...here!”

They came to a clearing and stopped. It was about ten feet in diameter, and most of the space was taken up with a pile of the glowing pink rocks, arranged in a distinctive heart shape. Stan came up on one side of him, panting, Dipper and Waddles close behind.

“Wow, Mabel,” Dipper said, surveying the area. “This looks like a lot of work. When did you do this?”

Mabel grinned, sweeping her hands exactly like Stan did when introducing an exhibit. “Welcome, Dipper and Gentlemen, to Mabel's Heart of Bold! I made it after that run-in with Cellestabellabethabelle.”

Ford winced. “Ugh. Her.”

“Haha, yeah...anyway, I was wandering around like a little lost kitten when I saw all these glowing pink rocks. And I thought, aw, they're like little hearts! And that's when I got this idea!”

Ford bent slightly for a closer look. “I thought scampfires collected these. How did you manage to get ahold of so many?”

“Easy! I taught them a neat trick and they let me keep the rock art until the end of the summer.”

“A trick?”

“Watch.” She stepped over to Dipper and whispered in his ear. He blushed and darted a quick glance at Ford.

“Mabel, seriously?” he whispered. “Here, now?”

She grinned. “Unless you have a better one!”

He screwed up his face, thinking, then sighed. “I got nothin'. Fine, here we go.”

The twins faced the rocks, opened their mouths, and sang:

 Friday night, and we're gonna party 'till dawn Don't worry, Daddy, I've got my favorite dress on! We're rollin' to the party, the boys are lookin' our way...

 At this point the rocks, which had been glowing a steady pink, began to pulse with a reddish light. The longer the twins sang, the stronger the pulses, until they were flashing pink and red. Then, under Ford's amazed gaze, the rocks began to change color. The whole heart rippled like a rainbow was flowing over it, a dazzling display of turquoise, indigo, orange, and butter-yellow. Ford caught his brother's eye and grinned – Stan's face was bathed in green light, exactly the color of money.

“Green suits you,” he whispered, as the lights played over their faces.

Stan grinned back. “Me? Look at you.”

Ford looked down. His body was glowing yellow. He stared at it for a second, then started laughing. Stan slung an arm around Ford's shoulder and Ford leaned into his brother, listening as Stan joined in the song.

 Oooh-oh! Girls do what we like, Oooh-oh! We're takin' over tonight.

 The song ended and the rocks gave a last burst of brilliant color, lighting up the trees like miniature fireworks. All four Pines thrust their fists in the air at once.

“Pines! Pines! Pines! Pines!”

"Then what is the point?" Fiddleford asks patiently.

Stan finishes struggling with his shirt and makes a face as he drops it on the ground, snatching the clean sweatshirt from Fiddleford's hands. Then he mumbles something.

"What was that?" Fiddleford asks.

"I said I really like this girl, an' I don't want her to think of barfing fairies when she thinks of me!" He struggles a little bit with the sweatshirt, and you feel slightly disappointed as he finally tugs it down over his torso. It's still a little tight though, and you can see the definition of his pectorals, his little gut, and... those arms. "An' if it wasn't for your stupid double date idea, we wouldn't have been in this mess!"

Fiddleford snorts, then makes eye contact with you. You open your mouth to apologize for being a creep, but he winks and puts a finger to his lips. "For one thing, it wasn't my idea, it was Emma May's... but if you want to talk to her about it..."

"No," Stan interrupts quickly. "That wife of yours scares me t'death."

"Only because she's one of the few people who can put you in your place," Fiddleford says smoothly. "That's one of the things I love about her- she ain't afraid to speak her mind."

"Yeah, well, me neither, and I'm tellin' you..." Stan pauses, then seems to almost... deflate. "Look, Fidds, this girl... she's real important, an' I just wanna impress her, an' make her happy..."

You can't help but melt into a grin, and Fiddleford nods towards you with a smile of his own. "She looks pretty happy to me,"

The blood drains from Stan's face as he sees you. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he says.

"Maybe try whispering next time," you say in a teasing voice, but your eyes are shining as you walk towards him. "Do you really like me that much Stan?"

"Well, look," he says, clearly flustered. "Y'know, we've only been on a coupla dates, but I could... I mean I... but look, we..."

You put your hand in his. "Because I really like you too, Stan."

Stan's grin could have lit up the entire night sky. "Thanks. Me too. I mean, me too that I like you. A lot. Yeah." he gulps.

Fiddleford clears his throat, and makes some pulling motion with his hands. Stan frowns. "Pull? Taffy? Stretch? Stretch! Stretch what?" you see Fiddleford smack his forehead out of the corner of your eye. Then he points to his watch. "Watch? Stretch watch- stretch time! Yeah, stretch-" he turns back to you, and despite the total disaster you find it all so endearing. "So..." Stan says, suddenly trying to be smooth. "Since we didn't get to eat much, wanna come back to my place for ice cream?"

Your heart flutters. "Yes, that sounds great!" you say.

Fiddleford clears his throat again. "Ah, well, y'know, me an' Emma May would love to join ya, but we'd better get home to Tater Tot," he looked at Stan again pointedly, then over at his wife, then again at Stan. "An' maybe we'll try this again."

"Anything you say, Fidds," Stan says, and begins escorting you to the car.

"An' tell that brother of yours to stop working so hard!" Emma May calls from the McGucket truck. "We'll find 'im a real nice girl and make it a triple next time!"

"Will do, Emma May!" Stan said, and you feel as if he is resisting the urge to salute, and can't help but laugh as you take his wonderful arm and let him take you to his car.

~*~*~*~*~Spooky ending starts here~*~*~*~*~*~*

You are laughing at a long joke Stan told that you had no idea was a setup until you reached the punchline, and he opens the front door to the house he shares with his twin brother Ford. You are about to ask for another joke when you hear Stan say "Huh. That's weird,"

"What?" you ask.

"The lights aren't comin' on," Stan answers. He puts you behind him and calls out "Ford?" Nothing. "Ford?" the house is still quiet. "Stanford?"

"Do you want to split up?" you ask. "I'm sure he's probably just asleep somewhere..."

Stan snorts. "Yeah, probably. But we'd better stick together- Ford and Fidds have got some crazy stuff running."

You gulp and nod your head, gripping onto Stan's hand.

He leads you through the living room/lab, and the creepy feeling disappears for a brief moment as you admire the T-Rex skull in an aquarium. But Stan once more calls out for his brother, and you feel worried again.

The two of you stop just outside of the swinging door that leads to the storage room. But before you can go through it, Stan pulls you back and puts a finger to your lips. You blush at the contact, and despite the situation, Stan winks.

Then he leans over, listening intently, and you follow suit. You hear what sounds like a one sided conversation, complete with pauses as if waiting for the second party to participate.

"So ya see, Sixer," comes Ford's voice. "I can do anything I want like this! Build that portal, enslave your family, and," here he drops to a whisper. "Make it so you can never use your body again."

In a split second Stan bursts through the door, keeping you behind him and brandishing brass knuckles (you have no idea where those came from) in an offensive stance. "Wh-" he stops in confusion. And he has every right to, because despite what the two of you heard, it was just Ford standing there in the middle of the storage room- no one else in sight. "Ford?" Stan asks. "I thought I heard you talking to someone..." he trailed off as Ford tilted his neck to one side, so you can see his glowing yellow eyes with the narrow pupils.

"WHOA!" Stan says, jumping back. "You ain't Ford! Who are you? Where is he? What did you do to him? What did you mean he can never use his body again?"

The man-who-is-not-Ford gives the two of you a creepy smile.