#shapeshifter!stan

〜〜〜〜〜〜

The mom-and-pop general store, apparently named "Dusk 2 Dawn," sat in its lot innocently enough, as though it wasn't ridiculously big.

Or, Stan considered, maybe that was just the exhaustion talking.

Stan took a deep breath and pushed open the doors. Ford's groceries weren't gonna get themselves, and no annoyingly-large convenience store was going to get in his way.

It was fairly empty inside, something Stan was grateful for. He may have looked and sounded like Ford, but it'd been so long since their last successful switch, he wasn't really sure he could actually pull it off. If it was just a face he'd made up from looking at a few magazines, he'd have no issues coming up with a fake personality to match it, but now that he had someone to actually copy-!

Then again, considering how the handful of people watched him curiously, as if he was a stranger anyway, maybe he wouldn't have to.

He picked up a basket, strode into the nearest aisle, (the bread aisle, it turned out,) and started checking prices. Ford may have given him his wallet, but Stan knew more than most small-time shop owners gave him credit for in the art of budgeting. He was going to stretch Ford's money to cover as much as possible.

Without stealing.

Because that'd go on Ford's record, not his own, and he really didn't want to ruin that for Ford, too.

…oh boy.

He boxed up those thoughts and slid a few loaves of bread into the basket. Between Ford's avoidance of the town and Stan's usual appetite, they would probably need quite a bit to hold them over until the next time one of them could go grocery shopping.

"You passing through, stranger?" A cheery woman asked, looking up from her own shopping list.

Showtime.

Stan gulped and straightened up, altering his voice, clasping his hands behind the basket the way Ford always had, and trying to look for all the world as though he wasn't just a second-rate double wearing two pairs of pants, three tops, and a trenchcoat. "No, actually. I've lived here for-" shit, had Ford actually mentioned when he'd moved here? "-a while. I'm just not usually one for socializing."

"Oh, have you?" The woman asked, her eyes widening and her mouth turning into an "O" of surprise. "You wouldn't happen to be that spooky science guy that lives in the woods, would you?"

"Well, yes, um…?"

"Susan!"

"…Susan. My name is Stanl-ford. Dr. Stanford Pines." Stan lied. "I was unaware that that was what people thought of me."

"Well, between the lights and the earthquakes, you know how us small-town folks can get." Susan chuckled good-naturedly and lightly swatted his shoulder. "Leave us be and we'll cook up all kinds of stories! Between you and me, though, I've always wondered what you get up to in that cabin of yours."

"Really, now?" Stan asked, his mind racing a mile a minute.

"Yeah! I'd give just about anything to have a look for myself!" Susan smiled widely.

Stan almost tried to see if anyone else in the store would be interested in a ridiculously-expensive tour, but the odd sensation of his extra fingers brought him up short.

Ford wouldn't do that. Frankly, Ford would probably be pissed with him if he brought an entire tour group with him when he got back.

So, instead, Stan coughed awkwardly. "I'll, um, I'll keep that in mind. My work can be quite unpredictable, after all, and I would rather not endanger anyone for a simple tour. I'm actually trying to keep my presence minimal at the moment, but that may change in the future."

There. That sounded smart enough, right?

"Oh, that's understandable." Susan nodded. "Still, can't you talk about it a little bit?"

Stan ran his thumb across Ford's grocery list for a moment.

In his mind's eye, the countless "basic" foods stared up at him, taunting him with their sheer numbers and the fact that he had no idea where to find any of it.

He focused back on Susan and unfolded the paper. "Actually, if you would be so kind as to help me find some of the things on my list, I would greatly appreciate it. I could tell you about-" think, Stan, think, "-my latest endeavor involving, um, unicorn hair."

Surprisingly, Susan simply rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Ugh, unicorns. Well, if you need anybody to make those uppity horse-faces see sense, just give the Corduroy boys a ring, alright? They'll get you all set up. Now, while we go look for your…" she peeked at Stan's list, "…canned soup, why don't you tell me about whatcha need unicorn hair for?"

"Uh. Sure?" Stan blinked, but set off after her when she started heading down to the other end of the aisle. He mulled over how much he could say without acting out of character (or flat-out crazy) for a moment. "I have reason to believe a chaotic entity wishes to break through to our world. He enjoys tricking others into letting him possess them, then using their bodies for his own nefarious purposes. So far, unicorn hair is my best lead to figuring out a way to keep him out of our world for good."

"Ooh, I don't know much about 'chaotic entities,' but if you figure out a way to keep critters out of your garbage cans, could you send some my way?" Susan asked, leading him a few aisles over. "I'm getting real sick and tired of chasing the gnomes away from my windowsills whenever I leave a pie out to cool."

Gnomes were real, too?!

Stan tried not to gape at her, instead repressing a badly-timed shiver. "I'm sure I could whip something up."

Susan beamed, coming to a stop by a shelf of cans. "Could you? That'd be swell!" Then, without waiting for an answer, "Oh, here we are!"

Stan blinked, but started inspecting the cans for the best possible deal. He wound up deciding on the generic store brand's cheaper soups- tomato, chicken noodle, and the like- and stacking several cans in the basket on his arm. "Thanks, Susan. Perhaps next you might show me where to find the breakfast cereals?"

"Huh. Wouldja look at that." Susan remarked instead of answering. "Six fingers."

Stan's blood ran even colder than it had been already.

Half of him wanted to get all up in her face, demanding if she thought something was wrong with that.

The other half was starting to panic. Stan got away with making those demands because he was trying to be protective of his twin, and he hadn't had to since they were kids for…more than a few reasons. Ford would probably…what? Take pride in them? Shy away like he had back in Glass Shard? He didn't know how Ford would react to being confronted about his fingers anymore!

Susan kept talking, thankfully solving Stan's problem before it could even truly start. "Neat! You're definitely gonna fit in around here, Dr. Pines. We've got all kinds of strange and spooky stuff! Why, just last week, I heard from the supernatural grapevine that a shapeshifter showed up in town!"

…Wow. Ford had really hit the jackpot with this-

-hold up.

"A shapeshifter? Really?" Stan asked, doing his best 'surprised Ford' impression. Either she was talking about Stan himself, or "Shifty" must have gotten out of wherever-Ford-left-him, and he needed to know which. "Do tell!"

"Yes, really!" Susan nodded and gestured for him to follow her down the aisle. "But not one of those murderous ones like McGucket sometimes rambles on about. Word on the street is that this shapeshifter's been spotted setting up wards in the woods, wards that're meant to keep bad things out. Now, I may not know why they're here or where they went, but if you come across them, would you mind saying 'hi' to them from the folks of Gravity Falls? Whatever they're running from, the valley likes 'em enough to let 'em stay, and that's gotta count for something!"

There was…a lot…to unpack there, but the gist of it was clear.

Apparently, he'd been given a seal of approval by the very land itself…somehow. Was the sigil on his shoulder a part of it, or was this something completely different?

Whatever the case, Stan most definitely did not freeze in the middle of the aisle, staring at the back of Susan's head with wide eyes.

If he had, however, he would have shaken himself back into the present before Susan could figure out he'd stopped and turn around.

But he didn't, and that was the story he was sticking to.

"I'll, uh," Stan made a show of clearing his throat to cover up the way his Ford Voice had slipped for a moment, "I suppose I'll try to remember that."

"Are you feeling okay?" Susan asked, glancing back at him.

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Susan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "If you say so. Here's the cereal, by the way."

Stan gave her an appreciative nod and started putting boxes into his basket. They were heavier than they had any right to be, but he made it work.

His arm shook when he lifted it too high to try and reach one of the boxes, (off-brand Crunchy Caps, Ford's childhood favorite,) but he tried to disguise it with a chuckle. "Heh, thanks again."

They went on like this for a while, with Stan trying to keep himself from seeming tired, and Susan showing him where the various kinds of food were and giving him a crash course in Gravity Falls gossip.

So far, he'd gotten soup, cereal, eggs, milk, orange juice, bread, lunch meat, cheese, headache medicine, and a shitload of ramen.

So far, he'd found out that the Cutebikers had just moved in a few months ago and were just the cutest little family, the Northwests weren't very fond of Ford's constant questions, the gnomes were likely going to swarm in the next few months, and the Durland and Blubs boys had been spotted at the bowling alley and weren't they just the sweetest (but from one weirdo to another, keep it on the down-low please, the town didn't need any big-city types getting it in their heads to try and "fix" them)?

By the time he managed to reach the register, he was exhausted, and not just because of the freezing cold in his muscles.

The man at the register, apparently named "Pa," gave him a knowing nod. "Having a long day?"

"The longest." Stan admitted, rubbing his hands over his forearms without thinking. The store owners should really turn the heat up.

"Oh, a six-fingered man, hm?" The man named Pa (just a coincidence, that was all it was) smiled warmly and started scanning Stan's groceries. "Hope nobody's giving you any trouble over that. If they are, you just send 'em our way, alright?"

"Yeah!" Susan nodded from where she stood behind him in line. "Remember what I said about the unicorns, too!"

"I'll try." Stan chuckled and averted his eyes, catching sight of some jellybeans nearby. He quickly tossed a bag in with the rest of his groceries as another potential peace offering.

Ford really needed to get that demon out of his head and actually meet the townspeople. He'd love it here!

Stan paid and took the bags of food when they were offered to him (when had Not-His-Pa finished ringing him up?) with a smile that he really hoped didn't look as forced as it felt. "Have a good day, then."

"You too, Dr. Pines!" Susan waved to him from where Not-His-Pa was ringing her up.

Not-His-Pa nodded. "And take care of that fever of yours, sonny. I could feel it from across the counter, and you really shouldn't let that get any worse."

Great. Others were picking up on how terrible he felt.

"…duly noted."

Stan swallowed and headed for his car. He glanced at the passenger-side door for a second before shaking his head and just opening the driver's side instead. He sat down and rubbed at his face for a moment, the odd sensation of the extra fingers helping keep him awake, then reached over and set the grocery bags in the passenger side of the car.

Okay.

He just had to make it back to Ford's house without crashing the car or something.

He could do this.

Stan fumbled with his keyring for a moment, but soon got his car key into the ignition. After a moment more, he decided to crank the heat up to the warmest it could go. If he could get at least some of the chill out of his bones by the time he got back, it'd be worth the extra gas.

Halfway there, he turned the heat back off with a shivering hand and a grimace. So much for that.

It was fine.

He was fine.

He gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white in an effort to keep his arms from shaking and sending the car skidding off into the snow.

He just had to make it back.

Stan repeated the words in his head like a mantra, nearly missing the turnoff to get to Ford's cabin as he did. He managed to keep traction on the road as he veered onto the path, and he kept traction as he crawled through the woods. At least he could see where he was going this time.

At some point he was definitely going to bug Ford about shoveling the driveway, though.

Blessed warmth rippled through him for the brief second it took to cross the unicorn barrier before fading. He pulled up in front of Ford's house and grabbed the groceries, clinging to them tighter than he probably should have as he slid out of the car and trudged up to the porch. He rapped his knuckles against the door, and using his own voice, called, "Hey, Stanford, I'm back w-with food!"

Oh, great. Now even his voice was trying to give him away.

After a few moments, the door opened to show Ford wielding a flashlight. "Ah, so you are. Let me just check your eyes here quick."

Well, at least he wasn't aiming a crossbow at his face this time.

Stan nodded and stifled a yawn, shifting his grip on the food. "Go nuts. N-not, not literally, but y'know what I m-mean."

To his credit, Ford didn't try to manhandle him like he had before, only holding the light up to each of Stan's eyes and peering into them for a moment before nodding and clicking the light off. He gestured to the groceries in Stan's arms. "Let's see about getting those into the fridge, shall we?"

"Sounds l-l-like a plan to me." Stan managed a grin and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Did Bill try to do anything to you while you were out? Anything at all?" Ford asked, leading him into the kitchen.

Stan shrugged, trying to keep from shivering too badly. "Not that I know of, but we g-gotta do something about him, and fast. The f-f-folks in town think you're some k-kinda science hermit, but once they got a load of the whole 's-six fingers' thing, they just accept-ted you as one of their own! I think you'd l-l-like them. According to this c-classy lady at the store, the gnomes are s-supposed to swarm soon, whatever th-th-that means. She just s-said it, like it's no b-b-big deal!"

Ford paused, then squinted at him strangely. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Peachy." Stan tried to say.

"Peach-ch-chy." Stan wound up saying.

Faster than Stan could process, (though even he had to admit that wasn't saying much at this point,) the back of Ford's hand pressed against his forehead, sending a flash of ice-cold down his spine before Ford yanked it away with a gasp. "Sweet Moses, Stanley, you're burning up!"

"P-peach-chy." Stan repeated, this time with as much sarcasm as he could manage, and an eyeroll, to boot.

Ford took the groceries from him and just put the entire bag into the fridge. "You need to get out of all those layers as soon as possible. The sooner your fever breaks, the better."

Stan wanted to insist he was fine. He wanted to shrug Ford's words off. He wanted to point out that his shivering would just get worse once he didn't even have the illusion of warmth.

What came out was a pitiful-sounding groan.

"Stanley?"

Stan grimaced and leaned heavily on the table, all five (no, wait, six, he was still in Ford's shape, how'd he forget that?!) fingers splayed out. Picking his words out very clearly, trying to force his teeth to stop chattering, he mumbled, "I think 'm just g-gonna go sit down for a bit."

"That would probably be for the best." Ford's answer came to him like from the bottom of the ocean, further cementing the fact that he wouldn't be able to just walk it off this time.

Stan gave a jerky nod and turned to head for Ford's spare room, only to stumble over his own feet with a gasp. Instead of slamming face-first into the wood floor, however, he somehow managed to drop into something much more forgiving that had definitely not been there a few moments ago.

Ford grunted at the same time, and Stan had just enough time to have the mortifying realization that he'd just collapsed into his brother.