#stangst

Good ol' Mr Mystery!

"Come look at my face, come and give me your praise

"I can’t help but feel that none of this is real

Stan goes to Jersey because Shermie can't. His daughter in law is pregnant with the twins and Shermie's son is away, so he doesnt want to leave her and they can't really travel.

So Stan goes to Jersey for his mother's funeral. His father is there in the same chair he's aways had, grey and worn by time. Filbrick is too, long passed his prime.

"I need to pack up the shop." Filbrick tells him, barely pay any notice to his son when he arrives. It isn't hard for Stan to pretend to be Ford in front of him. It would have been hard in front of their mother. As much as he hates to admit it, Stan had always been a bit of a mama's boy.

There is little of that same affection for his father, so stoicism is easier.

"I'll get some boxes." Stan grunts, hoping the same old post office is there. But that had been twenty odd years ago.

"When it's done, I'll go." His father's voice is hoarse and thin the way it had never been in Stan's memory. Yet, he knows exactly what Filbrick means. When it's done, Filbrick will follow after his wife.

"Alright. " It's all Stan can really say. Anger and resentment once burned hot inside him. But through the years, it had cooled into stone. At least, towards Filbrick. He was too tired to be angry at someone who would never care enough to fight against him. That energy was better placed towards the brother he had forsaken and still sought to recover. Filbrick was not worth his anger anymore.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" The question came unexpected, in the evening after a day of packing things away. Between them, squares of ice melted slowly into their respective glasses of scotch.

Stan didnt know what his answer was... Or rather, he didnt know what Stanford's answer would be. There were ghosts in Gravity Falls. Stan had seen them himself and read Ford's documentation of them.

But would he admit that to their father? Would he tell the truth, ready to argue and fight their petulant father about the facts he had so carefully cultivated?

Or would he hold his tongue? Actually, he found it hard imagining Ford ever holding back like that. But Filbrick continued before he could respond.

"I see him sometimes." He tells him, low and weary. "He stands out there on the pavement, just in view of the window."

Stanley feels small and cold.

"He's silent, but he begs to be let in."

The air feels so stagnant and heavy. He feels heavy.

"When it's done, I'll let him in." Filbrick states matter of factly. Stanley takes a hard gulp of his drink. It burns in a way that helps him feel alive again, not so small like the boy on the pavement.

"Better get to bed then." Stan grunts, shuffling off towards the lumpy couch he's been staying on. "Lot's of work to do."