Chapter Text
Stan sat in a chair too small for him, his knees poking higher than comfortable with his feet planted firmly on the carpeted floor. The chair’s back didn’t even come up to his shoulder blades. The desk in front of him, by contrast, was normal size and height. A blond woman about his age, maybe a year or two younger, sat at it folding and unfolding her hands in an obvious attempt to dispel her nerves.
“Once again, let me say I’m sorry to have called you in from work, Mr. Pines,” she said at last. Given her earlier sternness when they’d met in the school office, he wasn’t sure how sorry she actually was.
“My shift doesn’t start for another couple of hours,” he replied, watching her relax and lay her hands flat on the desk. He knew the reason he was here. It was short, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes like his, had six fingers on each small hand, loved cats and the color purple. “Who called her a freak?”
“No one. Abigail hit a boy.”
“What was the boy doing to her before she hit him?” Stan asked, his voice calm though his stomach knotted. He'd known his daughter was going to have a rough time in school the moment he’d realized she was polydactyl. Just like Ford had, though Abigail had no twin to stand beside her. Not even a younger sibling. He pushed the thought out of his head the moment it entered. Regret wasn’t welcome today.
The woman, Abby’s new teacher, Miss Contrite, gave him a sharp look.
“Mr. Pines, your daughter hit someone.”
“Oh? Hit as in slapping on the arm or hit by punching in the nose?”
“Mr. Pines, she hit someone. It doesn’t matter the type.”
“Abby wouldn’t do that without being provoked. What happened before the punch?”
Miss Contrite clenched her hands together tightly. More than likely she’d had a speech all worked out in her head, a scene mapped out with where he sat, where she sat, and how they were to react to her revelation of Abby’s behavior. And he was going off script. Well, tough shit lady, you just took over this class and have already pegged my kid a trouble maker. You don’t get to do that. Not to my kid, Stan growled out mentally, preparing himself for the upcoming battle.
“Her hair clip. One of the boys snatched it.”
“Was it Chase Peltzer?” he asked.
“The boy isn’t the one we’re here to discuss. Your daughter punched him in the face!” she said, exasperation tightening her throat as she practically spat the last three words.
“Good, that’s what she’s supposed to do if someone attacks her.”
That was clearly the wrong answer. She gazed at him wide-eyed, mouth open as if she were a fish gasping on the deck of a boat. He needed to net her before she flopped back into the waters and started fighting again.
“You said a boy snatched her hair clip. That clip is very firmly fixed in her hair with extra bobby pins every morning so she won’t lose it. He’d have to rip it out of her hair on purpose to get it.”
“M-Mr. Pines-”
“This boy assaulted my daughter to get her hair clip. She defended herself. Was it more than was necessary? I don’t know. I didn’t see it happen, but I know my kid. I’ve taught her, if someone attacks you, you’re allowed to kick, scream, punch and bite to get away. The hair clip was her mother’s, one of the only mementos she has left of her-”
Miss Contrite’s mouth snapped shut, her whole body freezing at the implications of his words.
“-and as such she’d likely go off on whoever took it. No, that doesn’t excuse the hitting, but it explains it. Also, if it was Chase Peltzer, he has been picking on Abby since last year. Mrs. Wormwood and I had an understanding regarding them. You didn’t move their seats next to each other, did you?”
“I was unaware of any arrangement. Mrs. Wormwood didn’t leave a note when she left on maternity leave.”
Stan called bullshit on that. He knew for a fact Mrs. Wormwood would’ve left extensive notes regarding Chase Peltzer or the kid would try to cut Abby’s hair or glue her fingers together again. That last one had him seeing red for a week.
“They’re not to sit next to each other, ever,” he growled. “In fact, I will be going straight over to Principal Higgins with this.”
She jerked at that, but he was already on his feet, though his knees ached from the child size chair he’d been sitting in.
“You don’t need to. I will move them immediately. Though, Abigail will still have one recess worth of detention for hitting.”
“And Chase?” Stan asked
“I didn’t say who it was,” Miss Contrite snapped, then seemed to realize she’d all but outed the boy as the culprit already. Stan had to hand it to her though, she stuck to her guns in not naming him.
“Is the boy going to be spoken to as well?” he clarified.
A slight turn of the head and he knew Chase wasn’t going to be punished for his part. Stealing wasn’t as big a crime as punching apparently. Under the law (the one Stan should abide by, tried to now, but had a dubious relationship with), they were nearly the same. It was all about degree.
“So, a thief isn’t being punished.”
“He’s not a thief,” she countered.
He was not impressed by Miss Contrite. Yes, he was biased toward his kid, but he wasn’t one of those parents who saw their child as incapable of gross misbehavior. It was one of the few things his father had made clear to him as a child. Any kid could screw up. Though usually, it seemed to be him.
“He took my daughter’s hair clip right off her head. That’s called assault and theft. If he’d been eighteen, we would be pressing charges.” That was a little extreme and unlikely considering, but frankly, Stan had seen the police beat purse snatchers before. Broken their fingers and bruised their ribs with a few well placed kicks before claiming the person had resisted arrest when they hadn’t. So anything was possible, if he thought about it.
“Mr. Pines! That’s crazy. You can’t charge a six year old!”
“I said if he were eighteen, Miss Contrite. As of right now, you have a boy who has decided it’s okay to take what isn’t his in your class. What are you going to do about it? Because I know what I’m going to do about it. Report this to Mr. Higgins and hope you will be speaking to the boy’s parents next. If not, I know what my recourse is.”
The threat was there, hanging, and he hoped she was wise enough to not trifle with him. No one walked over Stanley Pines or his family. No one. He wanted to dispute the detention, but the school’s policy was clear on it. No hitting, meant no hitting. They were usually more lenient with the younger kids, but Abby and Chase had gotten into it a couple times that fall. Both instances, like this one, she’d been defending herself. He didn’t think it was right, but if it was only one recess he could live with it. He didn’t want her to solve all her problems by punching things. It hadn’t gone well for him later in life.
“Their seats will be moved tomorrow and I’ll be calling his parents as soon as you leave.”
“Good to hear,” he said before offering her his hand. She stood to shake it, a quick one up and down movement then he left.
Abby was waiting for him in the office, her nose stuck in a Highlights magazine. She’d been crying when he’d arrived, refusing to look him in the eyes. He’d tried to get her to tell him what had happened, but Miss Contrite had demanded he speak with her privately first. He hadn’t been pleased by her interruption. He’d wanted to hear from Abby first, but she refused to tell him. The secretaries, Maureen and Margo, had stepped in and comforted her while he’d been led away. The two women were saints in his book.
They gave him a nod when he entered.
“Is Mr. Higgins in his office?” he asked.
“Yes, do you need to speak with him?” Maureen asked.
“Yeah, if he’s not busy.”
“I’ll ring him.”
“Hey Sunshine,” he said, plopping down in the chair next to her. “You find all the hidden items?”
“Yeah, now I’m reading about bats,” she replied, turning the magazine and showing him the page. He smiled and ruffled her hair, careful of the flower hair clip. It’d slipped from where it normally sat because all the bobby pins were missing, but at least it was in her hair where it belonged.
He’d bought it for Carla for their fifth wedding anniversary from an antiques store in Eugene. Five wide petals of pale pink enamel set in silver alloy metal around an aqua colored glass center. It reminded him of the plastic clip she had when they were in highschool, so he bought it. She’d worn it nearly every day for a while before buying a few nice looking plastic ones to rotate in when she wanted something more colorful. She’d been wearing one of those the day of the accident.
Now Abby wore her antique one nearly every day.
A heavy sigh escaped him, an old familiar melancholy seeping in as he thought of the clip, Carla, and Abby. She’d been taken away too soon and Stan wasn’t sure he’d ever get over it. Abby still clung to him, though she wasn’t as visceral about their separation as she had been after Carla’s death. Time dulled, numbed, but the lingering scars would stay forever. It’s why she’d punched Chase really. He wasn’t just taking a hair clip, he was taking a piece of her mother.
“Miss Contrite told me what happened,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to the secretaries.
She stiffened.
“I would’ve punched him too, at your age.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Right in the kisser,” he whispered, smirking.
She giggled.
“Mr. Pines, Mr. Higgins will see you now,” Maureen said.
“Thanks. I’ll be back in a few kiddo.”
“Okay,” she said, her gaze following him until he was out of sight.
The forest was cold, the snow uneven underneath the trees. The wind blew more down from their branches, dumping it on his back. Ford struggled through a deep patch, his paws sinking into the deep powder. The top crust crunched and snapped with each step, swallowing him until the snow compacted and he could push off again. He was tired. The days were blurring together.
How long had it been since the ghost of Modoc cursed him? Seven days? Nine? A full two weeks? Every day he wasn’t there to safe guard the Portal was another day he waited for the world to end. Unfortunately, Modoc had made it clear he wasn’t allowed in Gravity Falls, not until he satisfied the conditions of his curse.
Stanford Pines cannot exist while Bill’s eyes are still on him and the pact remains.
Yet he did exist, as a dog. Ford still had all his memories of who he was and he firmly believed himself human. This wasn’t the first time he’d started a debate on how to define one’s existence. Instead, he focused on the second half of the phrase.
His deal with Bill was air tight as far as he could reason. From now until the end of time he’d promised that he’d be Bill’s friend. Why had he said that? He knew it was his own desire for knowledge and a sure way to getting the recognition he deserved. He must’ve been an easy mark to the dream demon.There had to be a way though or Modoc wouldn’t have specified the condition.
May you only return when you have restored your bonds to Night, and Sunshine proclaims you kin. For then Stanford Pines will gain that which Bill fears.
That which Bill fears. So the sun and night or probably their personifications, held something that could stop him. Ford could only guess what it was. He had to find these entities and convince them to help him. Though, “restore his bond” meant he’d met or been familiar with Night before. Likely they’d hid their true identity from him. An old college professor or student perhaps? Did he know anyone who oozed shadows or seemed to know more about the stars and their movements than he? He couldn’t remember.
He was so very tired. The cold sapped his strength, and the hunger pains, forever present these days, slowly drove all other thoughts from his head. Ford needed to find some place to rest, preferably some place warm.
There was less snow on the ground now, most of it staying in the tree branches. Ford plodded along on the southwestern trail he’d been blazing since he’d left. He wasn’t sure why he was following the Mystical Mailbox’s last note to him, but it’d at least given him a starting point. Family is key. Head southwest. Don’t be afraid to eat the deer.dead deer.) He couldn’t hunt. He’d tried, but in his four legged form Ford didn’t have the know how to do it effectively.
I need to find food soon, he thought, noticing the trees thinning. If I can sniff out a rat or rabbit burrow, there is a chance. As he mulled over the best way to go about digging up a burrow, he began to smell something. Smoke, faint, but very welcome, drifted to his nose and he lifted his head. Through the trees he could see fields and fences. Then, in the distance, there were buildings. Ford nearly tripped over his own paws.
Human habitation.
He’d been avoiding it since he’d nearly been hit crossing the highway out of Gravity Falls. Now though, he was hungry, and houses meant food. He wasn’t above scouring through garbage cans for anything at this point. Hopefully it wasn’t completely frozen.
Ford picked up the pace, breaking out of the woods at a trot, despite the protest from his aching body. He crossed the first field, keeping his sight trained on the large weather-beaten barn, shed, and house for people moving around outside. Cattle milled in the pasture closest to the barn. A couple horses wearing thick blankets stood against an outbuilding that had been converted into a stable, the doors open for them to go in and out. Ford slunk past, heading to the house and hopefully an outdoor garbage can. He found none. He could smell something in a closed shed; rotting meat, molding bread, and decomposing vegetables, but it was shut tight and locked. Disappointed, he moved on.
His energy steadily waned as he checked another farm. No garbage cans out. Where did the farmers and ranchers keep their trash? He just needed something, anything at this point. He started toward another. To his surprise, the property sported two houses, one newer looking than the other. The newer house had nothing and he turned his attention to the older house sitting eighty, maybe a hundred yards away.
Please let there be something.
Hunger and desperation moved him forward as he ducked under a metal fence into the barnyard. There were no cows here, only the tall wooden barn. Its exterior was gray with age and warped in places from the weather. The metal roof was covered in snow. A wide solid wood door at one end was ajar, the wind catching it, lifting it before thumping it back in place. Ford watched, judging if he could wiggle in past it.
Shelter or food? He shuddered again. Shelter. He needed to get warm. Starting across the enclosed yard, his feet sunk into the mud. Great, just great, he thought pulling one paw out and trying to find a more solid purchase. The wind picked up and the door swung wide open. The snow was worsening by the minute.
Screw it!
Ford leaped as far as he could, landing halfway to the door and sinking to his chest in the mud. He tried to pull himself out and jump again. The door was so close and the inside smelled of hay and rodents. Both food and shelter! He pulled and strained against the mud. It stuck to him, forcing him to concentrate on freeing one leg at a time. Inch by inch he moved, practically crawling as the mud deepened and clung to his coat. The icy water soaked his underbelly and froze him with every step.
Come on! Come on!
Five feet from the building his body gave out. Soaked, coated in mud, with safety within his reach he could almost hear Bill laughing at him from the Mindscape. This was it, he was going to freeze to death in this form. Ford would’ve laughed at his own state if he could. Instead he stared balefully at the barn, laying down as best it could in this position. In the distance he heard cows moo, but otherwise it was still.
This was it. This was how the illustrious life that was Stanford Pines was going to end. His greatest achievement, a waiting Doom’s Day device; his best friend hating him, and his family-.
He’d been avoiding them. His work was too important. Ma had called him impossibly stubborn. Shermie was disappointed he didn’t want to visit (the kids were asking after him: Jacob, Levi, and the twins).
The twins.
Shermie’s twins, Mabel and Mason, were what? Six now? He hadn’t seen them since they were three. All brown hair and curls and full of energy. He’d spent his whole visit comparing them to he and his own twin.
To him and Stanley.
Stanley, who’d betrayed him when it’d counted the most. Why couldn’t he have been happy for him instead of ruining his chances? Ford’s anger had driven him to succeed at Backupsmore. He’d shown the school what Stanford Pines was truly capable of and once he’d gotten to Gravity Falls, he was on his way to showing the world. He hadn’t needed Stan by his side. He hadn’t needed to sail the world on a boat looking for adventure and researching anomalies like they’d once dreamed, there were plenty in Gravity Falls! He’d been fine without Stanley. He had. He really had...
He missed him.
Ford coughed, wishing he could cry. He wanted Stanley. If he was going to die, freeze to death, nameless and a stray, then so be it. At least it meant Bill couldn’t use him to destroy the world. But right now, all he wanted was to hear his twin’s laugh one more time. Closing his eyes, Ford began to drift off unable to control the shivering.