Chapter Text
Peace was a concept Ford once thought he understood.
He’d believed it was the serenity he found in the quiet of his lab late at night: running calculations over and over again, brushing up against ideas no one had thought of yet. Or perhaps those early summer days that retained a certain rose gold hue in his mind. When he was young and the future seemed to yawn in front of him, crackling with potential energy. When he and Stanley roamed the beach, free of care or responsibility and dreaming of adventure.
It was only now, in the twilight of his life, that he realized how wrong he had been.
Ford stretched his arms over his head, allowing his shoulders to pop, and sighed as he stared out the window to the sun rising over the treetops. He could hear muffled voices above him: the high excited tones of Dipper and Mabel and the gruff deeper laugh of his brother. The scent of waffles, slightly singed, was drifting on the air as he tucked his feet into his slippers, pulled on his robe, and hurried upstairs to the kitchen.
What he had found here, this was true peace: the ability to pursue his work for the love of it, rather than the acclaim, an entire summer ahead to spend with the three people he loved most, and a nice cup of coffee waiting for him every morning.
It was a consistent, dependable contentment that didn’t evaporate when the quiet was broken or when the day ended. It was a stability he had never known could exist for him. After a lifetime of turmoil, it was a refreshing and welcome change.
“Well look who finally decided to get his lazy as-, butt out of bed,” Stan said, shooting a look towards Mabel who was watching him like a hawk.
She had wasted no time instituting a swear jar upon her arrival and was already cleaning Stan out. He’d complained loudly it was ‘a shakedown’, but still dropped in a quarter every time Mabel shook the jar at him, despite his angry muttering.
“Were you up researching last night?” Dipper asked eagerly, turning in his chair with half a waffle still speared on his fork. It dripped syrup lazily onto the plate. Ford offered him a smile, heading straight for the coffee pot.
“No, only looking over my notes on freshwater cryptids. I wanted to refresh my memory in case we come upon any signs while we’re out today,” he explained, finding his blue mug with the chemical composition of coffee on it.
“We’re hunting for fish, Ford, not mermaids. Your journal say anything about bass?” Stan asked, rolling his eyes, but there was a fondness to the gesture.
“It was fairly lacking in that department,” he admitted, sipping his drink.
“I guess you’ll just have to take your cues from me then.”
“And me!” Mabel added eagerly, fishing lures dangling from her green bucket cap with ‘Mabel’ stitched messily across the front. One of them almost snagged Dipper’s eyebrow.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“Might want to take that off ‘til we’re on the lake, kiddo,” Stan said, eyeing her headgear dubiously. Mabel pouted.
“Awww, but I look so so-fish-ticated!” She joked, squishing her hands into her cheeks and puckering her lips before grinning to show off her brace-less teeth.
“Just watch where you’re swinging your head then! Don’t want to put an eye out,” Stan chuckled into his own coffee mug.
“Aye, aye captain!” Mabel whipped off a sharp salute, simultaneously stuffing another sprinkle infused waffle into her mouth. Ford hid his grin in his mug.
The twins had only returned to Gravity Falls two days prior, but already the four of them had fallen into a familiar banter and routine. The easy, carefree atmosphere of it was filling up a place inside of Ford he hadn’t known was empty until Dipper and Mabel stepped down off the bus with their loaded packs: a little taller, a little wiser, but still the same kids he met and grew fond of last summer.
That wasn’t to say Ford hadn’t enjoyed being with his brother aboard the Stan o’ War II.
Their time at sea and the adventures that ensued had helped them learn each other again and make up for the years they lost after their falling out and the infamous portal incident. But, despite best efforts, there still seemed to be a nervous tension in the air between them that refused to dissipate.
Ford sensed it in awkward silences that stretched on for too long, aborted gestures or ill-conceived attempts at affection, and, of course, in the copious number of things they’d taken to talking around or flat-out ignoring altogether.
Ford’s life had been no walk in the park and, from what Stan shared as his memory returned, neither had his twin’s. They both had things they would rather forget: to leave buried in the past where they belonged. Though often it was only a matter of time before one or the other of them knowingly or unknowingly pried into a sensitive spot.
After a lifetime of mistakes, miscommunications, grudges, and fights, the connection Ford had managed to reforge with his brother was fragile, held together mainly by their deep unconditional love for each other and sheer determination. Ford knew Stan held the same fear as he did of overstepping the boundaries they'd erected and causing their tentative truce to fall apart, of things going back to the way they were. Ford, above all, didn’t want that. And so they did their best to be understanding and keep the peace.
It was harder when they returned to the Mystery Shack.
Too many memories, not all of them pleasant, lived within the walls and followed them around like shadows.
For the most part, Ford had only known the place as his lab and then the tacky tourist trap his brother inhabited with their great niece and nephew. When they were alone there together, it was hard not to notice the silence. Ford often found himself drifting upstairs to peak in Mabel and Dipper’s room, still untouched and somewhat dusty since they were last there, and a quiet longing filled him.
So, when his brother mentioned their nephew wanting the twins to return for the year while custody was discussed and the divorce finalized, Ford had agreed enthusiastically.
He could tell from the way Stan's face lit up at Dipper and Mabel’s arrival, the way he swept them up in a hug and squeezed them to his chest as if he would never let them go, that he had missed them just as much as Ford, had felt the same strange absence that resolved itself in their presence. It was probably what spurred Stan to declare they would use the first weekend of the summer to take a fishing trip.
Mabel, as was her way, leapt onto the idea with both feet, declaring it ‘Double Twins Bonding Time’ and promptly learned everything she could about fishing knots and lures while ransacking Stan’s tackle box.
“You want any of these Ford?” Stan asked, breaking him from his thoughts. He looked over at the dark brown waffles his brother was peeling out of the iron griddle, cursing quietly as he burnt his fingers on the edges.
“I prefer a more balanced breakfast: a mixture of proteins, carbohydrates, vitamins, and-.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll skip the lecture: here’s your carbohydrates-,” he said, handing him a plate with a waffle on it, “Here’s your vitamins-.” Stan reached over to smack a spoonful of blueberry jam on top.
“-And here’s some protein,” he finished, handing him a vanilla nut and fiber bar, “eat up.” He patted him twice on the shoulder. Ford looked down at his meal and huffed fondly.
“Thanks.”
“These are really good!” Mabel said, drowning her own stack further in syrup.
“They are,” Dipper said taking another bite for emphasis.
“You kids better finish them fast. I wanna be on the road in thirty.” Stan called, moving towards the table with his plate in hand. Ford took a step to join them when a knock came from the door.
It was five short musical taps followed by two loud bangs that nearly rattled the wood from its frame. Ford frowned at the intrusion, sending his brother a questioning look.
Uncharacteristically, Stan had closed the Mystery Shack for the weekend since Soos was on a romantic vacation with Melody in the mountains. Stan met his gaze and shrugged.
“We’re closed. Come back some other time.” He shouted without preamble, turning back to take a bite of the waffles he’d made. But the knocking came again.
Immediately.
And this time it didn’t stop, the staccato rhythm impossible to ignore. Stan growled under his breath, pushing himself out of his chair.
“Son of a-.”
“I’ve got it.” Ford held up a six-fingered hand, saving his brother the trip and possibly another quarter. Ford straightened his spine and stomped over to the door in his fuzzy blue slippers, wrenching it open.
“What-?!” Ford stopped.
Their early morning caller was someone he had never seen before, but nonetheless felt a chill go down his spine at the sight of them.
The man was young. He looked to be in his thirties or forties. He was a few inches shorter than Ford, which was made up for by a black top hat, underneath which his quaffed blonde hair held a few twigs and leaves, and his eyes….
There was something unsettling about the dark swirling amber. The way they were focused on Ford as if they could see right through him.
Some tiny voice in the back of his mind was shouting at him to shut the door and lock it, but it was an illogical impulse so Ford squashed it into submission. He was just about to demand why this strange man was banging on their door at eight in the morning when he spoke first.
“Hiya Sixer! Long time no see! Did you miss me? Admit it! You missed me!”
That voice.
It was a voice Ford still heard sometimes in his nightmares and at the sound of it, here in reality, he stumbled back a step, eyes wide in horror. The man, demon, thing, grinned impossibly wide, sparkling white teeth seeming sharp and canine.
“You-! You can’t be-.”
Ford wanted this to be a dream.
He wanted to pinch himself and wake up. He wanted to scream or faint. Maybe both.
Because this wasn’t possible.
Bill Cipher was dead! He couldn’t be here. Ford had pulled the trigger himself, had agonized over the consequences. Yet here was this horrific funhouse mirror version of his archenemy standing on the porch like an omen of doom.
Ford’s chest heaved as he struggled for air. There was some commotion going on behind him, but he couldn’t pay it any mind, couldn’t tear his gaze away from those accursed eyes. The creature took a step forward and Ford moved instinctively, doing the only thing he could do, which was to throw his steaming hot cup of coffee directly into the demon’s face.
@dontjinxit
@ilay-snt
@rotating-pebbles
