Chapter Text
2013 - Stan Pines
“Uhh, Sixer? Are you sure this is-?”
“Come on, Lee. We’ve been tracking this for weeks! We gotta get a close look!”
Six months at sea. Six months, and around ten years chasing around anomalies before that, and Stanford still got excited like a little kid at the sight of them. It was a cool, but not cold morning on the sea. It had been a calm morning, but those never really lasted. One ping on the sonar that Ford had set up, and now the Stan O’ War II was racing at breakneck speeds after a dark shape underneath the water. Stanley shook his head and smiled. He may be a bit…skeptical of how good of an idea it was to chase these things, but he wasn’t one to turn down an adventure, no matter how ill advised. Especially with his brother. Because this was everything he’d ever wanted. Him, and his brother on a boat, seeing what the world had to offer.
He still wasn’t much of a fan of this particular…thing they were chasing, but he wasn’t gonna complain. He may have wanted very badly to trust his gut, which had very rarely led him astray, and get the hell out of there, but he wasn’t gonna ruin Ford's fun. This was what they’d come here to do, after all.
Stan had been…shall we say, pleasantly surprised when his brother had made the offer to sail the world with him. Really, a better word would be incredulous. At the time, he’d only just remembered he had ever had such a dream, and only just remembered why he had to give up on it. He’d almost said no to the offer out of guilt. Because he thought Ford was only doing this because Stan had always wanted to. It was the old feelings of not wanting to hold his brother back. He’d shaken it off though, and now they were here, and Ford seemed to be having as good a time as Stan was.
Right now, in fact, Sixer was definitely having a much better time than Stan was. Discovery never got old for his twin, and he apparently didn’t have a gut feeling screaming at him this was a bad idea. Oh well. If Ford didn’t sense trouble, maybe there wasn’t any. He was the smart twin, after all.
Stan wandered down into the ship's kitchen. Ford could handle the chase on his own for a bit. Stan was gonna make them sandwiches. Ford usually didn’t remember such trivial things as eating when he was in the middle of a discovery, so little things like that fell to Stan. That was more than fine with him though. He’d gotten pretty decent at cooking for Dipper and Mabel. It would be a shame not to put those skills to use.
As he made his way over to the fridge, his eyes caught on a glittery pink shape on the counter. It stood out like a star against the dark wood coloring the rest of the kitchen. Mabel’s Scrapbook. She’d insisted they take it with them on the sea. It had…come in handy several times since then.
See, the thing was Stanley had his memory back. Really, he did. Most of the time anyway. But sometimes large chunks of memory would just disappear for hours with no explanation as to why. He wouldn’t know his brother, or where he was, or what year it was. He would begin to panic, and sometimes lash out during these times. One time he’d even broken Ford's nose when he’d tried to comfort Stan. In spite of Ford trying to find out what triggered these episodes, there had been little success. It was like his mind was a box that had lost the ability to close, and he just had to hope nothing came and tipped it over, spilling his memories all over the floor. The scrapbook had helped, a lot actually, but it didn’t make the episodes stop, it just gave them a way to fix it relatively quickly. Ford, in particular, was driven crazy by how much they didn’t know about this. The episodes hadn’t started since they went to sea, so perhaps it was the unfamiliar territory that made him forget, but it was difficult to know. To make things worse, the only other person who could possibly understand was just as uncertain about it as they were.
When Stan had been initially recovering his memory, he’d spent a lot of time with Fiddleford McGucket. The man’s mind had been subjected to the memory gun far more often than Stanley’s had, and over a greater duration of time. In spite of the extensive damage, his mind was slowly but surely coming back. It had given people hope for Stanley, and Fiddleford had been able to understand Stanley’s feelings on the matter in a way no one else did. It was difficult when everyone had expectations of who they think you should be. You want to be that person, but it was a lot of pressure. It helped them both to have someone who understood.
Anyways, when the episodes had started, they’d called the mechanic to see if he’d experienced anything similar, but to their dismay, he’d seemed stumped. “I mean… sometimes I’ll remember something new, even when I thought everything was back, and sometimes my short term memory’ll cause me some problems, but it’s never… just disappeared like y'all are describing.” A second of thoughtful silence had passed before Fiddleford spoke again, with concern in his voice. “Are you sure y’all should be out to sea like this? It could be dangerous to lose your memories out there.”
But the twins had ignored that last bit. Ford decided he could handle the holes in Stan’s memory. He was at fault for them, was his logic, and besides, they weren’t getting any younger. They’d waited for this for a very long time, and they couldn’t put it on hold anymore. They didn’t want to put it on hold anymore.
So they’d stayed on the sea, and learned to live with the episodes. They hadn’t gotten any better, or less severe, but Ford had proven he could handle them quite well. He was able to resolve the incidents in under an hour, and though he was no closer to figuring out what triggered the events, he took copious notes every time, and swore up and down that there was sure to be a pattern in there somewhere. Stan wasn’t so sure. He thought this might be one of those things that just happened sometimes with no explanation. He didn’t mention that theory to his brother though. He knew precisely how Ford would respond to that, and didn’t want to hear it.
Maybe it would help if Ford knew the extent of what the episodes really were, but Stan didn’t want to dump that on him. It would only make him feel guilty to learn that Stan was in the past during them. His days on the street, mostly. He was reliving those horrible memories as if it was the first time. Ford didn’t need to know that, and it wouldn’t accomplish anything to tell him, so Stan kept it to himself.
He ran his hands along the cover of the book, and smiled as he thought of the kids who had made it. The glitter, and pink, and photos were Mable, while the stories, and captions written inside were mostly Dipper. Both twins had filled the book with drawings of events that there had been no camera for. They’d saved him. Over and over when his memory failed, they saved him. And they would save him again. What would he have done if they hadn’t violently crashed their way into his life? Would he still be in that basement trying fruitlessly to bring back Ford? They’d saved him from that too, he supposed.
He shook off the nostalgia before it could push him to tears. He wasn’t some sappy old man, for cryin’ out loud! He was Stanley Pines. The brilliant conman, founder of the mystery shack, hero of the world (so the kids called him, and a title he used against Ford to win arguments) and now, seafarer. And for the moment, cook. He rummaged through the fridge, finding cold cuts, and some bread. Roast beef for Ford, ham for Stanley. Just like when they were kids. Just like their mom used to make. The thought makes him smile.
Before he can finish putting them together, the boat jolts to a stop, nearly making Stan lose his balance. Ah. Ford must have caught up to that thing. Stan leaves the sandwiches for later, and makes his way upstairs. A boat chase is one thing, but facing a cryptid is another. Sixer tends to get in over his head with these things, and he might need back up.
He climbs onto the deck to see Ford leaning dangerously far over the rail.
“Woah, Pointdexter!” Stan hurries up behind him, and pulls him back by the shoulder, “what are you, tryin to fall in? I know you wanted a closer look, but I figured you meant from inside the boat.”
Ford seems startled to see his brother. He glances back at the water as if he hadn’t even noticed how close he was to falling in. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t.
“Oh, right. Sorry Stanley. But look! Have you ever seen anything like that?” He gestures wildly to the water beneath them.
Stan pokes his head over the rail to see whatever monster- sorry, anomaly Ford had managed to chase down this time. They usually aren’t too friendly, but if Ford had managed to nearly dangle off the boat and not get his head bitten off, this one can’t be that bad. Hell, maybe this was one of the nice ones like that siren had been. Sure, she had tried to eat Stan later, but they had had a fun week before that. He’d had relationships that ended worse.
To Stan’s surprise though, there was no anomaly in the water. Instead there was only the sea. But this patch of it looked wrong. It was a swirling mess of pinks, and yellows, and reds, and greens. The waves that are gently falling and rising in the rest of the sea seem to be dodging this spot, leaving it curiously flat.
“Uhh.. where’s the…thing? From before?” Stanley takes a step back from the rail. He doesn’t trust the look of this water.
Ford leans past him, his journal clutched in his fingers. “It vanished! It just disappeared and left this behind! Isn’t that fascinating? Some sort of defense mechanism perhaps?”
“What, you mean that stuff is like skunk spray?” A crude comparison, sure, but what was he supposed to think? A defense mechanism that leaves behind a strange fluid? Sounds like a skunk to him.
His comment doesn’t seem to dampen Ford's enthusiasm at all though. The nerd only leans further over the rail, “Maybe! Who knows! We should get some sort of sample to study it. It will at least be real proof that the anomaly exists!”
Leave it to Ford to get excited over the skunk anomaly. Stan closes his eyes, and shakes his head, although he’s not entirely successful at keeping the slight smile off his face. When he opens his eyes, he finds Ford, once again, leaning too far over the rail for comfort. Isn’t he aware of his surroundings at all? Stan reaches a hand, meaning to tug him back again, “Hey Sixer, be careful-” But the warning comes too late. Before he knows it, Ford's legs are in the air, and he’s going over the side with a surprised yelp.
“FORD!” Stan rushes to grasp his ankle, but his hands close on empty air. Don’t panic, Stan. He’s fine. He’d got a life jacket, just go get the life preserver.
It’s hanging right beside the rail. Stan throws it in the water, and holds the other end tight as he sees a dark shape coming up through the water. Why was he still underwater? With his life jacket he should have surfaced faster.
Finally, Ford breaks the water, gasping and thrashing as he does. He is, in fact, not wearing a life jacket, which is strange because Stan could have sworn…
“FORD! THE LIFE PRESERVER!” It’s fine, really. Ford knows how to swim, and the water is calm right now, and there isn’t some monster trying to eat him. Stanley can berate his brother about his lack of a life jacket all he wants about once he’s back on the boat. Everything else is secondary to getting Ford back on the boat.
Fortunately, Ford seems to understand. He flounders through the water for a minute before grabbing onto the tube, and holding tight for dear life. He really isn’t dressed for swimming. Is he wearing a trenchcoat? Had he been wearing that the whole time? Had Stanley really been paying so little attention?
“HANG ON” Stan calls over the side. He begins to pull the rope up, hand over hand. He’s glad he still had the strength to do that. He’s not a geriatric yet. It’s good to know that.
He reaches an arm down to Ford, who grasps at his forearm. It’s only then that Stan gets a good look at his face and nearly drops him.
It’s Ford alright, but…young ford. He looks to be in his late twenties early thirties if Stan were to venture a guess. Did that strange water magically make you younger? That would be pretty cool. Maybe Stan should take a dip once he confirmed that Ford was ok.
He hauls his brother over the rail, and lets him hack out seawater for a couple seconds while he hangs the life preserver back in its place. When the coughing subsides, he turns back to Ford, who is now sitting against the wall of the boat, running his hands through his damp hair.
“You good?” Stan asks once his brother stops coughing. He can yell at Ford about water safety, and ask if they’ve just discovered a fountain of youth after that question is answered.
Ford nods. “Yes. I’m alright. Thank you for your assistance. I’m lucky you were passing through. I don’t imagine there are many fishermen around here.”
That response throws Stanley off. What the hell is he talking about? Did he hit his head or something and now is talking nonsense? Stan decides to humor him. “Mm hmm. And…where exactly do you figure ‘around here’ is?”
Ford seems put off by the question. He answers slowly, as if he is speaking to a small child. A small stupid child, “The lake. Near Gravity Falls. Why? Where do you think we are?”
God, that patronizing tone. Ford had pretty much stopped using it of late because he knew how much it bothered Stan, but apparently now was the perfect time to whip it back out. Stan can’t help but put a little bite in his voice as he answers, “I don’t think we’re anywhere. I know we’re somewhere off the coast of Iceland. Take a look around if you don’t believe me. Nothing but the sea for miles.” He doesn’t even process that Ford thinks they're in Gravity Falls until the words are already said. As his brain catches up to his mouth, Stan’s brow furrows. Is Ford having memory problems now too?
Ford opens his mouth, as if he’s about to argue, before he pauses, and frowns. He does indeed eventually get to his feet, and looks out over the side of the boat. Sure enough, there is no land in sight anywhere around them. Only the sea and sky. Stan feels a little guilty for his indelicate approach to this situation as he sees a spark of confusion and panic light in Ford's eyes. Why couldn’t he control his temper? Ford had been taking care of Stan’s memory for months now, and this was the thanks he got?
Stan reaches out a hand, meaning to try and comfort his brother “hey Ford, it’s ok. We’re-“
Ford whips around glaring at Stan. He seems immediately defensive “How do you know my name? Who are you? Why am I here?”
Stan lets his arm drop. Maybe he needs space right now. “Ford… It's me. It’s Stanley.”
Ford’s eyes widen a bit before his brow furrows in disbelief, “No you’re not. You’re too old. Stanley and I are twins, you couldn’t possibly…” Ford trails off as he truly looks at Stan. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes a bit, seeming to be trying to figure out whether he believed the man or not. Hmm. This doesn’t seem at all similar to one of Stanley’s memory episodes. Those were always full of panic, with Stan being thrust into the worst memory possible. Stan was in no position to listen to any reason when in such a state. Ford seemed… completely fine, actually, besides his confusion. That, coupled with Ford's new appearance… huh.
Stan hadn’t quite believed the twins when they’d told him that they had spent the day at the fair time traveling. Kids had active imaginations, and though he’d seen some weird things in Gravity Falls, time travel was not something he’d ever encountered.
And then Soos had backed up the story later, with a magical piece of pizza as ‘proof’, but that pizza could have come from anywhere. Besides, Soos had an active imagination as well. It was part of why Stan knew he’d make such a great Mr. Mystery, and also part of why he wouldn’t put it past the man to corroborate the story that the twins had made up.
But standing here now, face to face with his brother who all evidence pointed to being from the past…maybe he shouldn’t have doubted them.
Ford is still studying him, searching for the brother he remembers in the old man before him. Stan decides to interrupt the scrutiny, all but blurting out the question “How did you get here?” Mabel and Dipper had talked about some sort of measuring tape, right? Maybe if this Ford mentioned something similar, they could get some answers. At least he’d know for sure that his time travel theory was right.
The question breaks Ford's concentration. He scowls for a moment, but then begins to drum his fingers along his arm as he responds, “Well, I wanted to go out on the lake to seek new Gravity Falls anomalies, and I encountered a creature I’d never seen before. It was only around for a moment before disappearing, but it left a strange residue on the water. I wanted to take a closer look. I guess I must have fallen in.”
Well didn’t that sound familiar, “Some things never change.” Stan muttered
“What was that?” Ford snaps.
Nope. They won’t be getting into that right now. Stan clears his throat, speaks a bit louder, “this residue on the water, what did it look like?”
Ford blinks, “it… it was orange, pink, and green swirls. The water was also strangely still underneath.”
Well that all but confirmed it. Same residue, same creature, different time, different place. That would be an odd detail for Ford to remember when he didn’t even remember Stanley, so that meant this probably wasn’t a memory issue. Maybe that creature could travel through time?
“You…you really are Stanley aren’t you?”
Stan glances at Ford. The expression on the younger twin's face (ha, Stan got to be the older twin now) is unreadable. Right. This version of Ford has…mixed feelings on him right now. Stan sighs.
“Yeah, I really am. Look, I think I might know what happened here. I’ll tell you, but first, you should get out of those wet clothes before you catch hypothermia. And put on a life jacket, I’m sure Ford- my version of Ford has something that will-“
“Your Ford? What, as in a Ford your age? Is he here? With you? Why is he here with you?”
Stan winces at the question. The way Ford is asking it, his incredulous tone. It’s as if he couldn’t imagine why old Ford would ever want to be with Stanley. Stan can’t say he didn’t expect it, but he also can’t say it doesn’t sting.
“No, he’s not here right now. Just go down to the cabin and find something dry to wear, and then I’ll explain what I know, or think.”
Ford huffs at the order, but his teeth have started chattering, so he obeys anyway, stomping his feet as he goes down the stairs like a petulant child. And they say he’s the mature one.
Stan turns to look down at the ocean beneath the boat. It looks normal now. Normal color, normal waves. No sign of any supernatural mumbo jumbo here. It was just water.
Stan glares at it. Why couldn’t it have been just water earlier? Why did it have to bring him this version of Ford? Why did Ford have to be so damn intrigued with that stuff that he would put himself in danger for a closer look? Was he ok?
Oh. That thought hurt a bit. Was he ok? Had he just gone and replaced Ford in the past, or had he landed somewhere else entirely? Would he be able to find his way back here, even if he was ok?
Stan turns away from the water. Ford would be ok. He had to be. They hadn’t waited this long to live the dream only to have it ripped away like this. Ford would figure out a way back. He was a genius, after all.
Everything was gonna work out. It was all gonna be fine.
———
1980 - Ford Pines
“Hey Sixer, be careful-.”
And then Ford was falling. He had been careless in his haste to learn more about this anomaly, and now he was in the water. Distantly, he thought he heard Stanley call his name, but he couldn’t respond with his head beneath the waves. Good thing he’d stopped trying to fight Stanley on the life jacket thing after the siren incident. He could swim without it, but it was nice to have the reassurance there.
He remained calm, and let his life jacket pull him up through the water. No sense panicking, Stanley would grab him a life preserver, and probably lecture him about paying attention closer to his surroundings, and then they could be on to the next adventure.
Ford surfaced from the water, and took a deep breath… and nearly choked on the air. What the hell? That wasn’t sea air. It smelled like cigarette smoke and garbage. He coughed a bit, and sat up, surprised to find hard ground underneath him. He should still be in the sea. Why is he sitting on what feels like concrete? He opens his eyes, expecting to have to squint in the sun, but his surroundings are dark. Is it…somehow night? But it was around nine am when he fell. Unease begins to worm its way under his skin as he takes in his surroundings.
He seems to be in a city. Well now the filthy air made sense. Ford had never much cared for cities. They were loud, crowded, and dirty. It is indeed night. The sky is pitch black and no stars can be made out through the smog. He’s in some sort of back alley that is very dimly lit from a street lamp a couple yards away, and he’s lying in a large puddle that he would guess has formed from a recent rainstorm. Stanley, or the sea, or their boat is nowhere in sight. Huh. That can’t be good.
He slowly gets to his feet and tries to get his bearings. He glances down at the puddle he was just sitting in and sees swirls of color, just like the ones the anomaly left behind. In this context, they look rather like an oil spill, but to Ford they’re unmistakeable. Before he can take a closer look though, the colors fade away, leaving clear (well, as clear as a puddle in a random city back alley can get) water behind. Hmm. That had been pretty much his only clue to how he’d gotten here.
Ford is not really one to panic in high stress situations. After thirty years living on the run throughout the multiverse, you learn to save your panicking for when you’re somewhere safe. It was that or you died, and Ford was still alive. He didn’t let himself worry about Stanley alone on the boat, because there was nothing he could do to help him just then. He didn’t let himself wonder if he was stranded in another dimension again, because that would be unproductive. He filed those thoughts away for later, and set himself some goals: figure out where you are, figure out how you got here, figure out how to get back. Because he would be getting back. There was no other option.
Ford starts to shiver a bit. Oh right, he had just gone overboard on a boat, and was soaking wet. Revised plan: find something dry to wear so that you don’t die, and then back to the original plan. Good. Great. Something to focus on.
He’s about to set this plan in motion, when he hears shouting from across the street. Through the entrance to the alley, he watches as the door to a little shop opens, and a man is all but thrown into the wet street outside. The shopkeeper is shouting, and shaking his fist (who actually shakes their fist?) as the man gets to his feet.
“I swear to god, if I ever see your face around here again I’m calling the police! I ought to call them right now, you no good thief!” The shopkeeper has an accent that Ford can’t quite place, but he’s speaking English. That’s good. And he seems human. That’s even better. Those things point to him being on earth, and not in some foreign dimension.
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Geez, there’s no need to yell.” The man, thief, Ford supposes, has raised his hands in a placating gesture as he slowly backs away from the shop. His voice sounds familiar…
The shopkeeper huffs, before slamming the door, making the thief flinch. Ford watches the man as he stands there for a beat, before he sighs and turns away from the door, emptying his pockets as he does so. Even from a distance, Ford can see several crumpled dollar bills, and some bags of snack food. Thief indeed. The man starts to walk away, counting the bills as he goes.
And Ford begins to follow him. He can’t quite say why. Really, the smarter thing to do would have been to go into the shop and buy some supplies. He had some money in his pocket when he fell. Enough for a bit of food at least. Or he could have talked to the shopkeep, and gotten more information about where exactly he was. Instead he follows this thief, for no apparent reason. The street seems completely empty as the two silently make their way along. Not very city-like at all. Come to think, the buildings don’t seem tall enough to be the bustling city Ford had initially thought. Maybe this was just a really dirty town?
Ford considers himself very good at tailing people. He had been able to successfully follow numerous people across dimensions, and have them be none the wiser that they were ever being followed. And mind you, these were beings with heightened senses, and sometimes even more than the five senses that humans think to account for. There was no reason for this random human man to be able to detect him, and yet, they’d only walked past a couple buildings when the thief’s steps began to slow. He started glancing over his shoulder, which revealed nothing, because again, Ford was very good at this, but nonetheless it meant this man correctly suspected he was being followed. How did he know?
Finally, the man comes to a complete stop. He has since shoved his stolen goods back into the pocket of his jacket, and is now holding what appears to be a small red pocket knife. He turns all the way around and glares into the darkness behind him, as if that’s where he thought his pursuer was. Actually, Ford had positioned himself more to the left and the man was looking in completely the wrong direction.
“Alright, who’s there?”
Ford tries to get a look at the man now that he’s turned around, but the thief is still isn’t facing him directly enough to make out details. That voice though…but how could he possibly know this person?
“C’mon! Show yourself. I ain’t scared of you!” The thief called into the night.
Well that’s blatantly untrue. Ford can see the way the hand holding the knife is trembling ever so slightly, and he can hear the little wobble in the man’s voice. To be fair to the thief though, he was putting on a decent show. If Ford's brain weren’t hardwired to look for those things, he might not have noticed.
Well, he might as well reveal himself. He didn’t really have a plan when following this guy in the first place, so this may as well happen. Ford moves out from the shadows, and forces himself to step a bit heavier, so that the man can hear.
The thief whips his head around at the sound, eyes widening in surprise. He clearly hadn’t guessed that his pursuer was so close to him. He takes a step back and raises the knife in front of him. His face hardens as he faces down Ford, but it’s obviously a mask. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to demand Ford's identity, but Ford beats him to it, finally getting a good look at the thief’s face.
“Stanley?” It’s not really a question, just a shocked observation. Now that the thief’s face is revealed, Ford is kicking himself for not seeing it sooner. Sure, Stan’s voice had changed a lot over the years, but he still should have recognized it. He looks young. Why does he look so young? Has Ford landed in an alternate universe? Or…
Ford thinks back to the anomaly that had landed him here. He’d been looking for the creature for a very long time now. Actually, he’d first heard about it back in Gravity Falls. His searching had yielded nothing useful back then.
But there were many sightings of it. He’d found them all across the world when he’d bothered to look. Ford had assumed the creature could teleport between bodies of water, because it seemed that nearly every place on earth, even landlocked places with nothing but a small pond for the creature to inhabit, had some record of encountering the creature throughout history.
History…
Sightings of the creature were present almost as far back as there were records to record such things. Ford had thought nothing of that. Maybe their species was just resilient, and had stood the test of time. Now that he thought about it a little harder though, a new picture began to form. Accounts of the creature often varied. It was a solitary beast, and two had never been spotted together at the same time. He’d seen it described as the size of a small dog in records dated 1932, and 2000. He’d seen it described as the size of a shark in 1812 and 1776, and he’d heard it be described as a scarred, grizzled, bear sized creature that was missing its right front fin in 1672, 2012, and 1974. What if…it was only one creature growing up. One creature who could travel through time. But that would mean-
“How- how do you know that name? Who sent you? Was it Rico? He said I had another week!” Stan’s voice snaps Ford out of his thoughts. He has taken several steps away from Ford, and his eyes were wide with panic. Panic that seems disproportionate to Ford having known his name. Ford frowns. Stan had always avoided talking about this time during his life, and Ford had more or less respected that. Occasionally a story or two would be told, with some disturbing details, but Stan always played it off for laughs. Of course, Ford hasn’t forgotten what Stan said the night of the portal. About prison, and the trunk of a car, and a mullet, but when he’d asked about those things once they were on better terms, Stan had waved him off and changed the subject.
“It’s in the past now, Pointdexter.” He would say, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Yes. A fine sentiment. However, that logic didn’t really work, because now Ford was in the past as well, and he was starting to suspect those things would matter a great deal. Young Stan seems to have people after him. Rico…the name rings a little bell, but Ford doesn’t know much about the guy. Clearly though, the man is a threat to his brother.
“No one sent me” Ford keeps his voice level, not wanting to add to Stan’s panic. He takes a step forward, and Stan immediately takes a step back. This is gonna be difficult. How is he gonna explain this right?
“No? Then why were you following me?” Stan’s tone is filled with bravado that he clearly isn’t feeling.
Ford hesitates. How truthful can he afford to be here? Will he change the future if he’s not careful? Or is this an alternate timeline situation? The kids had apparently time traveled before, but questioning them about such specific details had yielded no helpful results. They’d only mentioned that the time police had come to clean up their mess, but with Time Baby gone…
“I…thought I recognized your voice.” There. Technically true. The best kind of truth, as Stanley often said.
Young Stan, however, doesn’t seem convinced. Of course he’s not. Ford was never good at keeping things from his twin, “Oh? So you followed me without actually talking to me like a creep? You still haven’t told me how you know my- um, why you called me Stanley.”
Oh right, Stan had mentioned that he’d gone through many fake identities during the ten year gap between high school and the portal. So Ford really had no good excuse for knowing a name that this Stan hadn’t gone by in years. Or for why he’d followed him. Ford held his hands up to show he was unarmed. He’s fighting the urge to tuck them behind his back like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. He knows that would be very suspicious.
“Well…look this is difficult to explain, but-“
“You have six fingers.” Stan interrupts him. His gaze is now glued to Ford's raised and open hands. He turns his eyes back to Ford's face, and squints as though he’s looking for answers there.
Well. No getting around it now. “Yes. Stanley…it’s me. It’s Ford. I seem to have found myself-“
“You’re Ford.” There’s some shock in Stan’s tone, but it mostly sounds like he’s just trying to process what’s going on. He takes a shaky step forward, lowering the knife, just a bit.
“Yes, I am. Look, I think-”
“But you're old.” It’s not disbelief there, so much as confusion. That’s fine. Ford can work with confusion.
“Yes. I believe I’ve fallen through time. I think I’m from the future.”
Stan raises an eyebrow, “oh, you think so, do you? What, you’re not certain? Time travel, huh? That’s not real. That’s just in movies and junk. It’s science fiction. Do you really expect me to believe that?”
Ford responds patiently. It is a lot to take in after all, “Science fiction tends to become science fact given time. And do you have a better explanation?”
“Yeah, you’re not really Ford, and someone is just going to extreme lengths to fuck with me.” He doesn’t sound too convinced of that. Before Ford can argue though, Stan speaks again, “But whatever, I’ll bite. Ok, ‘Future Ford’, how’d you get here?”
“I…I was chasing an anomaly out on the sea, and I wanted a closer look. I fell in the water, and when I surfaced, I was here.”
An almost amused expression crossed Stan’s face at that explanation. “Typical Pointdexter.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. A smirk is on his face by the time he addresses Ford again, “So that’s why you look like a drowned rat right now?”
Ford huffs. He doesn’t love that analogy. It’s probably accurate though. He hasn’t had the chance to look in a mirror “Yes. My almost drowning had that effect. Now can we just-“
“You probably should change into something dry. And maybe ditch the life vest. It’s very conspicuous.”
Ugh. No matter how old Stanley is, he sure knows how to push Ford's buttons, “I was just about to do that, but then I saw you, and, like I said, I recognized your voice. I wanted to see from where.”
The humor leaves Stan's face at that. An unreadable expression flickers across his features. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and looks away. “Yeah? Well, now you know. I won’t keep you any longer. Good luck…getting back to where you're from I guess.” He moves to walk away. Ford almost thinks he’s joking for a second. Stan is ten paces away before he realizes he’s dead serious.
“Wha- Stanley? I just told you I’m from the future, and you’re just leaving?” Ford calls after him. He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice. Stan stops, and half turns, a surprised expression on his face. He clearly didn’t expect Ford to protest his abrupt departure.
“Well, yeah. It’s not like I could help with this. You’re the smart one Sixer, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. What would you want me around for?” There’s something in that tone. A slight bitterness, and a deep grief that stops Ford from immediately arguing
What must this Stan think his future will be? He certainly wouldn’t expect it to include Ford. He’s been on his own for several years now without so much as a call. Why wouldn’t he think Future Ford wants nothing to do with him? Regret and guilt war in Ford's chest as he scrabbles for a good way answer Stan.
Again, the question of how much he should reveal comes to Ford's mind. However bumpy the road to get there was, he loves the future he lives in with Stan. If he reveals to this version of his brother that they reunite could it wreck that? What if sets off a butterfly effect, and they somehow never reunite, or something worse happens to them. Better not to risk it. Still though, he couldn’t let Stan walk away.
“Well…I don’t really have anywhere to go. I’m sort of stranded here. Could you at least tell me the year? And where we are right now? And where I could buy…find some clothes?” He didn’t have enough money to obtain them legally. Oh well. He’d stolen to get by before. It might be difficult though, given how he was so…what had Stan said? Conspicuous.
Stan looks at him for a long moment before he sighs. “I…probably have something that you could borrow back at the car. I can answer your questions on the way, and then…”
“We’ll go from there” Ford finishes, falling into step with his brother.
Stan shoots him another unreadable glance, “will we?”
“We will” Ford affirms, making sure to emphasize the ‘we’. Maybe it’s a truly horrible idea that risks everything Ford has worked so hard for, but he doesn’t think he could bear to leave this version of Stan alone. And if he was being honest, he could use some company to keep himself from spiraling.
Stan seems taken aback by Ford's conviction, but he gives a small grin, “alright then. We’ll go from there.” He sounds so hopeful. So happy to have any version of his brother by his side. Ford’s guilt flares again.
But it will be ok. He’ll figure out a way to get back to his Stan and set things right. He’ll get there. But first things first.
“Alright Stanley, When, exactly, am I?