Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
Stan shut the door to his bedroom and leaned his back against it. He let out his breath in a large sigh and slid to the floor.
That was it.
Ford wanted him gone. The last person who could possibly still want him despised him, even after everything Stan had sacrificed to get him back.
Thirty years.
Stan took his glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ford doesn’t want me either.
He took off his fez and threw it across the floor in anger, watching it roll away from him and hit the leg of his desk.
“You’re one kind of idiot, Stan,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his hand over his eyes and running it through his hair. It stood on end, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t as though he was going to be seeing anybody else for the rest of the night.
He stood up and walked over to his desk, untying his tie as hastily as he could and unbuttoning his shirt. His suit felt restrictive and much too warm. It was as though he were suffocating.
Ford doesn’t want me. He hates me.
Stan smacked the side of his head harshly.
Stop thinking about him.
But regardless of this wall he tried to hold up, Stan couldn’t stop the unbidden memory rising in the back of his mind.
“Stanford?” his voice echoed in his ears. “Don’t leave me hangin’. High six?” Stanley raised his hand hopefully.
Stanford stood at the window, gazing down at him. There was something in his expression–it was almost indiscernible. But he was clearly hurt. He turned away and shut the curtains–
Stan growled and gripped the edge of the desktop. “Stop it,” he muttered to himself. “Stop.” He shook his head, but it didn’t help at all.
Why does it hurt so badly? I should’ve known this would happen. I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve–
His hands shook–he was gripping the desk much too hard. He didn’t care. He grunted in pain as his muscles strained, but he didn’t let go.
“Why, Sixer?” he whispered as his muscles finally gave out and he let go. “Why’d…why’d I have to be like this?”
And it seemed that was the case. Stan was inherently set to fail. No matter what he’d do, no matter where he went, a trail of destruction followed. Anything he touched fell apart. Anything he attempted fell short.
Useless.
The word he hated most. But no matter which way he turned, it defined him. Every time he thought he’d found a way out, every time there was another door or window that was unlocked or open, he was hit with another arrow, another bullet, another knife.
Useless, useless, useless.
Over and over again.
It was unbearable.
I am a screw-up, he thought desperately, sitting down on the floor. His hands were shaking. Just…just like they always told me.
He stared down at his shivering hands, feeling as though he were about to be sick. Desperation overrode his sense of caution and he got to his feet and stumbled around his desk. He threw open one of the drawers and retrieved a knife. It was for emergencies–but Stan usually used it to open letters.
And other things.
Stan lifted it up and looked at it as it shone in the light. He felt even sicker. He set the knife down on the desk and sat down in his chair, staring at the shard of glistening silver metal with a glazed expression.
Shame was a powerful enemy. His conflicted emotions fought for dominance inside of him. What should he do? Should he allow himself relief, or should he keep his suffering to himself for the sake of…
The kids.
Dipper and Mabel.
Stan’s vision suddenly sharpened and his hearing became much louder. He heard the clock ticking on the wall, and his own labored breathing. He could feel every bead of sweat on his arms and shoulders and face, and he could feel his muscles twitching as the anxiety took its toll.
He had to stay strong. He had to resist. For them. When he and they left at the end of summer, he could do what he needed.
Stan sighed and sat back in his chair, staring at the knife, which now lay upon his desktop. It really was such a small piece of metal. Could it really hurt him all that much? Would Dipper and Mabel find out, even? Could he hide it? He was a professional liar. If he couldn’t hide something…well then, what could he do?
But still, it was Dipper and Mabel.
And Ford.
This thought jolted him.
Stanley sat up straight in his chair, staring at the opposite wall, wondering why he’d thought of Stanford.
Ford doesn’t care if I’m hurt or not. He’s made that clear enough. Why can’t you take a hint, Stan?
This thought made him calm down. He sat down in his chair, feeling disappointed anyway.
Don’t you remember? A voice in the back of his head asked him. Whenever someone gets too close to you, they realize what you are. Then they leave you because they understand that you’re not worth a second of their time.
Stan put his head in his hands, feeling exhausted.
Why is it so hard for me to accept that I can’t do anything? Why can’t I just…just leave? He asked himself.
He couldn’t find an answer. Or perhaps…he didn’t want one.
—XXX—
By the time Stan realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk, it was the morning. His alarm clock was going off, showing the time as 7:00 AM in bright red numbers.
Stan stirred, opening one eye to look at the useless clock. He glared at it as he reached over and hit the snooze button and shut his eyes again.
But there was no going back to sleep for Stan. He finally pushed himself away from his desk, feeling groggy and irritable.
He finally got himself up and started walking around his room, wondering what was going to happen today.
Might just cancel all the tours…
One day. Just one day off. That would help. Besides, it was Friday. It couldn’t hurt to close early for the weekend.
Probably.
By the time he came out for breakfast, it was to find the twins already sitting at the table, drinking orange juice and looking excited.
“Hey Grunkle Stan!” Dipper called cheerfully.
“Good morning Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said, running over and throwing her arms around him.
As Stan smiled and bent down to hug his great-niece, he suddenly had a vivid remembrance of her floating in front of the portal–
Grunkle Stan, I trust you.
This memory felt like a punch to the gut. Mabel trusted him when it mattered most, and now it would likely hurt all of them.
“Good morning, pumpkin,” Stan told her affectionately, but even he could hear the exhaustion and sadness in his voice.
“Grunkle Stan, are you okay?” Dipper asked from the table. Stan walked over and cuffed him on the back of the head, knocking his hat askew.
“’Course I am, kid. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked gruffly as he walked over to the other counter to get a cup of coffee.
“I don’t know, you seem kind of sad,” Dipper answered, disappearing behind the newspaper that was lying on the table. “I mean, is this about yesterday?”
“No,” Stan answered coldly. “And if I am sad, I wouldn’t want to talk about it,” he added, sitting down at the table next to his great-nephew.
“Why not, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked, hopping up into the seat next to him and putting her hand on his arm. He felt slightly startled, but didn’t move away from her.
“I don’t like talking about things that make me sad,” he informed her.
“Well, when I’m sad, Grunkle Stan, I like to get my sad feelings out so I can be happy again,” Mabel told Stan in a kind voice.
He glanced doubtfully at her smiling, happy face, wishing things could be that simple for him.
“Uh…thanks, sweetie, but I’d rather just have my coffee right now,” he told her with a weak smile, ruffling her hair. He felt a swell of affection for Mabel as she threw her arms around him in a hug.
How could I have even thought of that knife with these kids around? I have to protect them at all costs, Stan thought fiercely.
“Good morning,” said Ford’s voice as he walked into the kitchen. He looked half-asleep, like he’d stayed up all night.
Stan’s fist clenched on the table, but he said nothing. Dipper set down the newspaper, so he immediately picked it up.
“Hi Great-Uncle Ford!” Dipper exclaimed excitedly, getting up from the table. It was as though Ford was the most interesting thing in the universe. Stan rolled his eyes.
“Good morning, Great-Uncle Ford!” Mabel called cheerily. “How are you today?”
“I am well,” Ford replied, pouring himself some coffee. He paused before coming to sit at the table looking confused about something. “Your name is Mabel, isn’t it?” he asked Mabel, who nodded enthusiastically.
“Yep! And that’s my twin brother Dipper! And this is YOUR twin brother, Grunkle Stan!” She told Ford, smacking Stan’s shoulder.
Stan nearly spit out his coffee and ended up having a coughing fit over it, getting up from the table and walking away.
“Yes, I’m well aware that Stanley is my twin brother, Mabel,” Ford answered calmly, though he sounded confused.
“Isn’t it crazy that we both have twin brothers?!” Mabel yelled, her voice echoing around the kitchen.
Ford looked nothing short of shocked. Stan turned around, coughing fit finally ended and shrugged at him.
“That’s normal,” he said coolly as he walked back over to the table and sat down again, picking up the newspaper and flipping it open. His face was behind it so he wouldn’t have to look at Ford.
Stan wasn’t sure why, but the knowledge of the fact that he’d almost sunk back into his old habit while Ford was there made him feel ashamed and anxious.
He didn’t like the feeling.
“Great-Uncle Ford,” Dipper said, walking over to Ford. He looked nervous and extremely excited.
“Yes, Dipper?” Ford said. Clearly he was trying to commit Dipper’s name to memory after Mabel reintroduced him.
“I have…a lot of questions…about Gravity Falls,” Dipper said hesitantly. “Would you mind–”
“Yes, I would, thank you,” Ford answered, standing up from the table and walking to put his mug in the sink. “I have a lot of work to get to. Have a good morning,” he told them all, walking out of the room.
Dipper looked supremely disappointed.
“Ah, don’t worry, kid,” Stan told him. “Sixer just does whatever his nerd brain tells him to. It’s nothing against you, he just doesn’t know how to exist around people.”
“Huh?” Dipper said, clearly confused.
“I mean that my brother has always been…not the best at human interaction,” Stan answered, glancing at the floor with a frown. “But hey, you shouldn’t go near him anyway. His work is dangerous, and I don’t want you two getting involved,” Stan told Dipper quickly before he could say anything.
Dipper shut his mouth, looking disappointed. Stan shook his head and rolled his eyes, looking down at the newspaper. He didn’t read a word of what was written on it, he was just using it as an excuse not to look at anybody.
“But Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said, climbing back into his seat, “Great-Uncle Ford knows so much about Gravity Falls!”
“Of course he does. That’s because he’s weird, and he likes weird things,” Stan replied, rolling his eyes again. “He’s always been strange.”
But Dipper still looked resentful. Stan sighed, but didn’t say anything else, knowing he would only make things worse. The most important thing was that Ford and the kids stayed separated. He didn’t need Dipper and Mabel getting hurt on his watch.
“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said loudly, jumping up in her chair right next to Stan and startling him so much he nearly spilled his coffee, “can I go out with Candy and Grenda today? They wanted to go shopping and I wanted to go with them!”
Stan blinked twice at her and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said, still feeling startled from her jumping at him.
“Thanks, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel yelled as she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, presumably to get ready for her shopping date.
Stan shrugged again and turned back to the newspaper.
“Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said hesitantly from the doorway of the kitchen. “Could I possibly hang out with Wendy and Soos today? I mean, that is, if you don’t want me here–”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Stan said quickly, interrupting Dipper. “I want you to get out and have fun. I need a rest day anyway,” he added in a mutter, but privately he was thinking of the knife on his desk.
“Okay! Thank you!” Dipper called as he, too, ran up the stairs.
Stan waited until his footsteps faded away and then stood up from the table, leaving his half-finished coffee and the newspaper behind.
He walked down the hallway and pushed open the door to his room, quickly slipping inside and promptly shutting the door, hoping that neither of the kids would figure out where he’d gone.
Stan sat down on the floor, a torrent of emotions churning in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to feel anything.
Ford doesn’t care–
Stan pounded his fist against his forehead, trying to stop his own thoughts.
Stop it. Stop it. It doesn’t matter. Think about Dipper and Mabel.
But Ford still doesn’t–
Stan pounded his head again, harder this time. “Stop it,” he said aloud to himself. “Stop it right now, Stan.”
But the emotions refused to go away. Or be pushed down.
His hands were shaking.
Stan shakily wiped sweat off his brow, feeling anxious for some reason. He took off his fez and set it beside him on the floor.
“Oh help,” he whispered. “Help…”
I don’t need help. I don’t want it.
He shook his head with a growl. Stanley Pines didn’t need the help of anybody. He was on his own, and he always had been–
And that was–
That was fine–
As though he were out of control of himself, Stan lunged across the room. He gripped the edge of his desk and held himself upright, even though his arms were shaking. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand closed around the handle of the knife that he’d left lying on his desk–
Stan froze, holding the knife in one hand, hanging onto his desk with the other as though he would fall to pieces if he let go.
I can’t.
I have to.
But the kids.
I can hide it.
But what if you can’t? What then?
I can.
But…
Stan slowly, shakily, set down the knife and let go of it. His palms were sweaty and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
Not right now.
This thought sustained the painful urge inside him and it slowly subsided. He was breathing hard and shaking worse than ever, but he had not cut himself.
He didn’t have to hide anything today.
The twins were still safe.
Safe…from me?
Stan couldn’t find an answer to this, so he simply let himself sink to the floor, where he sat, staring off into space, for an hour.
—XXX—
Stan didn’t eat lunch.
This caused him to feel lightheaded by dinner time, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat lunch at the time, due to how he was feeling.
By the time the kids got back, however, he made sure to have dinner made for them, even though he was about to keel over.
This ain’t healthy.
Course it ain’t. But at least you don’t have to hide anything or risk the kids finding out about your habits.
When the kids came inside, they found Stan in the kitchen by himself, waiting for them.
“Grunkle Stan! I had so much fun with Candy and Grenda today!” Mabel said, running inside. Stan’s head ached, but he smiled all the same.
“That’s nice, pumpkin,” he said softly. Mabel looked suddenly anxious, seeing how tired and shaky he was.
“Grunkle Stan, are you alright?” she asked him quickly. “Did something happen while we were gone?”
“I—” Stan started to say but he was cut off by the abrupt arrival of Dipper, who burst in, covered in mud and scrapes.
“We–we were fighting monsters,” Dipper panted, breathless. “It was…awesome…” he trailed off as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath.
“Gosh, what happened to you?” Stan said, spotting Dipper’s cuts and bruises. He frowned at Dipper with concern. “Sit down over here, I’ll patch you up.”
Dipper was grinning as he walked over to the table and sat down. Stan sighed as he slowly stood up, feeling more lightheaded as he walked over to the cabinet above the sink and opened it.
After getting the first-aid kit, he went back to the table, where Dipper was now sitting. Mabel sat next to her brother, contentedly swinging her legs, her worry for Stan apparently forgotten.
“Just try to hold still, alright?” Stan told Dipper as he sat down in the chair next to him and turned it so that he was facing Dipper. He set the kit on the table and reached out a hand. “Gimme,” he said. Dipper held out his arm, allowing Stan to take it.
Stan was still dizzy, though he tried to be precise with the bandages. It was harder than it usually was.
Halfway through helping Dipper out, Ford arrived in the kitchen, walking right in, getting a glass of water, and then walking right back out without saying a word to anybody.
Dipper, Stan, and Mabel all stared after him for a very long moment, Stan still holding onto Dipper’s arm.
“Heh, one would think he’d have a sink in that nifty lab of his,” Stan said, shaking his head.
“I don’t get it. Why doesn’t Grunkle Ford want to talk to us? Isn’t he going to come back for dinner?” Mabel asked.
“Probably not,” Stan said, shrugging. “He’ll probably eat later. I’ll make sure he does, though. Can’t have my twin brother starving in his own house.”
“Grunkle Stan, you’ve lived here for thirty years,” Dipper said, looking confused, “doesn’t that mean you have squatters rights?”
“Yes, but I’d rather respect Ford’s space than forcefully invade it,” Stan confessed. “If he doesn’t want me around…he doesn’t want me around. I might have rights, but he’s my brother, so I don’t really care.”
Stan paused while cleaning the scrape on Dipper’s elbow, but then shrugged indifferently and resumed, gently dabbing at the wound with the now stained, wet cloth he was holding.
“But Grunkle Stan, don’t you want to stick with him? I mean, you brought him out of the portal and everything–” Dipper started to say, but Stan interrupted him.
“Listen, Dipper,” he said, letting go of Dipper’s arm and getting off his chair. He knelt on the floor and started cleaning the scrape on Dipper’s knee as gently as he could. “Of course I want to be near Ford. He’s my brother and I love him. But the thing is, he doesn’t really want to be around me. And I’m going to respect that.”
Dipper and Mabel both stared at Stan, who pretended not to notice and kept cleaning Dipper’s knee, taking the bandages out from the first-aid kit again.
“I don’t really want to talk about it, and…it’s super complicated. I don’t think you kids should have to think about it, since it’s our problems that we have to get over, you know?” Stan told them in a quiet tone, focusing on helping Dipper.
“Okay,” Mabel agreed reluctantly, but Dipper didn’t say anything. Stan quickly finished bandaging his knee and finally got the twins their dinner.
It was quiet at the table for the entire duration of their meal, but it didn’t really feel awkward, just a little bit tense. Dipper kept glancing at Stan, but he would look away every time Stan tried to catch him at it.
Finally, once dinner was over the trio was set to watch telvision for the evening, Stan wasn’t paying attention to the television like he normally did, due to his thoughts about Ford, who didn’t come up from the basement once.
Stan kept his senses perked for any sign of life from the kitchen, of his brother getting food, but there were none.
The twins went to bed at nine PM, and Stan was left by himself. He turned off the television and went into the kitchen. He sat at the table by himself and gazed out the window, lost in thought.
The twins are in bed, a voice spoke up. Now’s your chance.
Stan was no longer remotely tired whatsoever.
I can’t. They’re in the house.
I have to.
But I can’t.
Can you stand not to?
Stan couldn’t answer this. He didn’t get up from the table, instead directing his thoughts to Ford.
Ford won’t eat.
That’s because he’s an idiot. Not your problem.
Yes, but that idiot is still my brother.
He doesn’t care about you.
But I still care about him.
It seemed like there were multiple miniature battles going on in Stan’s mind at once. He would’ve found them amusing if the stiuations he was considering weren’t so serious. He stood up from the table and walked away with the intention of going to Ford’s laboratory in the hidden basement.
He punched in the code on the vending machine and slipped inside the stairway, wondering where he’d find his brother.
It turns out Ford was in the portal room, up high on a very precarious-looking ladder. Stan panicked and ran inside.
“Stanford! It’s not safe up there!” he called loudly. Ford looked over, an angry glare crossing his face.
“Stanley?” Ford said, starting to climb down, startled though he was. “How’d you get in here?!”
“You haven’t changed the passcode yet,” Stan informed him. “I’m just glad it worked. You could’ve fallen and been injured down here by yourself without any way of getting help,” Stan told him, crossing his arms.
“Stan, just because you’re afraid of heights doesn’t mean I am,” Ford answered, shaking his head irritably.
“Even if I am afraid of heights, you have to agree that it wasn't safe,” Stan replied promptly, standing his ground.
Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stanley–why are you down here in the first place? I thought we were avoiding each other.”
“That’s how you’d rather have it, I know,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “But the thing is, Ford, I came down here to make sure that you’ve eaten something.”
“Huh?” Ford asked, cocking his head to one side.
“Like breakfast? Lunch, maybe? Dinner?” Stan asked, spreading his arms wide. “Those sound familiar?”
Ford looked very startled. “Oh. I think I forgot.”
“The fact that you don’t have a monster stomach ache is irritating to me. Come on, let’s get you something,” Stan told him, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not really used to three meals a day anyway. Most other dimensions only have two, or sometimes even one,” Ford explained.
“Goodness, how distressing,” Stan answered flatly. “Come upstairs, Ford.” He turned to walk away, and to his surprise, Ford actually followed him into the elevator.
As the doors closed, an awkward silence fell upon them. Stan didn’t know what to say to his twin. And it was clear Ford didn’t want conversation, even though he’d slumped his shoulders and put his hands behind his back like he always did when he felt awkward.
The fact that Stan noticed this sent a pang running through his heart. Even after everything that happened, even after thirty years, Ford was still Ford. It was honestly a relief to know that he hadn’t changed too much because of his otherworldly experiences.
Stan cleared his throat. “Stanford,” he said softly. Ford looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.
For a minute, Stan wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell Ford. “Don’t send me away, you’re all I have left?” “I love you more than anything in the entire world?”
After a short while he settled on something more mild.
“I’m…glad you’re back,” he said quietly. “Even though…there were consequences…I–I’m just glad to know you’re home now. Where you belong.”
Ford glared and looked away. “Where I belong,” he repeated, almost spitting out the words. He appeared frustrated.
“What?” Stan asked.
“Nothing,” Ford muttered. “It’s nothing, Stanley.”
“Stanford,” Stan said cautiously, “maybe if we just…actually talked to each other, you know…maybe then we’d be able to work through some things.”
Ford shot Stan a glare. “What if I don’t want to talk to you, since you ruined my life?” he asked furiously.
Stan sighed and turned away. “And I’ve spent thirty years trying to make it right,” he muttered.
“What did you just say?” Ford asked.
“Ford,” Stan said, balling his fists, “I said ‘I’ve spent thirty years trying to make it right.’ The truth is, I’m not like you. I’m not smart. I don’t know how to reverse-engineer a portal. Heck, I never went to college and you know that I was no good in highschool. All I know is street-fighting and what I learned after I left home. I had to teach myself how to fix your portal, read through every bit of research you had. I can’t understand that stuff! At this point, I know exactly how your portal works. I got textbooks from the library, and even though your research was much more advanced than anything I could find, I ended up finally understanding it all on my own. Doesn’t that count for something? I worked as hard as I possibly could to get you home. I’m glad you’re here. Do you have a problem with that?”
There was complete silence in the elevator.
Ford wore an expression that was nothing but complete shock.
“You…you learned everything?” Ford whispered. “All of it?”
Stan nodded. “Every bit of research I could find. I practically have your first journal memorized, by the way. I read through it too much.”
Ford stared at him as though he’d grown horns. Stan shrugged. “Sorry about all that,” he added, feeling suddenly remorseful for his outburst. This was never about him. He didn’t have any right to tell Ford off for feeling the way he did about Stan’s mistakes. “I just…I guess I’ve been upset about that for a little while.”
Ford nodded, looking rather frightened for some reason.
It was then that Stan noticed the elevator had opened a long time ago and both of them could’ve walked out, but neither of them had.
How long they’d been there without noticing, he didn’t know. But now he walked out of the elevator, Ford on his heels. They walked up the stairs and out of the hidden door, into the giftshop.
Stan walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked Ford. “I inherited all of Mom’s recipes at some point and I’ve been making them ever since.”
“You’ve learned how to cook too?” Ford asked, sitting down at the table.
“Had to, when I left home. Didn’t get much of anything for a long time until I started pretending I was you.”
“You mentioned something about going to prison in three different countries, I remember,” Ford said softly.
“You remember that?” Stan asked, surprised. “You’d think with thirty years of alternate dimensions you’d’ve forgotten all about my existence.”
“The memories of you have been much too painful to forget,” Ford informed him solemnly.
Stan sighed. “I guess so. I never even tried to forget about you. I didn’t want to. It gave me purpose,” he added. “Now, what do you want to eat , Ford?”
Stanford looked surprised. “I…I’m not sure. I could just have…well, whatever, I guess,” he said with a shrug.
“You don’t remember anything from our childhood that you want me to make for you?” Stan asked. He felt his hope starting to fade. He really did want to make Ford something special.
Do you think that will make him care about you?
What kind of manipulation tactic is this?
“Not right now,” Ford answered uncertainly. “Maybe I will at some point. I really do need to get back to work.”
“Are you planning on leaving again?” Stan asked him.
“Hell no,” Ford answered quickly. “I’m dismantling the portal. It’s much too dangerous to use.”
“Hey, Ford,” Stan said in a warning voice, “I know you’ve been gone for thirty years, but there are kids in the house right now. As soon as they leave, you can swear all you want, but while Dipper and Mabel are here…try to keep it under wraps, why don’t you?”
Ford looked surprised. “Oh. I mean…alright. I suppose that makes sense.” He glanced at the floor, clearly thinking about something.
Stan brought out the leftovers from dinner from the fridge and set them in front of Ford with a fork and knife and sat down as his brother started to eat ravenously.
“You remember Shermie, though, don’t you?” he asked Ford.
“Yes,” Ford replied with his mouth full. “Of course I remember Shermie.”
“Well…” Stan hesitated. “He…uh…I mean…I pretended to be you around him. I also pretended that you’d…gotten your extra fingers amputated because I couldn’t wear your gloves anymore.”
Ford looked at him with wide eyes. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” he asked blankly, cocking his head to one side.
“I really didn’t want to,” Stan answered. “He had enough going on. His wife, his kids…and now his grandkids, you know? He didn’t need that. But now that you’re back, we probably should tell him that, well, that I’m not dead, and that I’m also not you.”
Stanford stared at him. “That might be a good idea. I’ll probably give him a phone call sometime in the future.”
Stan frowned. “You think you can explain all of this over a phone call, Ford? Really? And I thought you were the smart twin–”
“Stanley, I have an IQ of over two-hundred, which you are well aware of,” Ford answered, finally swallowing his food. “You shouldn’t argue with me about this. I’ll call Shermie…maybe in a month or two.” When you’re gone. Ford didn’t say the words, but they were implied. Stan slumped in his seat a little.
“Right,” he muttered. He sighed as he glanced out the window. Then he stood up. “Well, I should let you eat in peace,” he told Ford quickly, starting to walk away. “You can still wash your own dish, even if you can’t get your own food, yeah?” he added, shooting Ford a sarcastic glare over his shoulder.
“I could do both,” Ford said, looking incensed.
“Funny. Would’ve thought you wouldn’t be starving by now if you could get your own food,” Stan answered as he walked out of the room. Ford didn’t call him back, but muttered something resentful.
He really does hate you.
I’ve done everything wrong. It’s understandable. I guess he didn’t actually want to come home.
Stan went back into his room. The knife on his desk glinted by the light streaming from the door as he opened it and shut it again.
The twins are asleep.
They’re still in the house. And Ford’s awake. What if he comes looking for me?
He won’t come looking for you.
Stan growled and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He couldn’t handle this at the moment. He just had to make it a month until the twins were gone…and so was he. Then, finally, when he was by himself, he could finish what he’d started long ago.
It won’t fail this time, he thought. Besides, the world would be better off without me. I deserve it.
“You really ruin everything you touch, don’t you, Stan?” he said to himself in the mirror. This thought made him feel more angry and sad and hurt. No matter whatever he tried, he always sank back into his inherent badness. He could never be a good person. He was always going to be what he always reset to–a villain.
Stan sighed and took his glasses off. He leaned towards the mirror.
“Just try not to ruin Dipper and Mabel too,” he whispered to himself shamefully. “You know you wouldn’t be able to stand them getting hurt on your watch.”
Maybe that’s a good thing.
Stan couldn’t answer this, so he simply exited the bathroom and walked over to his bed. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.