Chapter Text
“Pinington... where are you?!” The voice of one of Jorge’s goons rang out in the garage, echoing against the metal frames of the likely stolen cars.
He had messed up.
Of course, he’s been doing a lot of messing up since he got kicked out; but this time he missed up bad enough for an entire gang to be out to kill him.
He just wants to go home.
Instead, he’s about to be caught and murdered at the young age of 21. Just old enough to be allowed to legally drink and he’s about to be killed.
These last three years have been so hard for Stan, so he supposes that unless he gets off the streets, he’ll be killed before he turns 25. It’s not really his fault, being homeless is hard. It’s too cold, too hot, to dry, or too wet. It’s dehumanizing, too, it feels like you’ve become the world’s trash and people sure treat you like it too. He’s learned to survive, not to live. Living is enjoying life. Surviving is making it another day.
The slippery slope of immorality is greased with oil when you’re homeless. When you’re fighting to survive, your hands are tied behind your back. There’s almost nothing to stop you from slipping down the slope. At first, he tried to sell merchandise, which is all fair and good, but without any money, his stock was cheap and flimsy. He tried, desperately, to make money legally. When the little money he had ran out and he became hungry, he shoplifted. He needed some cash for his next project, so he learned to pick pockets. He panhandled, stole, and did cheap and or illegal labor.
Then he met Jorge. Jorge gave him a job being some “extra muscle”. He’d watch over their hideout, keep watch during deals, and occasionally protect their girls. He hated working near the motel, the girls liked him well enough, but he doesn’t like hearing about their worst customers. He’s on the fence about the job, but he’s miles away from the fence when he meets Carey.
She’s barely 14.
He’s working the motel the night she gets her first customer. He can’t let this happen. He really can’t. He might be surviving, but if he lets this happen he might as well be dead. He doesn’t wait for the guy to get there, instead, he grabs her and runs.
Which leads him back to the moment he’s in now.
The girl is shaking underneath his hand where he has it on her shoulder. Her own hand is clutching his shirt while the other is over her mouth to keep any noises she might make, inside. Not daring to peek out from behind the stack of tires, Stan keeps her close. Jorge’s men know that they’re in here, he hadn’t been able to get out of town with the girl in tow. They have eyes all around this city.
The voices of Jorge’s men grow louder, and their shadows fall on the wall next to him. He knows they’re about to be found out. They hone in on Stan and Carey's position like a hawk to two mice.
Something is shaking him
He turns to Carey, her wide brown eyes worried.
“Grunkle-“ Stan stops Carey with a hand over her mouth.
He listens for the footsteps and voices of Jorge’s men, but hears nothing. He needs to get her out of here before they decide to come back. He lifts her into his arms and runs for the nearest door. He realizes he’s actually in a house, rather than the garage. He hears movement behind him so he hushes to the door.
“Grunkle Stan!”
He stops.
Carey only knew him as Steve.
“Wha- my name is Steve, Carey. Where’d you hear Stan?” If she knows his real name, that might mean that someone else had told her, someone who probably works for Jorge. That kind of information in the hands of someone like Jorge could mean trouble. Especially if he tracks down Ford.
“Steve? No, you’re- wait” her mouth purses, like Ford’s used to when he was doing math. “Steve pining?”
“Steve Pinington.” He corrects. “Wait, there’s no time. We need to get out of here.”
The door opens behind him, and he turns, expecting one of the big burly goons to come through the door, but instead, a kid comes in.
“Stan? Mabel? What’s going on?” the boy asks. Where did this kid come from and how did he know Stan’s name?
“Dipper,” Carey’s tear filled voice comes as a surprise next to him, he looks over to her and see tears gathering in her eyes. “I think Stan doesn’t remember again. He keeps calling himself Steve Pinington, like the fake ID he had.”
“How do you two know my real name?” Stan doesn’t know who this boy is, but if he and Carey know that Stan Pines is his real name, his family could be in danger.
They share a look and it’s only now that his mind catches up with him enough to realize that they look like twins. Or siblings that look the same age, at least, who knows.
Carey gasps loudly. “The scrapbook! That’ll help!” she runs out the room before Stan can grab her.
“Carey!” He whisper shouts after her.
“Her name is Mabel.” The boy says, clutching the end of his pajama shirt in his hand, the other is pulled defensively around his stomach to grab his arm.
“Mabel…?” why did that name sound familiar? He looked at the boy again. He reminded Stan of Ford. He seems shy, but he’s looking at Stan with such sharp eyes, he knows he’s being studied. He reminds him of another kid he knew, but he’s not sure where he knew him.
As he thinks, his memory starts to stir. He reminds him of Dipper because he is Dipper.
“Dipper?” Dipper’s face lightens up, he smiles at Stan and blows a relieved sounding breath through his nose.
Stan looks around the room and finds he remembers where most of the things in this room are. He sees on the fridge a magnet for the Mystery Shack and suddenly he remembers where he is.
He also remembers that he’s lost Ford again.
The thought knocks the air from his chest, his heart sinking to his stomach without his inflated lungs holding it in place.
Mabel comes back into the room, holding a large scrapbook in her hands.
Stan tries to pull himself together in front of the kids, taking a deep breath and clutching his hand tightly before releasing.
He smiles at Mabel as she pulls him to the table. Mabel pulls him to sit down next to her as Dipper sits opposite of them, leaving a seat empty next to Dipper that sends a pang of grief through him.
Mabel opens up the book, inside, there are pictures of him and the kids. Each page has writing in bright pink or purple ink, detailing the stories behind each picture.
“Okay, so Grunkle Stan, you’re our great uncle, I’m Mabel-“ Mabel starts but is interrupted by Dipper.
“He recognized me right before you came back.”
“Oh! Then- How much do you remember?” she looks at him expectedly.
Stan scratches the back of his neck, thinking.
“I remember the Mystery Shack, I remember you two coming to stay for the summer.” He closes his eyes and sees a red-headed girl and a Latino guy. “I remember Soos, and Wendy. I think I remember everything, actually.”
“So you remember the time I made a wax sculpture of you?” Mabel quizzed him.
Stan chuckled and nods. He remembers seeing the sculpture and thinking it was Ford, suddenly back and right in front of him.
“Or the time we fought the zombies with music?” Dipper leans forward against the table.
“Yeah, the zombies you raised in the first place.” Mabel says, reaching over the table and punching him lightly on the arm.
Stan laughs and leans back against his seat. Outside, the early morning light breaks up the shadows of the forest. A jackalope nibbles on the dew covered grass, the water reflecting the sun’s rays making the whole yard sparkle.
He feels peaceful.
The door behind him opens, and Stan turns to see Stanford walk into the kitchen, pass a hand over Stan’s shoulder in greeting, and start making coffee.
Stan sits there stunned for a few seconds that feel like minutes, before standing up.
“Ford?” Stan’s voice sounds pitiful, but he doesn’t care. Ford turns around and he’s there, Stanford is actually really there. It’s not another wax sculpture, or some illusion, it’s no dream or fantasy; Ford is actually there and not stuck on the other side of a portal.
“Oh no.” he hears from one or both of the twins, it doesn’t matter, Stan runs the few steps to get to Ford and hugs him tightly. Stan feels Ford startle, then still, his hands held out like he wasn’t expecting a hug.
“…Stanley?” Ford says slowly, he hears the kids get up from their seats behind him. “oh.”
Ford gently pushes him away by the shoulders, his eyes searching his face.
“Stanford, what- how are you here?” Stan says when Ford says nothing for a long second.
Ford breathes a sad sigh.
“He woke up from a nightmare, not remembering us, we were helping him get his memory back.” Mabel says from his side, he turns to see that she’s moved to beside the kitchen counter, her scrapbook in her arms
“We didn’t realize that he hadn’t remembered you coming back.” Dipper has also moved, but to his other side.
“Mabel, Dipper, do you two know who this is?” Stan asks, feeling very confused.
Dipper scratches the back of his head, looking both sad and worried. “That’s Great Uncle Ford, he’s the author of the journals and your twin brother.”
Stan feels hands on his arm, Mabel getting his attention, “you lost him, and then you worked so hard to bring him back! You saved him, and then saved us and the world!”
“You took my place and sacrificed yourself to defeat a terrible demon.” Ford says.
Its all coming back to him, now. The portal, the feds, weirdmageddon, the Stan-o-war, everything. Stan raises his hand up to his face, remembering.
“You punched me!”
Ford’s eyes widen and his face flushes. “yes, and I’m sorry, we apologized and made up, remember?”
Stan crosses his arms. “I remember making up, but I definitely don’t remember an apology.”
“Well I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have punched you.” Ford says.
“Thank you-“
“But in my defense, you had just risked the destruction of our universe.”
Stan rolls his eyes to the top of his head so hard they’re basically closed.
He hears a soft thump, one of Ford’s hands coming off of his shoulder suddenly. “Hey!” Stan opens his eyes to see Ford pulling his body away from Mabel.
“Just say thank you, don’t start a fight.” Mabel says, her hands on her hips.
Stan laughs.
Ford sighs, defeated. “Thank you, Stanley.”
“Stan starts laughing hard enough to make his ribs ache.
The world is at peace again.
