goodguygrifter | (no subject)

Stan grins, following Ford's pose again and sitting up. Teasing his brother feels good, making him smile like that, it feels natural, but all the same Stan's grin fades as he takes in the rest of what Ford's saying. Or, you know, tries to. There's so much, what with the devil thing and crossing over and 'entering our world' - what, from where? Space? That doesn't sound like the right answer somehow, feels like he's missing something simple, and his gaze kind of skitters away from Ford, landing harmlessly on the floor a little ways away.

"Uh, look-" Stan rubs his head, his hand moving down to the back of his neck and hanging there. "I know I'd have to ask about a million questions before I start to understand this shit even half as well as you do. And I know, uh, I know all this ain't exactly my area. But when I first got here you said you'd tell me what you were up against, really show me why you don't want me here. And now I seen it. Some of it, anyway. And I- Look, I'm good at the heavy lifting shit, and I know you could use a couple extra fists. And there's no way you don't need the backup. So if- i-if, if y-you, uh-"

Sheesh, this is worse than the moment he got here, standing in front of that cabin, staring down at that doorknob and trying to talk himself into turning it.

"If you wan-want, I-I- we could, w-we could, uh, if, if you- "

Yep. This is Stan's part of their deal, the end of his trial period and the moment, his moment to show Ford what he's got, really sell it- and that's it. That's the best he's getting. That and a vague handwave, one meant to show that they could, you know, that maybe they could-

Ugh. Shit. Probably best if he doesn't look up, isn't it?

Stan doesn't need to finish his sentence: Ford already knows what he's trying to offer. Were he a stronger man, he'd say no. Were he not so selfish, he would tell Stan to get the hell out of Gravity Falls and never come back. If he wasn't so damn scared of facing this alone, he'd push his brother away for his own safety.

Ford wishes he were any of these things. Even just one. Maybe then Stan would have a chance. Maybe then his brother could actually stay safe and sound and untouched by the unseen part of the world he was never meant to have any part of.

He really should tell him no. He should shove a plane ticket in his hands and send him all the way to the other end of the Earth, as far away from here as possible.

He should, but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out wordlessly and hooks his arm over his brother's shoulders so that he can draw him close.

"...After missing you for ten years, you really think I'd ever let you out of my sight again?"

Stan looks up as he's pulled in and the words send a smile spreading across his face, a smile with real joy in it. It's a smile with hope, too, those old hopes he buried a long time ago that are washing back up on the shore of Stanley's mind, the ones he's picking back up now without a second of doubt. "Yeah? Yeah! Alright!"

He punches at Ford's chest and he's maybe a little too excited to hold back as much as he should, but Ford won't mind, will he? Of course not. "That devil asshole won't know what hit him! You an' me? He don't stand a chance! Come on, let's celebrate!"

Somewhere in there he slung an arm around Ford's shoulders too, and he pulls on them now to try and get them both standing. "We can, uh-"

It hits Stan kinda' like stepping in the deep end before you're ready, expecting solid ground under your feet and finding only water, that he doesn't have the first idea what Ford likes to do now. He goes through Ford's old hobbies in his head, the ones he knows, but, but- Okay, that's fine, he can make this work anyway, you know? It's not such a big deal.

"We can do whatever you want!" The excitement springs back into Stan's face after less than a second, almost like it never left. "Let's make it your night, huh? Your choice!"

Ford doesn't mind the punch, no - it just pushes him back a little more than he expected, which is fine because Stan slings his arm over his shoulders a moment later and in doing so takes away any residual sting the excited jab might have unintentionally caused.

Ford sways a little as he and Stan rise to their feet, but thanks to the arm around his shoulders he doesn't have to worry about steadying himself - or bearing the full brunt of his own weight, which after the workout and near-heart attack he just had is a little more than he can bear on his own. Hopefully Stan doesn't mind if he leans on him a little - god knows that would be the least demanding favor he asked of him in the past two days.

"My choice, huh?" He chuckles, the sound tired but warm. "I hope you don't have your heart set on anything exciting, because I after all this I could really use a quiet night in."

Except his house isn't really the best place for getting R&R these days - not in the state it's in. Besides, Ford is starving and while the food back at the cabin is edible, it's not exactly palatable.

"...Actually, why don't we head out someplace, grab something to eat. Get me out of the house for a while."

And by that he means he might actually just rent a goddamn motel room for the night, just so they won't have to go back to the house. Ford doesn't want to have to face that place until the morning hours.

Okay, they're in good shape: Ford doesn't mind the punch, and Stan doesn't mind being leaned on. He even likes it a little, his brother leaning against him, counting on Stanley to hold him up. Nah, he doesn't mind at all. He just moves his arm down some, the better to support Ford's weight, and starts to lead them out away from all this without a look back. It says a little - not a huge amount, no, but a little - about how focused he is on his brother, on having him back, really having him back after all this time, that Stan doesn't for a second remember the gun they're about to leave behind them.

"Yeah! I'll drive!" That says something about how focused he is, too, that he says that and only thinks, shit, that means he's gonna' see in my car, a second after. Or maybe it says something very different, says he's used to having people in his car now and then, but not Ford. How much can Ford tell from one look? He's the smartest guy Stan ever met, that's always been true and it's always gonna' be, but is it the kind of smart where he'll get in Stan's car - dad's old car, or it used to be right up until Stan managed to get the inside to stop smellin' like that cleaner pop used to use - and see everything Stan's done in the last ten years?

"Or, uh, it's been a while since I had the whole nature experience," he says, trying real hard to turn something that might be 'worried' into something that looks like 'earnest'. "The real thing, I mean, like you got around here, with all them freaky tall trees. How far is town from here? I bet we could walk it, right?"

It's good that Stan doesn't think about the gun, because Ford doesn't want to have to explain how it got there. In fact, he doesn't want to talk about anything that would lead either of them to think unpleasant thoughts, which...really narrows down the list of things they can actually say to one another. There's not a whole lot of safe subjects for them to talk about anymore - it seems like everything inevitably circles back to old wounds and even older regrets whenever they let themselves talk for too long.

They'll have to work on that.

"We could." Ford replies with a nod. "I'd offer to drive myself, but an Ent made off with my car last week. Again."

Yes, Stan heard right - again.

"And before you ask, no, I don't drive a Ford."

He glances to the side, shooting his brother a knowing look. He hasn't heard one of Stan's dumb jokes in a decade, but he hasn't forgotten their usual patterns. He trusts that despite the years Stan's sense of humor has stayed relatively the same, and as such he ought to expect three key things:

1. Jokes that make him groan, typically because they're so bad they swing right back around to being funny.
2. Jokes that make him feel like a horrible person when he laughs at them despite himself.
3. Jokes at his expense, because as brothers they are compelled by their base nature to give each other shit at every possible opportunity.

That said, Ford's fully expecting to hear all of the above and every combination thereof as they make their weary way to town.

"Ha! Good one!" Stan grins as if that's the first time anyone's ever made that joke, looking proud of his brother for making it with no attention for anything in the rest of the crazy mad-science bunker as they leave it. It's amazing, all this, maybe the most amazing place he's ever been - he's seen bigger places, maybe even more impressive ones, in some ways, but even after the pissed-off jello monster from hell tried to eat their faces, this place still feels fun. It feels weird, and fun, and he wants to look in every little corner to see what's going to jump out at him. It's a feeling Stan hasn't had in a long time, he's had too much nasty little shit jumping out at him from too many nasty little corners, and he wants, maybe, to come back here some time.

But right now he doesn't even glance around at it, because it's them now, the Pines brothers are back, and unless Ford really wants to walk on his own Stan's gonna' keep his arm around him all the way up those steps. "Ents, though? Like, real ones, from them books?"

This is something Stan hasn't felt in a while, too. Wide eyed and awed, amazed, wanting to explore everything. Everything feels new. Everything, and the guy beside him, too.

"Heh. Not exactly, though Tolkien was on the right track."

As they walk, Ford goes on to describe the car-stealing tree-monsters that inhabit the woods, and how they differ from their fictional counterparts. He appreciates Stan's interest, but even more than that, he appreciates just having someone to share this knowledge with. There are so many things he wants to talk about, so many wonderful and terrible and amazing facets of the world that he alone has been privy to.

Now that he thinks about it, he can't imagine anyone he'd like to share these things with more than his brother.

-------------

The walk is long, but made easy by the conversation they share as they make their way out of the bunker and through the woods. By the time they reach town, a few stores have already closed, but thankfully Ford knows a place that's open late on weekends. Ford Turns up his coat collar as they draw close, and smooths down his hair in an effort to hide the ugly red line on the back of his head. He doesn't want to have to answer any questions the wound might provoke should anyone catch sight of it.

"Here we go. Susan's place." He looks sideways at Stan, offering him a faint smile. "The food's not the best, but the service is great. I think you'll like the owner."

He chuckles a little to himself, seemingly at some sort of private joke.

"I know she'll like you."

"Yeah? Why's that, you been turnin' on the charm or somethin', gettin' her used to that handsome face of yours?" Stan slaps at Ford's shoulder, grinning, then pushes open the door and steps inside the place. "She'll have to like both of us tonight, huh? Like I said, it's your night! You and me! Come on, you must be starving!"

Then Stan's face falls. Because, hey, he just remembered. Weird that he forgot, or maybe it ain't. "I, uh." He hesitates a second, hating this and hating what it's going to come out sounding like. He has to say it, though, so he does. "I think I mighta' left my money in the car."

He mutters it, because that owner, whoever she is, sure don't wanna' hear that sort of thing. It's not a great lie either, mostly because he hates saying it to his brother, of all people, too much to put any oomph into it. But what's he gonna' tell him? That he don't have any at all, oops, sorry, he just remembered? No way. He pats at empty pockets, habit when telling someone that sort of thing, and grimaces at Ford apologetically.

Stan has no need to look as sheepish as he does - Ford had no intention of making him pay for anything, especially not after everything he's done for him since showing up in this damned down,

Ford gives his brother a reassuring smile, coupled with a nod towards one of the booths in the back end of the diner.

"It's fine, I've got a tab." He glances around, checking to make sure Susan hasn't come out from the kitchen yet, before leaning forward and adding in a low, conspiratorial tone: "And to answer your first question - no, I haven't done anything of the sort. She just likes the jaw-line."

He grins, gesturing between Stan's face and his own.

"Hence why I think she'll take a liking to you pretty quick."

"Heh, yeah." Stan runs a hand over said line of his jaw, still looking a teensy bit sheepish but relieved, too, glad that Ford didn't look too deep into it and that he didn't mind. "That's come in handy a few times here, too."

"Speakin' of," he adds, sliding into the side of the booth that puts his back to the wall, "how do you even know how to use that jaw of yours to charm a woman? Does that mean you've been gettin' some practice in while I've been- gone?"

Stan's good, too, sometimes Stan's real good, because he does hesitate over how to say that, gone, but only a little, only barely, and he caps the sentence off by trying to wiggle an elbow in between Ford's ribs. "Or maybe more than practice? Ehhhhh?" And hey, he waggles his eyebrows too for good measure. It won't do for Ford to miss what he means, after all.

That elbow jab, coupled with the waggled eyebrows, earns Stan an embarrassed groan as Ford puts his face to his hand and drops his head back against the wall behind them.

"Stanley, we're in public."

Nevermind that the diner is pretty much empty, except for them. The point still stands - except not really, Ford just doesn't wanna talk about the spectacular mess of half-baked misadventures that make up his personal life.

Sure, he'll tell Stan all about the demons and the world-ending mistakes, but god help him if he has to tell him about his utter lack of experience in this particular area too, he's going to strongly consider learning how to spontaneously combust at will.

It might be a good thing Ford's too embarrassed to look at Stanley right now, because his smile goes a little sappier than it really should for a good ten seconds. He's missed this. God, he's missed this. His brother beside him groaning at something he said, embarrassed and really, able to stand up and leave at any time and not doing it. This is everything he's been missing. This, right here and right now. If he had to go another ten years to get another moment like this Stan thinks, for half a second, that he just might do it, before he nixes the thought as fast as he can because he's read some of those stories about genies and gettin' what you wish for and all that shit, and Ford's just told him a lot of that junk is real, and he really, really doesn't want to push his luck.

"Hey, maybe the public's got a right to know." He leans forward, miming holding a mic to his mouth, then holding it out to his brother's. "Hello Dr. Pines, this is Stan Studley reporting for the entire goddamn world, and there's one question every one of our very special viewers out there have been dyin' to know: How long ago did you pop your cherry?" He says it like he would have when they were kids, back when saying shit like 'goddamn' and 'pop your cherry' was still exciting and new. That last part, by the way, he says with special relish, grinning really wide and leaning in, all expectant-like. "Come on, Ford. Share with your adoring public."

Dear sweet Lord, he survived Bill, he survived the Shapeshifter, and this is how he dies - curling up and keeling over from raw unfiltered mortification because his brother just had to go and ask the most embarrass question he could have possibly posed him.

Rather than give an actual answer, Ford simply turns a little red and gives his brother a shove that is a little rougher than strictly necessary.

"Knock it off, Stanley, you're causing a scene."

Except, again, there's no one around to cause a scene in front of. Ford looks around, wondering where the hell Susan is when he could really use her as a diversion right about now.

Stan looks around too but slowly, just to make a point. "You know, our very special viewers are really disturbed by your lack of trust. But Ford, seriously, it can't be that embarrassing after all this time. I mean it's not even that, I just, I mean-"

He takes a breath, and he says it, his voice going all quiet and earnest. He's all for pretending, you know, putting a good face on this shit, but sometimes you gotta' take risk if you want to get a reward. Sometimes the truth is that risk. "Ford, it's been almost ten years. We're- look at us. High school was one booger of a long time ago, you know? I guess I just... I just wanted, you know, I wanted to know. It ain't even about how many girls you slept with, or anything like that. Not really. It's just-"

And here comes the answer to Ford's earlier question, the diversion, here not at all in the nick of time. "He-eyyy," the woman says. "And just who at this time of- Oh, it's you! And with a friend!"

She looks them both up and down, which is just fine with Stan, whose expression flipped straight to 'charming' the moment she came in to the front of the diner.

"Well if I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you could almost be brothers!" It ain't a gentle or graceful laugh she's got but she don't seem to care, just laughs loud and amused while Stan sends a toothy, friendly grin up at her.

Ford doesn't know if there is a god or if that god is merciful, but he is sure as hell grateful to whatever powers that summoned Susan right when he needed her most. He can't help but sigh with relief when she turns up at their table, his shoulders dropping as he slumps back in his seat and tries not to think too much on how close of a call that was.

"We are brothers, actually." Ford says with a weak smile. The woman is a little overbearing, sure, but she's a friendly sort, a good-natured person if he ever met one.

"Susan, this Stanley. Stanley, Susan."

He nods from one to the other, before reaching up to take off his glasses.

"The family resemblance is uncanny, I know." He jokes, because he feels it should be fairly obvious at this point that they're twins, and therefor pretty similar-looking by default.

"Huh," she says, and looks from one of them, to the other, to the one, and back again. She stares for a while, real close, and then says decisively, "I don't see it."

"So," she continues, getting out a little notepad and a pen. "Mr. Handsome, New Mr. Handsome? What can I do ya' for?"

It would have been funny, he knows, at one point. Once, a while back, someone really just not seeing how identical he and his brother are would have made him want to laugh. Now it just makes him want to squirm, like the whole world can see something he really wishes even he couldn't. Stan's pretty sure he knows what it is she saw: She looked at Ford with his square jaw and close set eyes and big weird nose, and saw his clothes, nice clothes, if pretty wrinkled and a little too big on his skinny self, skinnier than he oughta' be, and she sees the red rims that might as well be tattooed under his eyes. She looks at Stan, at his square jaw and close set eyes and big weird nose, and sees his cheap, stained, thin clothes and his belly and his long hair. Stan wonders for a second if he should maybe lay off the sci-fi and fantasy books he picks up now and then, when he can snag cheap old ones from a store or a library, because for a second he wonders if she looks at the two of them and sees all the years sitting right there between them, too.

But she's looking, and Ford is right here, so only shrinks back into the cheap booth seat behind him for a split second before smiling and setting one arm on the table to lean toward her. "Yeah, you got that right, toots, I'm the one with them rakish good looks," he says, and winks. And yeah, toots, what of it, he knows when a girl wants to be called toots and it works, because she gives a snorting giggle and waves her hand at him. "Stoooop."

"Alright, but only since you asked so nice. I'll have, uh... toast."

"That all, sweetie? Alright, well now, First Mr. Handsome, I'll take your order just as soon as you answer one very important question for me: Why didn't you bring that brother of yours out here earlier? Then I'd have had two of you to look at a long time ago!"

Ford raises a brow at Stan's lackluster order, wondering what in the world has come over his brother. That is the smallest, plainest, least appetizing thing he could have possibly ordered - either he's not hungry, or he's trying not to hurt his brother's wallet. Regardless of the reason, Ford isn't going to stand for it; if Stan won't order anything for himself, then Ford will just have to order for him.

...Right after he comes up with an explanation for why he never mentioned his brother in all the time he's lived here.

He shrinks back a bit, fumbling with his glasses as he puts them back on in an effort to stall for time while he thinks. He feels put on the spot, as he typically does at least once in every conversation he has with anyone who isn't family or a close friend, but oddly enough being used to the feeling doesn't make it any less unpleasant.

"Well, ah..." He steals a glance over at Stan, looking for help, when he finds himself being struck by a sudden pang of guilt.

"--To tell you the truth, Susan, I've been a better researcher than a brother, up until now."

He wants to glance to the side and give his brother an apologetic look, but he refrains. That would make it a little too obvious that things between him and Stan are still a little shaky.

"I called him up a few days ago, he decided to drop by the cabin to catch up, and, well, here we are."

He gestures between himself and Stan, smiling weakly. God he hopes that explanation is enough to placate her - he doesn't know what he'll do if he has to keep the conversation going. Maybe a subject change is in order.

"By the way - ignore what he said about the toast. He was kidding." He damn well wasn't, but Ford is quick to nudge Stan's knee with his own under the table to keep him from pointing that out.

"We'll both have a burger and fries. I'll take mine plain, he'll have his with bacon because he's a godless heathen."

He grins, swinging his arm out to lightly smack Stan in the chest with the back of his hand.

It's weird, hearin' that. He's almost glad Ford says it when someone else is here, and not even directly to him. If Ford told Stan just now, one-on-one, that he hasn't been such a great brother, Stan would have to decide whether getting to let out all that- well, all that stuff he ain't thinking about because he just got Ford back, and Ford needs him to stick around, and he's got no idea how much or little it'll take to rock this new and terrifying boat. Would letting all that stuff out for one very satisfying 'I told you so, I fucking told you, you bastard, you-' Well, that. All that. Would that be worth the risk?

Stan doesn't have to decide. Since Ford wasn't talking to him, he doesn't even have to think about it. Believe it or not luck does blow his way, sometimes.

It blows even more his way when Ford changes the subject and decides on today's meal for them, giving Stan's knee a nudge that also nudges Stan a little bit out of his own head. Stan only realizes once Ford does it that that's even what he ordered. That sort of thing's habit when he's strapped for cash, but Ford wouldn't know anything about that, would he?

But, hey, it ain't like Ford don't know plenty about other things. Other things Stan wasn't there to keep him from knowing.

Stan takes a breath. All this not rocking the boat stuff, even just in his own head, it's hard. The hand smacking into his chest helps, and something a little more real sneaks into Stan's grin as he flings out his own hand to try and thwap Ford back. "What, don't tell me you've been keepin' up with all of it, all this time?"

It's partly an honest question and Susan must get that because she says, "Two burger plates, one with bacon, coming right up! I'll just let you two catch up, but if you need anything, give me a holler!" and heads away without any tries for anything else.

"Thanks a bunch, doll!" Stan calls after her, and winks when she turns around to look at him, because he knows the value of keepin' on the good side of the staff, and besides, it just feels good, saying just the right thing and seeing a girl give him that kind of smile for it.

Ford takes the thwap to his chest in stride, accepting it as his due for being the first to hit Stan in the first place. Of course, once Susan turns her back Ford gives into the childish urge to shove Stan with his shoulder then pretend like he didn't do anything, because war has officially been declared.

"I've got to get back on God's good side somehow." He jokes, with a shrug. "After nearly ending the world among other things, I don't think he's very happy with me right now."

Ford settles back, making himself comfortable. He lets his head drop against the backrest, his shoulders drooping as his eyes fall shut, intent on giving themselves a little rest. It's been a long day, and now that they finally have a moment to just sit and breathe, it's finally catching up with him.

"...I really hope I don't have to tell you I was being facetious just now." He adds as an afterthought, just in case Stan somehow got it in his head that his brother was being serious.

"Oh, yeah," Stan lies. "Sure." A lot can change in ten years, you know? It's like he told Ford earlier, before that chick walked in. He just wants to know.

But anyway, he ain't thinkin' about that. He's thinking about waiting one second, watching Ford sitting there with his eyes closed, and waiting another second, and- yes, shoving at Ford's shoulder just when he's probably started to relax, oh sweet revenge.

"Hey, don't fall asleep just yet. That waitress likes us, but no one likes the customer enough to let 'em stay the night. Maybe I shoulda' brought the car after all, huh?"

Of course. Of course Stan shoves him right when he was starting to get comfortable.

Ford makes a startled, undignified sound before sitting upright, his eyes flying back open just so he can shoot a look at his brother. It probably would be more effective if his glasses weren't slightly askew - he fixes them, still frowning petulantly, but the moment has passed. It's too late to salvage the look now.

"I'm fine, Stan." He says flatly, before realizing that Stan has absolutely no reason to believe those words are true when they haven't been any of the other times he's said them.

He cringes a little, his hand moving to rub absently at his neck as he remembers just how much he's put Stan though these past few days - just how not fine his brother's seen him be.

"--I'm getting there." He amends, his voice a touch more quiet than it was before.

"Yeah? Yeah. Good." Stan leans back, rubbing his hands and looking for something to say to that. For something to say at all, really, that ain't along the lines of, 'fine for a guy who apparently had a real fuckin' reason to cut the back of his head open and stick a fucking metal plate in there' but he don't want to ask about that, he don't want to know. Not right now, not tonight. "So, uh. Is this really how you want to celebrate? Just sit here and eat a burger? Nothin' wild or crazy?"

Ford lets out a huff of a laugh before reaching up to rub absently at his eye. He doesn't look at Stan when he replies, not out of any desire to avoid eye-contact, but because his eyes want to close again and he's going to keep right on indulging them.

"Do I look like a "wild and crazy" sort of guy, Stan?" He asks, before pausing as he's hit with the realization that, yes actually, he probably does.

At least, he certainly looks like the "feral" type of wild and the "sincerely mentally unstable" sort of crazy. But he's neither of those things, Stan saw for himself, they proved it, so - so he can stop worrying about that now. He's not crazy. His brother doesn't think he's crazy. He just looks like hell, is all. Right? Right. Good. He can stop thinking about it now.

"Besides," He adds quickly, realizing he's let the silence drag on for too long. "I think we've both had enough excitement for one day, don't you? Unless you want another near-death experience, that is, in which case I know a few category 10 ghosts we can go harass."

"Ghosts, huh?" Yeah. That one he ain't surprised at. "Nah, I think a category 1 mouse fart would knock you on your ass right now."

Stan watches him, frowning. He hadn't really thought- but of course Ford would be ready to pass out after all the shit he's been through, even just today. Even just in the past couple hours.

And then, in the back of Stan's head, is the fact that he knows, he knows, what happened the last time Ford went to sleep. And the way he talked when Stan asked, it sounded like that wasn't just a one-off.

Okay, he thinks, and straightens up to rub at the back of his neck. Okay. He can deal with this and not talk about it at the same time, right? They don't have to talk about this today. This is supposed to be happy, for Ford. "Hey, next time she comes out we can get you some coffee too, huh? How, uh, how do you take it?"

Jeez, there's always something, ain't there? Right now it's the coffee. His own brother, and he don't even know how he likes his damn coffee.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

at some point when they settle into going wherever they're going we can timeskip

Alrighty!

idk if it should be now or not, I'll ever so kindly leave that up to you XD

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject