Chapter Text
Ford yawned as he exited his room, stretching his arms behind him before continuing down the hallway to the kitchen. The last few days had been... days. Eventful, perhaps, might be a word someone might use. Or enlightening.
Tragic even.
But Mabel had called them 'one too many of those days in a row' and was determined not to 'put labels' on the harrowing events their family (and the rest of the town) had gone through, so days it was.
But those days were starting to make their way behind them, and so Fords heart was light as he strode into the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. Stan wasn't in there, but that wasn't too unusual nowadays.
He'd just had his mind erased after all, deviations from his normal routine were more than expected.
Morning light poured into the empty kitchen, and the room was soon full of the noises from the coffee machine. It rattled worryingly, and every few seconds made a high-pitched noise that was eerily reminiscent to a kettle. Ford let it be, confident his repairs would hold until McGucket took a look at it or a new one was acquired.
Instead he turned his focus to breakfast.
The townsfolk had been very helpful in restocking the decimated pantry (even if the kids complained that nothing was where it was supposed to be) and Ford took great care in selecting their morning meal. A part of him cursed himself for neglecting all the family breakfasts he'd avoided, as the last few days had proven his knowledge on cooking to be... more than somewhat out of date.
But today would be different, because today he had come prepared with a plan.
A plan not to touch any appliance in the room besides the fridge.
Children (according to Stan) needed a wide variety in their diet. Before, when Stan was the one providing meals, his brother made sure the kids ate plenty of meat and carbs in the form of cans of meat and pancakes, and shoved fruit down their throats in the form of sugary juice boxes and fruit cups.
(There had been no mention of vegetables, and a part of him feared none had been in his house since his less than graceful departure)
So with that in mind, Ford grabbed a few plastic plates, loaded them up with granola bars, fruit cups, oranges, bread, and whatever other snacks he knew the children would eat.
Stan would eat just about anything, and Ford had already taken a pill this morning. He loaded up his brother plate with a few more questionable choices, then called the children down for breakfast. Distant thuds was his only response, their bare feet shuffling around as they got up.
There was no response from Stan's room.
"Stanley!" Ford called, taking a few steps up the stairs, "Breakfast! I promise I didn't burn anything this time!"
Upstairs he could hear a few disbelieving mutters, but he brushed it aside. Once they came down and saw his unburnt spread, he'd bask in their praise for his ability to feed them by himself.
A normal thing for someone his age to want, surely.
"Stanley!" he repeated, making his way to the top of the stairs, "Stanley?"
Nothing.
Ford pushed down the growing nerves in his stomach. It had been over a week since... and while Stan had improved drastically, he would still stay up strange hours and slept heavier than he used to. A side effect of all the stress Weirdmaggedon put on him, nothing to be worried about.
That's what Ford told himself, forcing his hand to be steady as he reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It twisted easily, door creaking as he pushed it open.
To his relief, Stan was in the room. The curtains were pulled closed, and he was bundled up under a pile of blankets, his true face peeking out by the pillow. Pinkish eyes squinted in the light of the hallway, an expression Ford now knew meant he was tired and not contemplating the best way to eat him.
"Stanley," Ford sighed, opening the door all the way, "sorry, did I wake you?"
Stan squinted harder, before blinking his eyes wide open. A ripple went through him, and a moment later Ford was looking at Stan's human face, the mass under the blankets flattening into a person shape as Stan shifted.
"Ah, my apologies," Ford stepped closer to the bed and tugged at the blankets, helping Stan sit up, "I know how you feel about us seeing your base form. I should have knocked."
"Ah, my apologies," Stan repeated in Fords voice, sitting up and staring at Ford intently, "I know how you feel about us seeing your base form. I should have knocked."
Ford froze.
With a heavy heart, he turned to examine his brother closer, heart sinking with every confirmed detail.
It was hard to make out in the dim light of the bedroom, but Stan's normally whiter hair had a streak going through it, and his chin now had a cleft.
Not Stan's face at all.
Fords face, one Stan had finally stopped wearing a few days ago, stating it felt 'weird' to look exactly like Ford all the time. But that wasn't what made Ford want to pull him close and tuck his brother's head under his chin. It wasn't the reason he spent every night since he'd held a gun up to his brothers head wide awake, haunted by every choice and missed moment that led him to discovering his brothers secret in the worst way possible.
What took Fords heart and squeezed it in a vice grip was Stan's hands. His fingers, to be exact.
All twelve of them.
"Oh Stanley," Ford whispered, pushing the burning feeling away from his eyes.
"Oh Stanley," Stan repeated, face twisting in what Ford knew was a copy of his own expression.
It wasn't the first time Stan had regressed, far from it. There were hours he'd forgotten peoples names, times he forgot words or went back to mimicking voices, times he seemed lost in his own mind, reliving moments no one but he could see. It wouldn't be the last either, something Ford would have to help Stan through each and every episode for the rest of their lives.
It was the least he could do, after everything.
So he wasn't surprised that Stan had forgotten again, just sad. Sad, and devastated, because while it wasn't the first time, it was most certainly the worst.
Stan had never gone back to having extra fingers, not since that first day when he first woke up, brand new and hanging onto every word Ford said.
There was no telling how long this would last, or if he would bounce back as quickly as he did that first day. The best they could do was try and help Stan as much as they could, until the memories came back on their own or they could sit down and go through the scrap book again.
Ford swallowed, almost choking when Stan did the same, then held out a hand, "Come along, its breakfast time. Are you hungry?"
"Come along, its breakfast time. Are you hungry?" Stan repeated, matching Fords tone and cadence perfectly, before grabbing his hand and letting Ford pull him up. He didn't wobble, and Ford cheered at the steady, even steps Stan took without having to study Ford's gait. His hand felt awkward in Fords, large and bulky, the extra finger throwing off what should have been a perfect fit.
He held it tighter, getting a squeeze in return.
Together they made their way out into the hall, where Dipper and Mabel were groggily wandering towards the stairs.
"Mornin' Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford," Mabel yawned, holding Dippers hand so he wouldn't run into anything in his zombie-like state, "Whats for breakfast? I don't smell anything burning."
"Ah yes," Ford said, tugging his own twin behind him, "I decided to try something less... flammable this morning."
"Ah yes," Stan said, making Mabel jump and blink up at him, "I decided to try something less.. flammable this morning."
"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked, shooting Ford a concerned look.
Ford gave her a soft smile in return (which Stan also copied, before muttering flammable under his breath one too many times for Fords liking), "Not to worry my dear, I'm- We'll see how he's doing after breakfast."
"Not to worry my dear," Stan said, turning towards Dipper (who was squinting up at Stan in early morning confusion), "I'm- We'll see how he's doing after breakfast."
"Oh. Ok." They drifted into silence, both of them helping their twin down the stairs. It took Stan a second to work his legs right, and Dipper kept leaning heavily on the rail and almost sliding head first to the ground. It took them a few minutes of making sure neither would meat an untimely demise via gravity, but eventually they were on the ground floor, heading towards the kitchen.
"Do you think-" Mabel said suddenly, before biting her lip and looking away. Ford ruffled her hair, and idly noticed Stan did the same to Dipper, getting a swat that made Stan jump and shoot Ford several worried looks.
"Go on, what did you want to ask?"
"Well," Mabel said, staring at her feet as they continued on to the kitchen, "Is he... will it be like before? We're leaving soon, and I don't..."
Ford opened his mouth to answer, only to pause when Stan said, "Go on, what did you want to ask?" accompanied by a yelp from Dipper.
Both of them turned around to find Stan holding Dipper by the back of the shirt. He was frowning at the boy, apparently upset with Dippers flailing and demands to be put down.
"Go on," Stan repeated, shooting Ford a tight look before focusing back on their gnephew, "what did you want to ask?"
"Nothing Grunkle Stan!" Dipper shouted, kicking his legs and swinging his arms at Stan, "Put me down!"
"What did you want to ask?" was Stan's only response, besides shaking Dipper, "Go on."
Ford opened his mouth to tell Stan to let him go, before Mabel burst into laughter. Stan shot her a panicked look, before desperately shaking Dipper harder, ignoring his increasingly high pitched screams.
"What?" Ford asked looking between his gneice and his sputtering gnephew, "Whats so funny?"
"Whats so funny?" Stan repeated, his even tone a stark difference to the growing panic in his eyes.
"Its- Grunkle Stan!" Mabel breathed, wiping a tear from her eye, "He's- he's copying you, but with Dipper! Dipper! You're supposed to be copying me! He's-"
Ford stared at the cackling ball that was his gniece, before turning back to face his brother. Dipper had stopped flailing, and was now rubbing his face and groaning, while Stan looked near tears as he looked back and forth between the children.
Because Dipper wasn't copying Mabel, and because Dipper wasn't copying Mabel, Stan couldn't copy Ford and have a coherent conversation.
It was tragic really. Stan was nothing more than a blank slate, one that was convinced Ford would teach him everything he needed to survive, as long as he copied everything Ford did. Of course he'd try to copy Fords conversation, using Dipper as a partner instead of Mabel. Of course he'd be upset if Dipper didn't respond the way Mabel did. To him, it must be a sign he was copying Ford incorrectly.
It made Ford want to cry.
But it was also kind of funny.
"Stan," Ford said, stiffing a smile, "Put the poor boy down, you can't shake a question out of him."
"I decided to try- shake a question out of - the poor boy." Stan said, frowning at Dipper. Dipper rubbed his eyes and muttered under his breath, before looking up to frown right back at him.
Stan shook him one more time, and Dipper groaned.
"Can you put me down?"
Stan frowned harder, before nodding sharply. He let go, and Dipper slammed back to the ground, wobbling for a moment.
"What? Whats so funny?" Stan said, staring at Dipper intently. Ford stifled a laugh, and Mabel failed to stop hers from bouncing off the walls.
Dipper sighed again, then let out a flat "ha ha ha."
Stan stared harder.
"Oh come on!" Dipper shouted, throwing his hands in the air, "I can't laugh on command! What do I look like, a clown!"
"A clown." Stan said in Dippers voice, nodding. He waved a hand at him, then pointed to where Mabel was clutching her stomach bent over on the floor.
"Stanley," Ford said, coughing to hide the quirking of his own lips, "I understand you want to.... copy, the experience, but you can't force the boy to laugh if he doesn't-"
"Don't worry Grunkle Stan!" Mabel interrupted, popping up between them. Her cheeks were rosy red and her smile wide, and both her hands came up on either side of her, fingers wiggling in the air, "I can get him to laugh."
"Wait- Mabel don't-!" Was as far as Dipper got. The next moment Mabel was upon him, fingers digging into his sides and armpits before they even crashed to the floor.
The effect was instant. With a screech Dipper buckled underneath her, then howled with laughter. His pleading for mercy fell on deaf ears, as Mabel locked their legs together and continued her tickle assault.
Stan nodded sharply, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Alright, settle down," Ford said, supressing his smile as best he could when Stan moved to copy him. Unlike Fords attempt at mature conflict diffusion, Stan was radiating smugness, pleased to have gotten his successful copied experience. Mabel got in a few more tickles, then bounced to her feet and skipped to the kitchen, leaving her wheezing brother behind.
Her wheezing brother that Fords brother was poking in the ribs with his foot.
"Leave him be," Ford said, pushing Stan back so Dipper could get to his feet, "Breakfast is getting cold."
"Leave him be," Stan repeated, and even though his mimicry was perfect, Ford got the sense he was being mocked, "Breakfast is getting- flammable this morning."
"It is not!" Ford puffed up, marching towards the kitchen to show off his unburnt breakfast spread, "Look, see!"
Ford burst into the kitchen and waved a hand, gesturing to all the fire spreading across the counter next to the stove. He stared at it for a moment, shocked, while Mabel frantically grabbed the emergency fire extinguisher and Dipper lunged to save breakfast.
The coffee machine hissed and sputtered, sending flaming blobs of coffee around the room in magnificent arcs. It was coated in white a second later, and Stan sauntered up and very mockingly copied Fords gesture.
"Look, see!" Stan parroted, "Breakfast is getting- flammable."
Ford looked at his brother. Saw his own face staring back, grin wide and nothing at all like his own. Every day they spent together as brothers was something he didn't deserve, something he'd spend the rest of his life trying to earn. Every second Stan was here, as himself or not, was a miracle Ford would be thankful for every day. His mischief and criminal ways were something he'd never take for granted again.
Fords brother. His best friend. The person who saved the world.
None of that saved him from Ford looping an arm around his neck and putting him in a headlock, and as long as Stan was determine to copy him he wouldn't use his shapeshifting ability to cheat.