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returntothefalls · 7 years

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Prologue

Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction

Before heading back to Gravity Falls for the summer, Stan and Ford make a quick stop at an old haunt. However, they are surprised to also find a familiar face waiting for them.

(Chapter 1 of “Return to the Falls”, a Gravity Falls fanfiction. The up-to-date entirety can be found here.)

The old man opened his eyes and blinked, confused. He was in the living room, in the old recliner, the best seat in the house. He must have dozed off while watching “Duck-tective,” but that didn’t seem right. That show engrossed him far too much to put him to sleep, even if he’d seen the episode a hundred times.

The TV was turned off, but that in itself wasn’t odd. If he’d fallen asleep with it on, his brother would have shut it off. That old nerd hated wasting energy and had gone on a big power-saving kick after getting the house back in working order, insisting that the rest of the family keep their lights off and devices unplugged when not necessary. Of course, that all seemed pretty rich coming from the guy who built a giant universe portal that ran exclusively on raw nuclear waste. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t rendered the whole town uninhabitable when it went to pieces.

Stan looked around, frowning. Had he imagined that sound? Maybe his hearing aid was on the fritz. The house seemed to be quiet, after all. The kids must have been outside. Or … what time was it? Afternoon? Night? The fact that he’d dozed off didn’t help him much; he could fall asleep in the armchair no matter the hour. Oh well, he felt no need to worry. Right now, all he wanted was a nice cool drink to counteract the heavy summer air.

A slight noise drew his attention and he glanced to his right. A pink aluminum can sat on the dinosaur skull end table. Had that been there before? He grabbed it and nearly dropped it in surprise; it was ice cold. Maybe Mabel had left it. She knew how much he loved his Pitt Cola, especially on a hot day like this. Without further question, he popped the tab.

The frosty beverage fizzed delightfully in his mouth. He took a long, refreshing drink and sighed in contentment. Now this was more like it. If the kids were out, he might as well just kick back and enjoy some alone time. He took another swig of his soda and picked up the remote. With the house to himself, this would be the perfect time to check out the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel. The Shack was usually too busy for him to have a private moment to sit down and enjoy his guilty pleasure in peace. He pressed the power button.

There was a soft sound, like the gentle whisper of a breeze, but the television did not come on. He frowned and jabbed the button again. Still, there was no reaction. The batteries must have been dead. Of course this couldn’t be easy. He flopped back in the chair and groaned, even though no one was around to appreciate his dramatics. Why couldn’t Ford have invented a lifelong remote battery, or a robot butler to fetch new batteries, or something useful of that nature. Surely he and the hillbilly could have put something together. Sighing, Stan stood up, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to move from his seat in order to change the batteries.

The TV flashed on, startling him with the sudden burst of color and sound. A young man with brown hair and an open-collared shirt danced onto the screen. “Hi, I’m Stan Pines of Stan Co. Enterprises!” Stan recoiled in shock from the face. His face.

It was a voice, fully audible now, emanating from everywhere and nowhere. This time, Stan heard it clearly over the commercial. The TV screen buzzed with static and the image changed. It was the younger Stan again, now sporting a bushy mustache. “Hi, I’m Steve Pinington!” Stan backed away further, sweat running down his back. Was it getting hotter? Was the TV possessed? Weirder things had happened in the Shack. Steam rose from the aquarium tank and, judging by the smell, Mabel’s lobster had been boiled to delicious perfection.

Stan’s hair stood on end. The room felt charged by the voice, like lightning was about to strike. The TV flickered again. “Hi, I’m Stetson Pinefield! Are you tired of piles of owls constantly blocking your driveway?”

The images flew by faster and faster. Stan’s skin was like wax, melting and dripping to the floor, but he felt no pain.

“I’m Hal Forrester!”

“They call me 8-Ball Alcatraz!”

“Hi, I’m Mr. Mystery!”

An exterior shot of the Mystery Shack remained on the screen, but its surroundings changed. The sign fell away, the decorations disappeared. Snow blanketed the house. The man of many names was still there, standing on the front porch, staring longingly at the door.

A. X. O. L. O. T. L.

The voice droned on with greater intensity. Stan sank to his knees, which squished sickeningly into the carpet. The picture darkened and the Shack faded away, but a strange orange symbol still glowed in the blackness. Without warning, Stan’s back seared with pain and he screamed as blue fire erupted from his scar.

A X O L O T L.

The screen changed one more time. Another man appeared, almost identical to the young Stan, but wilder, a manic glint in his unblinking eyes. A tattered red book was clutched in his six-fingered hands. He stared into Stan’s eyes as though he were there in the room, not merely an image on a screen. And perhaps he was.

The Journal floated out of his hand, pages flipping wildly in an unfelt gale. Azure flames licked at Stan’s legs and he struggled to stand back up, but he slumped forward again, his decaying body unable to handle the effort. A long, merciless laugh rang out, coming from the flames, from the Journal, from the doppelganger in the television.

A X O L O T L A X O L O T L A X O L O T L.

The fire loomed over Stan, twisting and writhing like an entity in itself. From within the chaotic mass, a familiar shape began to emerge.

“Stanley?”

The man from the TV was looking up at the fire, panic in his eyes. He lifted up into the air, his arms flailing, as he was drawn through the screen and toward the hellish triangle. Stan lunged forward, mustering all his energy, but he still could not reach. “St-Stanford!” He gritted his teeth, ignoring the flesh-colored drops that fell from his fingertips.

“Stanley?” The young Stanford was frantic, kicking and screaming in a vain attempt to distance himself from the fire. A white light glowed in the center of the triangle, shining like a beacon amidst the scorching sapphire. The mocking laughter shook the earth.

Stan tried to lift his arms, but his energy was gone. He fell to his side, could feel his cheeks sticking in the carpet, but his eyes were still locked on his brother. The words came unbidden to his lips. “I just got him back, I can’t lose him again!”

But he did not stop. With one final scream, Stanford disappeared into the light and the triangle, still laughing hysterically, crashed down onto Stan, consuming him in fire.

“Stanley!!!”

Stan sat straight up, gasping for breath. He spun around, but the flames were gone. The entire room had changed. He was sitting in a bed, a rather small one. His bed. He grabbed his glasses from the small bedside table and slipped them on, blinking as the world came into focus. The small cabin rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of the sea that he had grown so accustomed to. A figure stooped by the bed, gripping Stan’s arm with both hands. It was his brother – the grizzled old adventurer, not his crazy-eyed younger counterpart, driven half-insane by nightmares and paranoia.

Ford smiled, apparently relieved. “Thank goodness, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Stan grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “I’m an old man, sleepin’ is one o’ the few pleasures left in life.”

“Sorry, but you were mumbling and thrashing around,” Ford said. “Seemed like you were having a nightmare. Everything okay?”

Stan swallowed hard, the image of the younger Ford covered in blue flames flashing through his mind again. “Of course I’m fine,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I met the king o’ nightmares once, and I smashed his two-dimensional keister into a million pieces. There’s no nightmare left that can get the jump on ole Stanley Pines.”

Ford gave a short laugh. “Alright, fair point. But don’t hesitate if there’s anything you need to talk about. I promise, I’ll listen.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me yet,” Stan said, lightly shoving his brother aside as he climbed out of bed. “I haven’t even had my coffee.”

“Already poured you a mug,” Ford said, moving to the door. “Drink it fast and get ready. We arrived while you were sleeping.”

Stan froze halfway through pulling on his pants. “Here? Already?” He pushed past Ford and stepped out of the cabin. The ocean breeze tousled his shaggy hair as he crossed the deck, inhaling a deep lungful of tasty sea air. He leaned over the rail and gazed across the gray water to the dingy shore beyond.

Ford appeared next to him, coffee in hand. “I honestly never thought I’d see this place again.” He paused, watching a seagull as it drifted in lazy circles overhead. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this place again.”

“I know the feeling,” Stan said. “Technically speaking, I shouldn’t even set foot in the state. But hey, it’s been forty some years, no one’s gonna remember my ugly mug.”

Ford smirked. “Well, let’s get this over with. You get dressed and I’ll take us in.”

Stan turned back to the cabin, then glanced over his shoulder again at the city awaiting him. “I’m finally back,” he murmured, feeling almost dreamlike as he looked across the misty bay to the small wooden sign standing at the water’s edge, too far away to read but familiar nonetheless. “Glass Shard Beach.”

***

Strange as it was to return to Glass Shard Beach after so many decades, their entry had been quick and easy. Ford got them a good price for docking – and Stan continued haggling with the dockworker until the poor sap settled for $5 and an “ancient Antarctic artifact” made of paperclips, chewed gum, and some soon-to-be melted ice cubes. From there, they set out on foot, visiting a few familiar haunts. For a silent thirty minutes, they sat in the sand beneath a dilapidated old swingset, its seats long ago rotted away, and watched calm foamy waves lap at the shore. They explored the cave that had seemed like a whole new world to two adventurous New Jersey preteens; now, it was small and empty, offering nothing more than hollow nostalgia. The old pawn shop had been converted into a tattoo parlor. Stan joked that they ought to get matching tattoos, but Ford just pulled his coat a little more tightly around his neck and kept walking. And now, after a hearty breakfast at Hot Belgian Waffles, they reached their final destination.

Raindrops began to fall, slowly at first. Ford opened his umbrella and held it over Stan and himself. The brothers stood before three weathered stones. They were alone in the cemetery with nothing but unvoiced thoughts and unseen ghosts. Stan’s eyes ran over each of the graves, waiting for some kind of emotion to stir up inside him: sadness, regret, satisfaction? But he felt only emptiness as he read the three names again and again: his father’s, his mother’s, and his own.

Ford was the first to break the silence. “It was three days before I thought of them.” Stan kept his eyes locked on Filbrick’s name. “I’d been back in Gravity Falls for three days,” Ford continued. “I was in the basement, dismantling the Portal. Much easier to take apart than it was to build. But I guess that’s true for most things.” He chuckled quietly, but his smile faded as he looked at Stan. “Things had calmed down a bit by then, and I found myself thinking about all that I’d missed in the thirty years I was gone. And I thought about Ma, and Dad, and … well, I knew there was no way they’d still be around. So I never bothered to ask. And I thought a hundred times about coming back here to see them, but …” He trailed off.

Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “I would never’ve come back here without you either, Sixer.”

Ford smiled. “Thank you, Stanley.”

Stan gently elbowed his brother in the ribs. “That wasn’t so hard to say now, was it?” The two laughed, and Stan marveled at how far they’d come in the last nine months. That which had once divided them now brought them together.

“I’m glad we could do this,” Ford said. He frowned, gesturing to the third gravestone. “But we should probably tell somebody that you’re not actually dead.”

“Eh, the less people who know that, the better,” Stan said, waving his hand dismissively. “And, uh, ya should probably check with me before ya make any out-o’-state trips in the future. There may or may not be a few outstanding warrants in your name in the Northwest. And the Southwest. And the Midwest, the South, pretty much all your contiguous United States. And, uh, you’re not sittin’ too hot south of the border either. Basically, just stick to Oregon, Canada, and international waters, and even then I can’t make any promises.”

Ford sighed, massaging his temple and smiling in spite of himself. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Now come on, we’d better get moving if we’re hoping to get home on time.”

Stan nodded. “Nothin’ left for us in this town anyway.” Together, he and Ford turned away from the graves, ready to leave, but they immediately stopped in their tracks.

Another figure was strolling down the path toward them, shielded from the rain by a purple umbrella spotted with a white floral design. It was an old woman, her face wrinkled and her shoulder-length hair white, but her stride was long and confident, undeterred by her onset age. Stan squinted at her, his brow furrowed in concentration. Even after his time spent with Ford and the kids, there were still little gaps in his memory that plagued him from time to time. And now something was setting off bells in his head, an image fighting to resurface at the edge of his consciousness.

The woman paused mid-step as she saw the two men in front of her, then continued toward them, flashing a friendly smile. “And here I thought I’d be the only one out here on a gloomy day like this,” she said.

Ford waited for Stan to speak – normally he was the one to take charge in social situations – but Stan’s mouth remained set in a grim line. “We were just in town for the day,” Ford said quickly. “Just leaving now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman said, stepping aside. She glanced at the three gravestones as Ford moved past her, dragging Stan alongside him. “Did you know the Pines family?” she asked.

Ford didn’t look back. “Yes, we knew them.”

The woman nodded. “I did too, a long time ago. I thought I’d come see them one more time before I moved on to greener pastures.” She stared at the third tombstone for a moment before looking back to the brothers. “They suffered so much. But I’m sure you knew that already.” She smiled sadly. “I had just left town before it all started falling apart. Maybe if I’d stuck around, I could have done something to help.”

Stan gave a harsh laugh and finally met her gaze. “Lady, lemme tell ya, there’s nothin’ you or anyone else coulda done to help that mess of a family.”

The woman locked eyes with Stan, her expression mournful yet curious. Stan simply shrugged and turned away, nudging Ford to start moving. However, before he could take a step, the quiet voice behind him spoke once more.

“Stanley?”

He froze. Slowly he turned back. A single word popped into his head; it was strange, nonsensical, but it felt right. He was on the cusp of remembering, he just had to let that one word loose in the air.

“Hotpants?”

The woman laughed, even as her eyes brimmed with tears. “No one’s called me that in a long time.” She ran forward, dropping her umbrella in the dirt and throwing her arms around Stan. A rush of warmth ran through him as the bubbles of memory burst in his brain. He’d felt these arms wrapped around his neck before.

Ford’s eyes widened as he came to the same realization. “Carla? Carla McCorkle?”

“It’s good to see you, Stanford,” she said, pulling back from Stan and bending down to retrieve her discarded umbrella. She looked between the two brothers and laughed again. “I can’t believe I’m standing here with you two.” She glanced back at gravestones. “You know, I always wondered about you, Stanley. Seemed to me that a crazy guy like you would never kick the bucket so easily. But to think that I’d find you here now…” She wiped away a few stray tears. “Well, I never dared to hope for that.”

“I never thought I’d see you again either,” Stan said. “I’ve, uh, had a lot on my plate for the last few decades.”

“I can imagine,” Carla said. “Wow, I just … wow. You’re alive. Stanley Filbrick Pines is alive and standing right in front of me.” She looked to Ford. “There’s a story here.”

“A long one,” Ford said.

Stan scoffed. “My brother got too deep into sciency stuff and I had to fake my death and pretend to be him for thirty years while I tried to save his life.” He shrugged. “Pretty simple, if ya ask me.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve come a long ways from driving my boyfriend’s van off a cliff.”

“That hippie jerk was hypnotizin’ ya with his trash flower music!” Stan said. “I stand by what I did!” His voice softened. “But y’know, I’m, uh, sorry for all that. My nephew tells me that mighta been a bit much.”

“I appreciate the apology,” Carla said. “But don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ve grown a lot since then.”

“Less than you probably think,” Ford muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from his brother.

Carla was unable to hide her smile. “So, you say you have a nephew? Do you two have families?”

Stan grinned sheepishly. “Eh, we have our niece and nephew, Shermie’s grandkids. But that’s it. I dated around, but I never found anyone worth settlin’ down with. And my nerd brother ain’t exactly the marryin’ type.” He leaned in closer, glancing conspiratorially back at Ford. “Though if ya ask me, there’s a hillbilly back home he’d make a cute couple with.”

“Stan, I can hear you.”

Stan ignored Ford and winked at Carla. “And what about you? Live happily ever after with your granola-munchin’ Prince Charming?”

Carla snorted derisively. “No, Thistle Downe went out with disco. Dark times, those 70’s.” She shuddered. “But your story sounds a lot like mine. There were a few guys who came and went, but none of them were right for me.”

“Shame, they all missed out,” Stan said. “You’ve aged phenomenally.” He blushed. “Er, y’know, for an old broad.”

“How flattering,” Carla said dryly. “You’ve not done too bad yourself, Stan Pines.” Stan’s face grew redder and Carla laughed.

Ford cleared his throat. “Not to intrude on this happy reunion, but we do have places to be. The kids will be coming to town in a week and we hope to be there when they arrive.”

“Geez, Poindexter, sounds like you’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” Carla said, her tone playful.

Stan sighed. “Much of a buzzkill as he may be, my brother’s right.”

“I understand completely,” Carla said. She smiled. “It sounds like everything has turned out pretty well for you guys. I’m really happy for you. After everything that went down back in high school, I was afraid of where you would end up.”

“We went through a lotta bad stuff,” Stan said. “And it took us a long time to get past it. But we made it.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll tell ya the whole story sometime.”

“I’d love to talk again,” Carla said. “Can I have your cell number?”

Stan scowled. “Hey, I’ll have you know I haven’t been to jail since … er, if ya don’t count that night for the Madame Ben Franklin dollars, or that whole nuclear waste thing that I was completely innocent of, then I guess it would be –”

Carla smirked. “Stan, I mean your cell phone number.”

Stan’s face flushed red again. “Er, yeah, of course. Uh, Ford, do we have one of those doohickeys?”

“Fiddleford fixed up this old laptop to give us direct video connection to Dipper, Mabel, and Soos’s devices,” Ford said. “And he also gave me this long-range walkie talkie for whenever we need tech support, like when Stan tries using the computer to check his cash-for-gold sites and crashes it with pop-up advertisements.”

“It’s important business!” Stan said indignantly. He leaned closer to Carla again. “Y’see, there’s change comin’. People say gold’s on the rise, but the real money’s in turquoise. Little pro-tip for ya.”

Ford sighed. “So to answer your question, no, we don’t have a cell phone.”

Carla laughed. “No worries. I’m sure we’ll get something worked out. Ask your niece and nephew to look me up on the Internet, they can hook us up.”

“It’s a deal,” Stan said. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, just drop on by. That’s Gravity Falls, Oregon, by the way. Come to the Mystery Shack, buy some keychains, and ask for the original Mr. Mystery.” He gave a thumbs up and winked. “That’s me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carla said, smiling. She extended a hand, blinking in confusion as both brothers flinched back in response. But they recovered quickly, and Ford and Stan each shook her hand in turn. Stan’s fingers locked through hers, lingering in her grasp for a few extra seconds before he drew his hand back.

Ford coughed awkwardly. “Uh, Stan?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’,” Stan grumbled. He made finger guns with both hands and pointed to Carla. “You stay frosty, puddin’ … uh, puddin’ pie, dessert cream, uh, creamy cat.” He covered his face with his hand. “Er, bye.”

Carla laughed and gave him another short hug. “Goodbye, Stan. I’m glad you’re alive.” She turned to Ford. “Make sure that doesn’t change.”

“It’s a struggle, but I’ve managed so far,” Ford said. He put an arm around Stan and turned him around. “Come on, Stan. Back to the ship.”

“A good brother wouldn’t let me make an idiot of myself like that,” Stan muttered.

“When have I ever been a good brother?”

Carla watched as the two old men walked away, bickering good-naturedly like they had as kids. Whatever had happened to them in the interim, some things never truly changed. It was a comforting realization.

She stared down at the gravestone before her and shook her head in disbelief. She had seen a lot of extraordinary things in her life, but Stanley Pines certainly took the cake. She still remembered the sparsely-attended funeral, where Ma Pines had stood up and given a short speech about her “free spirit” who had left too soon. Shermie stuttered through a generic speech about brotherly love. Filbrick remained stony-faced, never speaking a word through the whole event. And Ford didn’t even bother to show up – though now she knew why. Otherwise, there was nothing more than a smattering of townspeople, several of whom were simply looking for a refund on their Stan-Vacs or Shammies. Carla wasn’t sure why she attended, but she was glad she did. She’d seen firsthand how the world treated Stanley Pines, and she respected him all the more for his ability to keep standing under all that abuse. There was something to be appreciated in a man like that.

A coy smile played at the edges of her lips. She’d spent the last few years with no real aim in life anyway. But now she knew where she could find a little fun. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and ran a quick search for maps, transportation, lodging.

Everything she needed to know about Gravity Falls.

GRQ'W DVN FDUOD DERXW KHU MRUWV SKDVH

#gravity falls #disney #stanley pines #stanford pines #carla mccorkle #return to the falls

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