#this chapter was a lot of fun to write
The Mystery and The Isosceles
Ch 11: Tense Reunions
Everyone agreed they couldn’t stay at the manor any longer than they absolutely had to. Reunions and explanations had to wait. Getting away from the scene of the crime had to come first.
Thankfully, in the chaos of startled guests and confused investigation, slinking out unnoticed was not a difficult feat.
Stan had the tapestry folded up and hidden safely in one of the several hidden inner pockets he’d added to most of his clothes. They had what they’d come for, now all that was left was making a clean getaway from the port, and figuring out what the hell made some moth-eaten old wall decoration so important that three independent parties all wanted to get it. Three, including…
Including Ford.
Stan looked back at Ford, walking at the very back of the group a few feet behind everyone else and looking all around himself. His gaze was flitting erratically every which way. But he’d at least calmed down enough to follow them out.
The nervousness was just barely visible under the façade of calm and collected steely resolve. Stan was almost surprised—if infinitely relieved—that he could still tell what feelings Ford was hiding under the surface. It had been so long. He’d never thought he’d see him again, but now he was there, walking back to the ship with them.
It was a strange melancholy feeling. The confused mix of emotions from earlier had run its course. He saw the ship docked in port, and all he felt was a profound homesickness that it wasn’t The Mystery. He would have loved to show off his actual ship to his brother after so many years.
The kids had reached the gangplank first, but been reluctantly stopped by Pacifica before they could move to board the ship. She looked at Mabel and Dipper with an expression of conflicted sadness.
“So… You’re leaving already?” Pacifica asked.
Mabel and Dipper shared a glance, before nodding in unison.
“It’s been a really fun night, despite everything.” Mabel said sympathetically. She meant it too, even with the ghost and the fighting and the shocking revelation as to whom exactly her new friend was. She’d gotten to dress up and attend the kind of party she’d only been able to dream of back when they lived with their grandfather. “But…”
“But we can’t stay.” Dipper finished for her.
“Why not?” Pacifica said suddenly, crossing her hands over her chest and looking back towards the manor. “I could… I could make my parents hire you. You can get a room in the manor, isn’t that better than living on a dingy boat with people constantly after you?”
“Ship.” Dipper corrected automatically, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Just a month ago he and Mabel had been homeless stowaways with nowhere to go and nothing but each other. A month ago, he would have absolutely jumped at the chance of an honest job and a comfortable room on a safe shore. But now…
“Thanks, but… I think we’re exactly where we need to be.” Dipper smiled at her apologetically.
“Yeah!” Mabel slung an arm over his shoulders. “Besides, grunkle Stan needs us.”
Pacifica slumped, nodding glumly and taking a step back.
The rest of the crew boarded as she watched silently. Even Ford followed after, albeit with some hesitation. Pacifica chewed her lip and wrung a piece of her skirt tightly in her hands, until suddenly she blurted out:
“Let me come too!”
The people closest to the gangplank—Stan, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel—looked at her in unison. She crushed the fabric of her skirt even tighter between her hands, wavering on the spot.
Then, she let the fabric go, squared her shoulders, and marched up on deck.
“I’m enlisting in your ship-” She pointed at a very confused Stan with a scowl. “So- so you better deal with it!”
“I can say no to recruits, ya know.” He looked at her sceptically, leaning back against the railing. He let his face fall into a stern mask.
“Yeah, well if those two are good enough for this floating tub then so am I!” She stood her ground.
“You’re acting awfully entitled for someone with no nautical skills.” Stan narrowed his eyes at her. “That attitude ain’t helping yer case. Believe it or not, table manners and horse riding aren’t useful skills on the ocean.”
“But-”
“You won’t last ten seconds scrubbing decks and hoisting sails in a ballgown. Go back home, kid.”
“ Please .” Her voice cracked, and he stopped. She no longer stood straight and confident, she was folded in on herself, looking between Dipper, Mabel, and Stan with pleading eyes.
“If I go home, my parents will-… I- I don’t want to go back. Please , they’ll be furious.” She drew a shaky breath. “You’re the first people to actually treat me like people . I mean, I got more genuine praise for helping peel potatoes yesterday than I’ve gotten from dad in- in ever !”
“Look, I know they’re-” Stan barely had time to start talking.
“ Please .” She begged. “Please don’t send me back.”
Stan hesitated. Pacifica was an entitled aristocrat brat. But her father was not a good man, and something in him just knew that-
Seventeen years old, watching Filbrick throw him to the wolves, nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
Stan snatched a hammock from the arms of a crewmember carrying fresh supplies and tossed it to the child. She yelped as she was buried in canvas.
“Pull yer own weight. Don’t expect special treatment.” He snapped as she extracted herself from underneath the fabric.
She stared at the hammock in her arms, the metaphorical extended hand, and the implicit new place for her to stay.
“Y-Yes sir!” She hugged the fabric close to her chest, nodding breathlessly.
“Yes ‘Captain' . Go find Susan and ask where to hang that, you can help in the galley.”
Further in on deck, Fiddleford had just walked out from the ship with a bundle of rolled up mechanical sketches in his hands. While the others had spent the evening at the party he’d been left with some much needed time to work on upgrades for the ship. When The Mystery went under, so did an alarming amount of his hard work. But as much as it hurt him to lose all that progress, there was no better cure than to start over. He’d rebuild. Bigger, better, and with maybe just a tad more destructive potential. They were in the thick of it now, after all.
There were some design ideas he needed to talk to Stan about. Fiddleford knew his craft, but if he wanted ship specifics there was no one better to ask. He approached the other man—still dressed in formal clothes with his gray hair tied back—from behind and drowsily tapped his shoulder.
Stan’s shoulders shot up, he inhaled sharply and twisted around to face Fiddleford with his hands up as if ready to defend himself. Fiddleford was startled back by the abrupt movement, before the realization hit him like a cold wave.
That wasn’t Stan.
Ford stared at the man who’d managed to sneak up behind him while he was distracted trying to build up the nerve to confront Stan. He couldn’t keep losing focus like this, he needed to stay alert and ready for any threat. He was relatively confident Stan wasn’t going to do anything to him, but he couldn’t turn his back to the crew. Who knew what kind of immoral lowlifes his brother might have recruited? Stan had always had a knack for falling in with the wrong crowd. He needed to be ready to defend himself.
The bearded man was lanky, but hunched over enough that Ford still stood taller. A pair of odd green tinted glasses rested on his remarkably long nose. The surprised eyes behind the lenses were light blue, alert and intelligent.
He dropped the papers he was carrying in his arms, and as they fluttered down to the wooden deck Ford saw that they were blueprints. The neat, hauntingly familiar, signature in the corner caught his eye, and Ford’s arms fell from their defensive posture.
“F-… Fiddleford?” His voice was faint and fragile, like it could shatter and fall into the sea at any moment.
Fiddleford didn’t reply. He took Ford’s arms in a vice grip and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.
Ford tensed up, but didn’t try to get away. It was Fiddleford . Fiddleford wouldn’t hurt him.
He’d barely finished that thought, before his friend pulled back and punched him square in the jaw.
“ Thirty years, Stanferd! ” He cried. “Thirty darn years! Why on God’s green earth didn’ cha come back!?”
Ford pressed the palm of his hand to his throbbing jaw, responding numbly. “I thought you were dead.”
He'd thought Fiddleford was dead, that practically everyone he’d known in Gravity Falls was gone. Bill had attacked, and hundreds had died. They were dead, Bill said so. They were dead, and it was Ford’s fault, because he led Bill to them.
“So!?” Fiddleford yelled at him in disbelief, and Ford winced. “Ah thought you were dead!”
“I’m sorry, Fiddleford, I just… I couldn’t go back.”
“ Why ?” He countered. Exhausted. Pleading.
Why? Because Ford was to blame. It was that simple. Because he was scared. Because he was a coward, who couldn’t face what he’d done.
Because death followed him, and he couldn’t risk bringing it back.
“It was my fault. If I hadn’t-”
“Will ya quit it with t’ martyr complex already?” Fiddleford scolded him. He grabbed his upper arms again, shaking him lightly. “None of what he did was your fault.”
Fiddleford was wrong, Ford was telling the truth. But he didn’t have it in him to argue. Maybe it was cowardice again, but he didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to watch those kind empathetic eyes fill with hate. Instead he just nodded meekly, and removed the hand from his arm.
He'd thought Fiddleford was dead.
He’d thought Stan was dead too.
Filbrick had told everyone Stan had gone after Ford and died trying. Apparently, he really had gone after Ford—or more accurately Bill, in revenge for Ford—but he was still alive. Had Pa known that? Did Ma know, or did he keep the truth from her as well? Why? Because the truth might hurt their reputation?
The truth.
Stan was a pirate Captain . Justifying it as some necessary evil, he’d gone down the exact same path as Bill. Ford couldn’t even trust Stan anymore. He had to talk to him, set things straight.
“Stanley!”
Ford walked away from Fiddleford without another word. For a second he looked upset, before sighing deeply and kneeling down to pick up his scattered blueprints again. He supposed some things would never change.
“Stanley, we need to talk.” Ford declared sternly, walking across deck to where his brother stood speaking to the children.
There were children on board, what was he thinking?
Holding a hand out to halt Ford, Stan spoke.
“We need to get underway first. I know there’s a lot of shit to explain, but wait until I’ve gotten them raising the anchor and dropping the sails.” He said. “If Pyronica and Kryptos—the two from the party, they’re Bill’s first and second mate—were at the manor then The Isosceles can’t be far behind. It’s better we get a head start, and lead Bill away from the island.”
Ford reluctantly agreed that Stan’s thinking was reasonable, and let him walk off to oversee the crew. With that Ford was left standing alone with the children, watching the deck buzz to life with activity. Seagull-Stan—that was going to get confusing, he really should have picked a less idiotically sentimental name—surveyed the scene from high in the rigging. Keeping watch for potential threats to his human.
“Sooo…” The little girl he’d met before scooted up beside him. “Um, sorry for biting you. My name’s Mabel.”
Ford nodded once at her. “And I assume this is the twin brother you told me about?”
“Told him about?” The boy turned to look at his sister questioningly.
“Yeah, he was kind of stowing away in the cargo hold since the fight with Bill.” Mabel laughed nervously. The boy looked incredulous, but somehow not surprised. “Anyways, this is Dipper.”
“Greetings.” Ford replied simply.
Dipper stared at his hands. Ford tried not to acknowledge it, people always stared. But the scrutiny really wasn’t what he needed right now.
“So… You’re Ford.” Dipper said, more a statement than a question. “You’re Stan’s twin.”
“Yes.”
“I guess that makes you our uncle too, then.” The boy nodded to himself, slotting that piece of information neatly into place. At first, Ford was too distracted to realize the implications of what he’d said. But then the realization came to him and his attention snapped back to the children.
“ Uncle ?” He said in disbelief. “Stanley is-…?”
“No! No, no no, he’s our great uncle!” Mabel was quick to clarify.
“Oh thank God.” Ford muttered, leaning back against the taffrail. “So, Sherman, then?”
“Yeah.” Mabel answered. “He’s our grandpa.”
“Then why are you here ?”
The three went quiet. Around themselves the space filled with the noise of people hurrying every which way untying ropes and pulling chains and checking rudders. All without ever once acknowledging them. The children shared a glance that looked hauntingly familiar from his own childhood, a sibling bond so close that words weren’t necessary.
“Grandpa died last winter.” Dipper said sadly as the two children stepped closer to each other for comfort. “Mom and dad have been gone a long time.”
Ford’s heart sank. He’d never really thought he’d see Sherman again. Family was something he’s consciously given up when he went after Bill. But to hear that not only had his older brother passed away, but he’d also had at least one child who’d lived and died without Ford ever knowing… It stung.
“Ah, I see.” Ford said. “So that’s how you ended up with Stanley then.”
What was Stan thinking, dragging children into this mess? Mabel and Dipper didn’t look like they could be older than eleven or so, and here they were, chasing a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them horrifically and running from the law. Was there really no other guardian Sherman could have found for them? Was there really nobody more responsible than Stan ?
Come to think of it, how had Sherman even known Stan was still alive?
“Are you two okay?” Ford asked the children. “Is he treating you well?”
“Yes.” Mabel said resolutely, like she was getting tired of answering the same question. “I told you already, this is our family, they’re good people. We trust Stan.”
“Family and good don’t have to be synonyms.”
“Well they are here.” Dipper shot back defensively. “Look man, you want to know how we ended up here?”
The boy looked at Ford with a fierce expression, and he found himself nodding.
“After grandpa died, we were in a rough place.” Dipper explained, crossing his arms and glaring at Ford.“ Orphans are supposed to be looked after by the parish, but surprise, surprise, they didn’t want us. We ran away and snuck onboard a trading ship docked in our port, just sort of hoping it’d take us someplace better. But they found us.”
Mabel put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder and took a step past him towards Ford.
“They kidnapped me.” She continued, looking ahead with determination. “And left Dipper all alone on an island.”
“That was the island I found this on.” Dipper took something out from the now rumpled formal jacket he was still wearing. Ford made a small gasp, as he recognised the red leather and brass details of his own research journal.
“Stan and the others saved me. They didn’t know who I was, they had nothing to gain from it. They just did it because it would have been wrong to leave me. They helped me save Mabel from those merchants too.” Dipper hugged the journal to his chest. “I know you probably have a hard time trusting them after what you went through. I didn’t trust them at first either. I-I mean, I was honestly kind of a jerk. But they saved us. So don’t go after grunkle Stan when you never came to help us either.”
Ford hardly heard what the boy was saying. All his mind was completely consumed by the sight of that old journal, and the thought that his idiot brother had let children read it. That Stan had somehow thought it was a good idea to let two small children read a first hand account of exactly the kind of ordeal that awaited them all should this endeavour to find Bill end up for the worse.
He felt furious, but mixed with that fury, was a gross sticky feeling of shame clinging to his entire person. Those memories had been buried for a reason. His most intimate thoughts, his most painful and vulnerable moments had been laid bare in front of what little family he hadn’t even known he had.
Nauseous fear was fluttering around his head. There was no way these children would ever see him as anything short of pathetic after reading all of that.
Dipper finished his speech, before drawing back suddenly. His stern expression and impassioned voice faltered, he looked at Ford with worry.
“I-… I’m sorry, t-that was harsh! Are you okay, you look really-”
“I’m fine.” Ford said through his teeth. He pushed himself away from the taffrail he’d suddenly found himself steadying against. He didn’t have to make even more of a spectacle of himself in front of them.
Dipper pressed the book close to his chest. Mabel came forward slightly with a hand reaching out, but Ford ignored it. After a moment, Dipper suddenly relinquished his hold and instead offered the journal forth.
“Here. It’s yours, so, if you want it back…”
Ford considered, but he didn’t even want to touch that damnable book. The damage was already done anyway.
“Keep it.” He said after a few steadying breaths. “It’s just bad memories.”
The younger twins shared another glance, but didn’t press the subject. Dipper returned the book to his jacket, secretly relieved to have been allowed to keep it. The research was fascinating, even if he still struggled to read most of it. Even if the tale it told was an unhappy one, it left him feeling nothing short of awe for the man before them who’d persevered through all of it.
Mabel and Dipper continued to talk, with Ford only occasionally contributing to the conversation. Once the ship was out on open water, Stan reappeared.
He placed one hand on each of the two childrens’ shoulders, smiling at them as they turned to look.
“Great job tonight kids, I couldn’t be prouder.” His voice was warm, and they beamed at him. “Still, all this junk kept us up way later than usual. I’m beat, and so should you be.”
“Well, you are an old man.” Mabel replied, and Stan ruffled her hair.
“Yeah, whatever. The 'old men’ need to talk, so run off ta bed ya gremlins.”
The kids did as they were asked, walking back into the ship after brief 'good-nights’. The two men were left behind alone in their little corner of the mostly abandoned deck.
As soon as the kids were out of sight, Stan’s easy smile fell. His shoulder slumped and he went to lean over the taffrail, staring out across the pitch black ocean.
“Thirty fucking years, Ford?” Stan looked back at him, eyes sincere and teeth chattering faintly against each other. His shoulders were trembling, and his hands held the railing so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
“Fiddleford has already scolded me, thank you.” Ford replied, taking position next to his own twin. Through the black, he could just barely see their faces reflecting back up at them from the dark water. He would almost rather sink through the deck and down into the depths than have this conversation, but it needed to be done.
“The children told me how you met them.” He jumped to the first at least somewhat non-confrontational topic he could think of. He had to build up his resolve before asking the really uncomfortable questions. “I take it the merchants they stowed away with are no longer amongst the living?”
Stan looked at him, wrinkling his nose like Ford’s statement was distasteful. Even though he’d done his best to keep his tone level, and his choice of words neutral. Just because it was an accusation didn’t mean it had to sound like one.
“For your information, yes they are.” Stan said. “Reason we’re one lifeboat short is cause we didn't leave 'em to drown after The Isosceles attacked them.”
“Humph.”
“Ford, what the hell is up with you? We don’t see eachother for forty years and when I finally have you back you act like I’m not worth the time of day!”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Ford huffed, his grip on the railing becoming equally forceful. “Excuse me if I’m having some difficulty in looking past the fact that you decided the best way to fight Bill was to become Bill.”
Stan just blinked at him without comprehending, before his face went red. His hands left the taffrail and he turned on Ford with clenched fists and a furious expression.
“How the FUCK am I Bill!? I spent thirty years trying to kill him for the sake of your ungrateful ass!”
“He who fights monsters, Stanley.” Ford muttered back at him. “You tried to combat a pirate by becoming a pirate.”
“No, okay, you know what? Fuck that.” Stan breathed heavily. “Do you have any idea why I did that? 'Honorable ships’ and 'honourable people’ are all shams, I spent ten years practically a slave for those people just to have a roof over my head and something to eat. We had crewmates whipped for backtalk and die from the food. There were six year olds getting their hands blown off carrying gunpowder, just so the Captain could win some meaningless title from a king he’d never meet. I tried to do things the 'good way’ and that achieved jack!”
Stan stopped, breathing hard just to steady himself, before slumping back again and running a hand across his suddenly very old looking face.
“The rules were all made for and by the people on the top. Nobody came to help us when Gravity Falls was burned to the ground. Nobody gave a shit about taking down a monster like Bill. Nothing got done until I stopped playing by the rules.”
Ford was stunned briefly. He wasn’t scared of Stan, even with them having changed so much, he’d never be scared of him. But seeing him so worked up, shouting and fuming, it was… Disquieting.
“Have you ever killed someone?” Ford asked sternly. Stan looked back over the top of his hand and twisted the piercing question back around.
“Have you ?”
Ford found himself unwilling to answer, falling silent again. Stan stood back up straight after another few moments of silence.
“We’re thieves , not monsters. We do as little harm as possible.” When Ford didn’t answer this time either, Stan tried to take his arm but Ford pulled away from the touch. “Let me show you something.”
With a bit of reluctance, Ford followed Stan across the deck to a chest resting by the base of the mast. He undid the locks and opened it. It was full of neatly folded flags.
“These are our old signal flags, Soos managed to save them when our ship sank fighting Bill.” Stan selected a red flag folded in the corner and pulled it out. He shook it, and a cloud of dust formed thick enough that it made Ford sneeze.
“ This , is a no quarter flag.” Stan pressed the blood red fabric into Ford’s hand. “There’s only one person I plan on raising that for, and it’s Bill. Because Bill hurt you . He hurt Fiddleford, he hurt Soos, he hurt Wendy… He hurt my family . That’s what I’ve been trying to avenge for thirty years.”
“Ford…” Stan’s voice shook with emotion. “Where were you?”
Ford looked at the thin red fabric hanging innocently in his grip, moving slightly with the warm seabreeze.
“There’s something wrong with Bill.” Ford stated simply. “And I mean beyond the obvious.”
“Like what?”
“You can’t be dumb enough to seriously think Bill still looks that young by coincidence.” Ford looked at him tiredly. Stan shrugged.
“Some people age well.”
“Maybe.” Ford admitted. That was the easy explanation, but he swore there was more to it. He’d seen Bill thirty years ago, and he’d seen Bill just days ago. He looked far too similar, like he’d been completely untouched by the passage of time, but there was definitely something that had changed. Something was different, but it had been so long that Ford couldn’t tell for sure. It was like returning to your childhood home and being absolutely certain the walls had been a different colour, or that your bed had been on the other side of the room, but with nothing indicating anything had changed. There was nothing to go on but memories, and memories were unreliable.
Especially traumatic ones.
“I’ve been travelling all over the world, trying to find anything at all that might explain what’s going on. Whether it’s natural or not. I’ve been everywhere, in libraries and archives and temples in all the corners of the world. But still… Nothing. No answers.”
“You could have come back before you set off. We could have helped.”
“I tried to go back. I sailed all the way home to Glass Shard Harbor. You weren’t there .” His heart sank at the admission, scratching old wounds back open. The part of him that was old and jaded felt resentful. Betrayed.
The part that remained from before everything broke quietly inside, scared and pleading: 'Why weren’t you there?' .
“Why didn’t you go back to Gravity Falls, then?”
Ford didn’t want to go into that again, trying to explain to Fiddleford had been painful enough. He knew it was his fault, he didn’t need everyone knowing it.
“Gravity Falls was destroyed.” He replied instead.
“I repaired it.”
Without thinking, Ford slammed the red flag down against the chest lid. Anger flared up in him.
“You corrupted it.”
Stan had found Ford’s safe place, his refuge, the first home he’d had aside from his twin. And he’d destroyed it. Not in the same way Bill had, but in another way. Stan had twisted the sanctity of what Ford loved, and turned it into a safe haven for everything that hurt.
“You corrupt everything .” Ford snapped. “You corrupted Gravity Falls, and now you’re turning our only remaining relatives into something twisted too.”
Stan stepped back at the sudden outburst, looking stricken, before his face turned back to anger.
“I saved them! I’m protecting them.”
“If you’re so concerned with looking out for them, why did you let them read my journal !?” He wasn’t sure which slight hurt the most, which wound felt the most raw, but that one was definitely the most personal. “They’re children! The things I wrote in that— they shouldn't have to know.”
“There’s a difference between protecting and patronising! Also, Dipper doesn’t know Latin worth shit.”
“He’ll learn, he’s the studious type.”
“By then he’ll be old enough to know.” Stan insisted, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that that wasn’t his call to make. He dug through his coat again, pulling out neatly folded sheets of paper and offering them to Ford. “'Sides, I tore out the worst pages.”
Ford snatched the pages from Stan’s hand, crumpling the parchment and throwing it over the side of the ship furiously. It didn’t do much to relieve the anger.
“I never meant for that book to be found. I buried it for a reason.”
“And Dipper dug it up like the good little grave robber he is. He did offer to give you it back.”
“Whatever!” Ford finally landed on, shouting breathlessly before the energy left him, and he repeated bitterly. “Whatever.”
Ford looked at his twin. It was terrifying how after thirty years, they somehow looked both so different but so alike. Ford continued speaking.
“This life you’ve dragged them into is at best going to end with them killed in some naval battle, and at worst hung at the gallows.” He tried not to dwell to long on the mental image the dire warning conjured. Tried not to feel sick at the fact that in the nightmare scenario, Stan was right there beside them.
Everything was changed, and everything was continuing to change, and somehow, Stan being back just made those changes so much more real. Everything had changed, and Ford had absolutely no say in it. He’d been powerless to stop the world he’d felt safe in from turning on him with claws and teeth. He’d been powerless.
He was so tired of feeling powerless.
Someone had to take the blame. He needed to grab and hold onto the shreds of control that remained, even if it meant ripping them away from someone else, because without them to hang onto like a lifeline he was going to drown.
“Listen.” Ford said. “This is no way for two children to live. As soon as this is all over… As soon as Bill is finally dead… Mabel and Dipper are going to come with me, and I’ll move them back to the mainland where they can be safe .”
Without another word, Ford pushed past Stan and walked into the ship.
