AN: For those who don't know, in the US if you dial *69 (typically pronounced "star 69") on your phone, it gives you the phone number of whoever last called your phone. This would then give you the ability to call the person back if you so chose. And now I think we're all on the same page here.

"Hello, this is Stanford Pines."

Stan hung up the phone.

"Stupid, useless, worthless." Stan berated himself, smacking the back of his head against the wall of the phone booth in time with his words. "No more. You can't keep wasting money like this." Not that it wasted that much money to make a phone call that lasted less than a minute, but Stan didn't have that much money to waste. He didn't have any money to waste. So if he was going to keep chickening out and hanging up as soon as Ford answered the phone, he would stop calling Ford in the first place. Simple.

It should be simple. What was simpler than not doing something? But even as he swore to himself that he wouldn't be calling Ford again, Stan knew it wasn't going to last. He might be able to go a week or three or one time he'd gone four entire months without participating in this little exercise in masochism, but eventually another pay phone would catch his eye, and Stan wouldn't be able to help himself.

The phone rang. Stan stared at it in bewilderment. He didn't know that payphones could ring. He guessed if he thought about it, payphones were still phones and logically had numbers that you could call, but why would you? There was no telling who was going to be around to pick the phone up, or if anyone would be. Stan stared at the phone for a minute longer before his curiosity got the better of him and he answered it. "Hello?"

"Who is this, and why do you keep calling me?"

"F-Ford?" Stan sputtered.

"Yes, I think we've amply established who I am over the years. The question is: who are you?"

"How did you get this number?" Stan asked, ignoring Ford's question entirely.

"From the telephone company. I used last-call return and called the number you just called me on." Right, that was a thing. One that both Stan and Ford had failed to consider until now. "How did you get my number? More to the point, how did you get my number here and the numbers for both my dorm and my apartment at Backupsmore, and how were you able to follow me as I moved?" said Ford.

Stan shrugged, even though he knew Ford couldn't see him. "A friend told me?" He was allowed to count Ma as a friend. Maybe that was kind of pathetic, but it wasn't like Stan had any illusions about himself in that respect.

"We have a mutual friend who you asked for my phone number and he just gave it to you, without consulting me," Ford said, his tone colored with blatant disbelief.

"More or less," Stan said. "But I didn't ask; it was volunteered.' Stan might have, probably, definitely would have asked, if he hadn't chickened out on that too, but Ma beat him to it. She was always getting on him about making up with Ford.

"Fantastic," Ford said dryly. "And once my personal phone number had been volunteered to you, what made you decide to use it to call me incessantly and immediately hang up?"

"I don't know," Stan said. He thought maybe he wanted to apologize or maybe ask Ford for help or maybe he just wanted to make one last plea for the Stan O' War and treasure hunting. But he never said anything, so what possessed to keep calling? Aside from the fact that each time he called Stan managed to convince himself this would be the time when he would say something, because Stan was an idiot like that. Maybe that's all there was to it; Stan was an idiot. It certainly wasn't because he wanted, however briefly, to hear his brother's voice again. Stan might be pathetic, but he refused to believe he was that pathetic.

"You don't know? This is the third time you've called me this week alone and you don't even know why you're calling?" Ford demanded. "Who are you?"

"I'm surprised you don't recognize my voice," Stan said. It shouldn't have been surprising – it had been eight years since the last time Stan had spoken to him, and it wasn't like they had been doing all that much talking on the phone back then either – but Stan was still surprised. And hurt. He was sure he'd recognize Ford's voice no matter how long it had been, but apparently Ford didn't care enough to bother to remember Stan's voice.

"So I do know you then, whoever you are," Ford said.

"I thought you did," Stan said, more to himself than anything. They were twins, and they had been a dynamic duo, two peas in a pod, best friends. Stan had known Ford better than anyone in the entire world, and he had thought Ford knew him too. But if Ford had really known him, he would have known that Stan would have never broken his project on purpose, would never sabotage Ford's future no matter how much Stan hated the shape that future was taking.

Stan cleared his throat and continued. "I mean, yeah, you could say we've met. But that makes me worry about the kind of friends you have, if you think one of them would volunteer your phone number to a total stranger."

"I wouldn't have thought any of my friends would give away my phone number to anyone without asking me, or at the very least letting me know they'd done it, but obviously one of them did, so I must have misjudged that person. Besides. I don't think you're in a position to judge my friends since my one apparently questionable friend – whichever one that is – is your friend too."

"I am absolutely not in a position to judge," Stan agreed. "Pretty much any of the people I call friend would sell me out for a buck if they had the chance. A nickel even. But that's probably better than I deserve anyway. You though, you deserve decent friends. Decent friends and someone to watch your back." Not that Stan was volunteering. He would if he thought Ford would be interested, but he wouldn't so Stan wouldn't either.

"I don't think anyone deserves friends that would sell them out for a dollar," Ford said slowly.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew who I was," Stan said.

"Who are you?" This time it wasn't a demand, just a softly asked question.

Stan sighed and leaned back against the wall of the phone booth "If I told you, you would hang up."

"Well, that would make for a change at least," said Ford.

"Heh. Yeah, I guess it would." It would be a change and maybe Stan deserved it after he'd… well, after everything he'd done, but still Stan made no move to tell Ford who he was. He might deserve it, but he didn't think he'd be able to take it. Instead he sat there in silence, taking comfort in knowing that Ford was there on the other end of the line and in listening to his brother breathe. So maybe he was that pathetic.

"You still there?" Ford asked after a minute.

"I'm still here," Stan said. He knew he wasn't going to get another chance to talk to Ford; he couldn't go back to calling Ford and hanging up immediately after this, and he knew now that'd he'd never be able to get up the guts to ever talk to Ford for real either. So if this was Stan's last chance, better make the most of it.

"So, uh, you asked why I kept calling you all these years. I guess I just wanted to say sorry. I never meant to ruin your life, but then again my intentions ain't never been worth anything. Still maybe if I hadn't then we'd still… nah, who am I kidding? I would have screwed something else up by now anyway. Seems like that's all I ever do these days. So I'm sorry Sixer; that's all I wanted to say. I won't bother you again." Stan hung up.

He felt better after that, like the jagged hole that had ripped open in him when he'd lost his brother had smoothed a little around the edges. He didn't think the hole would ever go away, but maybe the wound would heal now, with time. That could be enough.

The phone rang. It rang and rang and rang as Stan stared at it. He'd already said his piece, why was Ford calling him back again? Well, Stan didn't want to answer it, he wasn't going to answer it. There was nothing else Stan needed to say, and if he tried he'd probably only screw it up again.

The phone kept right on ringing. It must have rung fifteen, twenty times by now. How long was Ford going to sit there waiting for Stan to answer? It was starting to make Stan feel guilty picturing Ford holding the phone waiting for him. He had to give up soon, right? But still the phone kept on ringing.

Finally Stan picked up the receiver. "Hi?"

"Stanley?!"

Stan slammed the phone back down. Almost immediately it started ringing again. This time Stan only let it go three rings before picking up. "Uh…"

"I swear if you hang up the phone again I will find a way to trace this call and I will hunt you down so I can yell at you in person," Ford said.

"Promises, promises," Stan muttered.

"What was that?" Ford asked.

"I don't know what you want to talk to me for anyway," Stan said. He had thought Ford had made his feelings on the matter pretty clear the last time they saw each other.

"I just found out my twin brother who I haven't talked to in eight years has been trying to call me for the last six-and-a-half years or so and you can't think why I might want to talk to him?" Ford asked.

"Seven years. It's been closer to seven years since I started calling you." Stan thought the first call was sometime about a month or so after Ford had gone off to college. Before that Stan had been able to talk to Ma on her business line, but he hadn't dared call on any phone that Pa might answer and Ma couldn't exactly give Ford the receiver to her business line without raising Pa's suspicion. As soon as Ford had gotten his own phone line – well, a line he shared with his roommate – though, Stan had started trying to call him. Trying being the operative word there.

Ford was silent for a long time after Stan said that. Finally Stan cleared his throat and said, "That doesn't make it any better, does it?"

"It might a little," Ford said. "Did you mean what you said? About being sorry and that being why you've been calling me all these years?"

"Yeah, course I did," said Stan, gripping the phone tighter until the plastic creaked under his fingers. "It was an accident, I swear it was an accident, but I'm still sorry I messed everything up for you."

Ford took a deep breath in and out. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, apology accepted."

"What, just like that?" Stan said, disbelieving. He'd screwed up and cheated Ford out of millions – not that Ford ever cared about money all that much – and his dream school. And what, all Stan had to do was say he was sorry and suddenly everything was water under the bridge?

"I won't lie, accident or no I'm still not happy with you for what you did, and I'm sure a part of me will always wish I'd gotten to go to West Coast Tech. But Stan, that all happened a long time ago. Plus, it turns out my life was less ruined than I thought it was at the time. I have multiple Ph.D.'s and a grant to study exactly what I want to. If you're willing to admit what you did was wrong and apologize for it, then I'm ready to try to move forward."

"I am sorry, and I know I messed up. It was an accident, though. I messed up, but it was an accident," Stan insisted. He needed Ford to know he would never hurt his brother like that on purpose.

"I don't… okay Stan, if you need it to have been an accident, we can say it was an accident. I just want to move past it," Ford said. That didn't sound much like Ford really believed it was an accident, more like he was humoring Stan, but Stan guessed he would take it. If it was a choice between that and starting another fight, then it wasn't really a choice.

"Okay," Stan said. There was a moment of silence as Stan searched for something to say. "So uh, you said you're working on what you want to? Ma mentioned something about you researching imaginary creatures up there in Oregon, but you know Ma; I never know how much of what she says to believe."

"They aren't imaginary," Ford said, sounding insulted by the implication. "They're anomalies, like I used to be interested in when we were kids, and I assure you they are very much real."

"Oh yeah? What kind of very real anomalies are you studying then?" Stan asked.

That sent Ford on a whole long monologue of happy nerd-babble about what he'd been up to, and if it had been anyone else but Ford, Stan wouldn't have believed two words of it. Heck, even though it was Ford, he was still skeptical of about half of it. Gravity Falls sounded like a crazy kind of place; the kind of place Stan might have to see in person sometime. It suddenly occurred to Stan that maybe he could see it in person sometime soon, and maybe Ford wouldn't object to it. Then Stan quickly squashed that thought before he jinxed it by getting his hopes up too soon.

Ford kept right on going with minimal prompting from Stan for a long time. Long enough that Stan finally had to interrupt him and remind him about the massive phone bill he was no doubt racking up on this long distance call. "Oh, I didn't mean to keep you so long," Ford said.

"I ain't worried about that. It's not like I have anywhere I need to be right now," Stan said.

"Yes, what have you been up to the past few years? Ma's said some things whenever I've talked to her, but it is Ma."

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that," Stan said evasively. "I've been getting along just fine mostly."

"Stanley. You are a terrible liar."

"Hey, I'll have you know I am an excellent liar," Stan objected. The he realized what that would imply – the truth, but Ford didn't need to know that – and added, "Not that I was lying this time. I'm fine."

Ford made a humming noise that very clearly communicated that he didn't believe a word Stan was saying and they weren't done with this conversation, but all he actually said was, "Alright Stan, I'll let you go for now. Just promise me one thing first."

"What's that?"

"Promise me next time you call, you won't hang up the phone."