If Ford was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew that it was just a matter of time before the extra security around the Shack would fail.

Really, the barrier was more of a first-line defense. Moonstone, mercury, and unicorn hair could only do so much against a powerful demon from the Nightmare Realm, especially when Bill was adept at leaving signatures in the minds of those he's touched.

Those signatures worked like a shadow avatar that messed with the mind in subtle ways that one's mind wouldn't normally be like, whispering things that sounded like stray thoughts that could translate into conscious action, and while the barrier could keep Bill out, he was 93% sure the signatures could stay behind.

It was that worry in mind that had Stanford sitting in his lab with Journal 3 open to the incantation to astral project into someone's mind. Normally, one would have to be in contact with the mind intended, but Ford had enough practice and experience to do so at a distance, provided he had either a closer personal object of theirs, or an actual part of them.

In front of him was the hat Dipper always wore, Mabel's hairbrush with copious amounts of hair still tangled into it, and the gold chain necklace his brother always wore, which was a mini-adventure in and of itself to obtain. Lucky for him, dimension-hopping gave him plenty of stealth skills. Interdimensional customs could be a REAL hassle.

He thought for a moment, and decided to begin with Dipper, whom Ford was most concerned for. Being that Dipper made a deal with Bill once, he was afraid that Bill may have left a signature behind. Dipper was young and healthy, and Bill always had uses for an unsuspecting vessel.

Picking up Dipper's hat and holding it in both hands, Ford closed his eyes and recited the incantation from memory, feeling his mind expand and contract before being thrust elsewhere entirely.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a forest in perpetual dusk, the orange fading sunlight filtering through the trees and casting shadows that seemed darker than what should be natural, perfect for hiding.

Ford smiled softly, feeling a twinge of pride. Dipper was doing well, using a forest as a Mindscape. It was perfect for hiding what he didn't want found, and that much easier to spot any anomalies Bill would have left behind.

He started down a path, looking around curiously, but keeping his eyes away from the shadows. The last thing he wanted was to invade Dipper's privacy, even if it was by accident. The search for anything abnormal did not last long. After traveling down a worn path for a good while, he came across a large pine tree in a clearing that was perfectly formed and obviously of significance.

This must be the Center of the Mindscape, Ford theorized. Every person's Mindscape had one. It was more than memories and emotions and experiences, it was who the person WAS. Therefore, it was important he did nothing to damage it.

Ford walked up to the pine tree, looking it over appreciatively. The pine tree's growth was full and healthy, almost thrumming with youthful vibrance. He smiled, stepping around it again, and his smile dropped right off his face.

Carved into the tree were the words BILL WUZ HERE, complete with a small, crude caricature of the loathsome demon.

Ford growled under his breath, clenching his hands, feeling anger and disgust that Bill would defile a child's Center so crudely and uncaringly, and a well of sadness just under that. It was no wonder Dipper reacted so horribly after seeing his own memories of him consorting with Bill, after almost having a trigger attack by what he had assumed Ford was about to say 'Pine Tree'. Bill did so love his objectifying nicknames.

Dipper's fear of Bill was literally ingrained into his psyche, and Ford didn't know if that horrible mark would ever truly fade.

Ford sighed sadly, burying down his anger and instead murmuring an incantation that would keep the signature sealed just enough so Dipper might lose the paranoia of having the disgusting thing whisper to his mind. It was all he could do for now.

Tearing his eyes from the signature, Ford gave the pine tree one last look before heading back down the path and back into his own mind.

Ford felt himself fall back into his body, opening his eyes and seeing the blue pine tree on Dipper's hat. It was no coincidence that Dipper was so attracted to this hat, or that Bill would choose the pine tree as Dipper's epithet. He put the hat aside carefully, and after a moment's thought, picked up Mabel's hairbrush.

Just from what he personally knew from Mabel, he knew that looking for any anomaly would be even more difficult. She was just a grab-bag of personality, much like her great-uncle Stanley. Ford sighed, closing his eyes and reciting the incantation again.

Dear lord, if he wasn't blind when he first opened his eyes, he sure wishes he were now.

Mabel's Mindscape was also a forest, but much more of the colorful, flowery, rainbow type that was the 'magical' part of the forest in Gravity Falls….only more colorful, flowery, and with many more rainbows. And glitter. Dear lord, the glitter…

Ford tapped his glasses, remaking them into shades, walking onward. Once the screaming loudness of color died down, he found that it was quite beautiful. He walked along a path that glowed like opal, looking around at the green, healthy trees, fields of flowers, and creeks of crystal-clear water, seeing no sign of Bill's influence.

That was a relief, to be honest. As gaudy as it was, it would truly be a shame if Bill's influence darkened anything in this fairytale.

From what he observed, Mabel's memories were contained within crystals that jutted out of the ground, flashes of memory scenes gleaming across them. As he did in Dipper's Mindscape, Ford pointedly didn't look into them. He kept walking until he came to a bridge that crossed over a river, a silver gate with a large crystal star on the door sealed tight around a small enclosed area.

This must be her Center, he gathered, walking up to the door, only to back up when two enormous, fierce-looking unicorns bounded up, brandishing their horns at him and snarling at him with razor-sharp teeth and hellishly-glowing eyes. From around the rocks and foliage, there were vicious-looking gnomes glowering at him, chittering angrily.

THIS was certainly an unexpected surprise. It would seem that Mabel was not as open and innocent as she seemed. He already gathered she found out what kind of beings unicorns and gnomes really were, and now set the horrible creatures out as guards to her Center.

It was sound reasoning that Mabel would recall Bill attempting to get to her Center with this kind of security that would tip her off, and decided that any encounter with Bill was secondhand. He raised his hands non-threateningly and walked back over the bridge, keeping his guard up until the unicorns slipped back into the shadows and the gnomes vanished.

As he headed back to where he came from, Ford found himself honestly curious as to what Mabel's Center was like, but was not feeling particularly suicidal right now.

Ford opened his eyes back in his lab, putting Mabel's hairbrush down, shaking off a shudder at that experience. And he thought the unicorns in Gravity Falls were bad…

The clock on the wall signaled that it was 3:23 in the morning, and he was feeling it. He rubbed his eyes, glancing at Stanley's gold necklace and wondering if he should just put this off until tomorrow. No, he could do this. He picked up the necklace, weighing it in his hands.

It was real gold, something Ford found a little surprising. As cheap a man as Stanley was, he expected imitation, at least. But then again, his twin DID seem to have an odd attraction to gold, almost as much as money. He sighed, clenching his hands into the chain, closing his eyes. Might as well get this over with.

One incantation later, Ford opened his eyes…and immediately felt his proverbial heart leap to his throat.

This was wrong…he had to have done something wrong in the incantation, or he was in-between something…there was no reason why this place should be so…

…broken.

There wasn't a speck of color anywhere, and there was nothing that didn't look decrepit or dead. It was like looking at some bastardized version of the Shack, which was falling apart and twisted around, like reality itself couldn't stabilize how broken it was.

The Shack itself sat teetered on the edge of a precipice that seemed to stretch into a bottomless pit of mist and silence. Broken pieces of the house hovered mid-drop, like the Shack had begun crumbling and time decided to stand still.

There was an unnatural light that was coming from the sky, where in place of the moon was a Magic 8 Ball. The absolute incomprehension of it all was unnerving. This wasn't like the grab-bag of magical randomness in Mabel's Mindscape…this was something unnatural and…

…dead.

That thought made a violent shudder run up his body. He didn't want to dwell on it at all, he just wanted to get this over with.

A sharp, rusty creak almost made him jump, and he turned around, his heart sinking when he saw the source of the sound.

It was a swing set. The same swing set that was in his own Mindscape, only it too, like everything else in this Purgatory, was in ruin. It was bent and twisted like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, one of the swings miraculously intact while the other had its ropes slashed, the seat snapped in two. It made Ford sad looking at it, and he couldn't help but walk up to the set, running his fingers over the snapped ropes.

A sudden horrible thought entered his mind, and he shakily turned to the intact seat, lifting it up and looking at the underside. Carved into the wood was the name STANFORD. Just like the swing set that was once in Glass Shard Beach, where he carved that name himself. He turned back to the broken seat, turning it around, seeing only the letters S-T-A-N.

This was Stanley's swing…broken just like the rest of this place.

"You shouldn't be here."

Ford jumped, almost going into panic mode when he heard someone speak, whipping around and almost having a heart attack when he saw a ten-year-old Stanley standing next to the swing set, glowering at him almost angrily.

"…S-Stanley…" Ford stammered, dumbfounded. This wasn't right either. What was this image doing, speaking to him? "…you…how…"

"You shouldn't BE here, Stanford!" The thick Jersey accent was just as thick as Ford remembered; it was always strongest when Stanley was angry. "WHY are ya here!?"

"…you can see me…" Ford murmured, taking a step back, both from intimidation and fear of the unknown he was facing. "How…how can you—"

"What, you think I'm stupid or somethin'?"

Ford jerked around behind him, his hands shaking when he saw the seventeen-year-old version of Stanley learning against the totem pole, picking at his fingernails with a pocketknife. Stanley shot Ford an annoyed look. "Just 'cause you're a genius doesn't mean I'm stupid," he said, examining his fingertips. "It's MY mind, in case ya forgot." He pushed off from the totem pole, heading into the Shack.

Ford looked back at the swing set, but the ten-year-old Stanley was gone. He turned back to the Shack in time to see the seventeen-year-old vanish inside. "Stanley, wait!" he called, running after him. He hurried inside, swallowing hard when he took in what made Stanley's Mindscape.

If the outside was disturbing, THIS was just insanity.

Stairwells and doors, shelves and drawers, EVERYWHERE in a nauseating mess that even M.C. Escher wouldn't be able to look at. It was disorienting to even look at, let alone navigate.

"…Stanley?" he called softly, feeling lost already, and just two steps through the door. As if on cue with his own thoughts, he heard the door slam shut and jumped, looking behind him to see that the door had vanished. "Stanley, what's going on!?"

No answer.

Ford let out a shaky sigh, taking tentative steps forward and looking around, wondering which dubious-looking stairwell he should take first. He picked one at random and started walking.

This wasn't right. Mindscapes were supposed to be expansive, and yet Stanley's seemed to be an entire Mindscape within a Center. The Center being the Mystery Shack. What sort of Mindscape was contained WITHIN its Center? It was completely backwards!

He became aware that the hallway he was walking through was dark and dank with a heavy sense of misery and numbness. It was an absolutely horrible feeling, and he didn't think he was in the right place to be looking for a….well, COULD there be a secondary Center here? And where on earth would it be, with nothing but hallways and doors being the entire makeup of this twisted hell?

The answer was simple. Start opening doors. The Center was the Mystery Shack, which contained secrets, more often than not behind doors. It was an admittedly ingenious method; contain the way forward among everything else.

Ford sighed, pausing in front of the first door he saw, resting his hand on the doorknob for a moment before opening it and peeking in.

He saw a memory of Stanley, who looked to be either nineteen or twenty, sitting in a prison cell, sporting a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a bleeding lip, looking numb and stoic, like an even worse version of himself after one of their father's corporal punishments.

An unbidden memory of his own flashed in his mind of when he and Stanley were young, seeing Stanley sitting in Fort Stan with his arms around his knees, staring at nothing after a round with his father's belt. He realized with a start that he had never seen Stanley cry before after a belting. He himself couldn't stop crying for ten minutes after the first and last time he got the belt, but Stanley never cried. He just sat in a stony silence that often frightened him because it was the one time he couldn't read his twin's thoughts and emotions.

Ford slammed the door shut, swallowing hard. This memory and his own were most unwelcome, and it was just making him feel worse. He stalked forward, jerking open a few more doors and seeing nothing worth more than a passing glance, until he opened the sixth door.

It was a prison brawl between Stanley and a much bigger man, and Stanley was winning. He was punching like a man possessed, wanting his opponent to go down and STAY down. Even after the other man dropped like a rock, Stanley kept punching, splattering blood with every blow, his fist covered in red—

Ford slammed that door shut too, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath. What in the world was THAT!?

"Told ya, Ford."

Ford clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head. "…Stanley…" he choked out, bracing himself before opening his eyes, seeing the twenty-eight-year-old Stanley, the very one who came to his aid thirty years ago, down to the mullet and threadbare jacket.

Stanley had his arms crossed, watching Ford with a surprisingly critical look. "I told you, you didn't know what I had been through." He stepped past Ford and down the hall, flicking his hand as he did so, doors opening at his command. Ford followed, not knowing what else to do at this point.

"I've been doing it since I was a kid," Stanley said, his voice as conversational as though he were giving a museum tour. "When I was hurt, I would go into my own mind, where NOTHING could hurt me."

Ford glanced into the open doors, seeing all reason and light leave Stanley's eyes in every scene that had a fight, or in what appeared to be solitary confinement.

"I learned to live there. To control whatever I saw. Shut away what I didn't want to remember."

Another door opened, and Ford saw Stanley in another prison, foreign from the looks of it, asserting a role of dominance by stabbing a man with a shank made from a toothbrush that was snapped in half, the dead look he gave everyone else making them back off.

"Sometimes, it's a necessity. Shutting away my memories and emotions, I mean. Cant be worrying about what someone else is feeling when it's down to you and him, right?" Stanley turned around, giving him an almost loathing look, flicking his hand and opening a door.

Ford looked inside, seeing with a jolt of shame, himself, the day Stanley was kicked out. When Stanford reached out for him, he turned away and shut the curtain, not worrying about Stanley when it was an issue between them. The perfect metaphor.

He almost ran into Stanley, jumping back when he realized how close they were. Stanley was staring at him contemptuously.

"And this isn't even the BEGINNING, Stanford," he said, leaning in uncomfortably close. "Just what kind of things do you think I did to get into prison, hm? Petty theft? Cheating? Maybe for the first prison I went to in America. I was unprepared for that. Became that bastard's girlfriend for two months before I finally beat him to death, as you saw. But you couldn't imagine the things that I did to get into Prison Number Three, or the things they did to me in there."

He grabbed Ford and shoved him to an open door, and Ford saw the memory of Stanley being strapped down and tortured by the prison staff, using methods that wouldn't leave much of or any scarring, keeping him conscious with shots of adrenaline.

"STOP IT!" Ford shouted, jerking free from Stanley and slamming the door shut. "Stop it, Stanley, please…!"

"Would you care to see the time I chewed my way out of the trunk of a car?" Stanley said, unconcerned. "It's a REALLY great story—"

"I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE!" Ford shouted, covering his face with his hands. "I want to LEAVE, Stanley, please! Let me out of here!"

"Find your own way out, if you're so smart," Stanley shot back rudely. "You think you know me so well, that my life was just petty crime and just punishment for an ACCIDENT forty years ago, none of this should bother you. You know. SINCE I RUINED MY OWN LIFE."

Ford let out a choked sob, shaking. "I…I didn't mean…"

"Yeah. Ya did." Stanley headed off down the hall. Not wanting to be alone in this hell, Ford jumped up and hurried after him.

"…Just….please tell me something, Stanley," Ford said, swallowing hard. Stanley turning his head just slightly gave the indication that he was listening. "…Have you…been in contact with a yellow triangle—"

"Y'mean Bill?" Stanley said, rolling his eyes. "Still treating me like a dumb sack of hammers, jeeze, you never learn." He came up to an empty space of void between stairwells, but just kept walking, planks of wood forming under his feet as he did so.

Ford followed, feeling a flush of shame crawl over his face. "…have you seen Bill then?" he asked again. "Been in contact with him?"

"Sure," Stanley said, shrugging. "Plenty of times." He snorted. "That's one determined Dorito, I'll tell ya that much. I can respect a guy like that."

"STANLEY, ARE YOU CRAZY!?" Ford snapped. "HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT KIND OF CREATURE HE IS!? WHAT HE WANTS TO ACCOMPLISH!?" Stanley glanced back at him, arching an eyebrow.

"A mind demon from the Nightmare Realm who wants to use the rift you keep stored in the basement to meld our universes into one? Yeah. I do." He looked almost amused at the flabbergasted expression on Ford's face. "Stanford, do you REALLY think someone like me would spend thirty years in that house without bugging that basement? I've been watching you since day one. Nice job confiding in a twelve-year-old child instead of the other adult in the house, by the way, BRILLIANT choice there, Poindexter."

"I….I didn't….." Ford mumbled, his hands twitching slightly as they had a tendency to do when he was put on the spot and stressed. "…I didn't mean…..I thought—"

"—that I'm not smart enough," Stanley finished for him. "Yeah. I got that already. Nevermind that I taught myself physics, engineering, and quantum mechanics to rebuild the damn thing, nope, STILL too dumb for the GREAT STANFORD FILBRICK PINES to have a little appreciation for. But we're getting off subject here."

He stopped walking, turning to face Ford. "Yes. I know who Bill Cipher is. Yes, he's come to me in my mind. And yes, he has offered me things. Things I didn't take him up on."

"…why?" Ford asked. "I mean…I—"

"Fell for his flattery and charm like the attention whore you are," Stanley said, snorting. "I'm a con man, Stanford. A professional liar, cheat, and scam artist. And you cant bullshit a bullshitter." He smirked. "I apparently impressed him enough that he filled me in on all sorts of juicy details concerning his time with you, his plans for everything, that sort of stuff. I dunno, maybe he was trying to intimidate me, or impress me. Either way, I told him thanks for the info, then told him to scram. And that was that."

"'That' is never 'that', Stanley," Ford said. "If he takes any interest in you, he STAYS with you."

"Well aware of that, Stanford, I'm PRETTY sure we've already covered that I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"Stanley, I never said you were—"

"The hell did I just say about bullshitting a bullshitter?" Stanley snapped, scowling. "You didn't stand up for me when Dad kicked me out because you thought my stupidity would hold you back in life. You didn't let me stay and help you thirty years ago because you thought I was too stupid to understand anything. And wow, big shocker here, after thirty years of self-study of science, paranormal research, and codebreaking to get your ungrateful ass back home, you STILL think I'm too stupid to know ANYTHING."

He stepped up to Ford, getting into his personal space. "Your six years here versus my thirty, Poindexter. Statistically speaking, which one of us would have more understanding of the shit that goes on around here?"

Stanley backed off, heading down the hall again. "It's arrogant idiots like YOU that creatures like Bill goes after, NOT people like me who know a bad sale when we see it. Learn some goddamn humility. It MIGHT save your life."

Ford stood against the wall, shaking hard as the projection of Stanley vanished into thin air. He slumped down to the floor next to a door, which creaked open ominously. Ford clenched his eyes shut for a moment before scooting over and peeking around the corner through the door.

Immediately, he knew that this was a relatively recent memory, not more than a few days old. Stanley was standing in front of an intricate chalk summoning circle that was surrounded by candles, his hands folded behind his back as he conversed almost casually with the faint blue light coming from the circle.

"…payment be to leave this family be?" Stanley was saying. Ford felt every hair on his body stand on end when a familiar echoing chuckle resounded from the circle.

"You're really hilarious, Fez," came Bill's voice, the circle marks flickering with light with every word spoken. "Why would I want to leave any of you alone? With Sixer's brains, Pine Tree's body, Shooting Star's personality, and your charming match of wits, you're all practically my favorite humans on this hunk of rock. And when that rift is finally open, I'll make you my fun little toys. I promise not to let anyone else play with you!"

Ford felt a wave of nausea at the idea of becoming ANYTHING to that creature.

Stanley, on the other hand, looked unimpressed. "Tempting offer," he replied. "So I'll offer you something in return." He stepped to the side, dragging a large trunk back with him. He pushed it forward, and opened it.

Ford's eyes widened when he saw that the trunk was packed full of gold, from bars to watches to chains and even a few gold teeth. To his amazement, he heard Bill make a surprised, almost contented sound.

"Gotta hand it to you, Fez, this is one impressive collection. But do you REALLY think it's enough to buy off your entire family?"

"Hardly," Stan replied. "After all, souls are cheap to sell, expensive as hell to buy back." As an afterthought, he took the gold watch from his wrist, dropping it onto the pile. "Every piece of gold I own, for Dipper. I'm buying out the contract you have on his body."

Bill's voice was thoughtful. "Pretty tempting, pretty tempting…" he said. "Odd you'd buy out Pine Tree's, and not your own brother's contract."

Stan scowled. "Stanford is an adult who made his own stupid decision," he replied firmly. "Dipper is a child, and children never think long-term. I got my brother out of the portal, my debt to HIM is paid off, but I'M still responsible for these kids!" He shut the trunk firmly.

Bill laughed. "You've gone thirty years without ever having made a deal with me, Stanley Pines," he said. "You've found every loophole you could in deals and trading. When I finally come through to your world, I'm going to enjoy seeing what it will take to finally break you."

"I'll mark my calendar," Stanley replied dryly. "Are you going to take this deal or not?"

"Fine," Bill said. "The gold for Pine Tree's contract. I'll be waiting for the transaction. Once it's mine, I'll cut my little puppet's strings and he'll be rid of me until the NEXT time he wants to make a deal."

"Agreed. Now crawl back to hell where you belong."

"You flirt. Until next time, Stanley." The circle's light faded and the candles blew themselves out.

Ford stared at the scene, hardly able to process what he was witnessing. After a few moments, the memory of Stanley turned around and looked him in the eye before walking over, grabbing the door, and shutting it.

Jeeze, even the memories were self-aware. None of this was right, NONE of it. Ford climbed to his feet, hurrying down the halls until he found himself in the front foyer of the Center, the front door having reappeared. He felt mentally and emotionally exhausted, and just wanted to get back to his own world as soon as possible.

He carefully tried the door, peeking out and seeing the grey, dead outside world, sighing with relief. He slipped outside and shut the door behind him, heading down off the front porch, and pausing in front of the swing set, swallowing hard.

Sitting on the ground under the snapped swing ropes was the ten-year-old projection of Stanley, who was hugging his knees and looking sullen. Ford cautiously walked up, looking at the unmoving child for a moment before slowly sitting down on the swing that was his.

"…I have a swing set like this in my Mindscape," he said, mostly talking to himself. "Only…it's not broken."

"Prolly 'cuz you didn't break it," the ten-year-old said, having that same frighteningly numb look that Ford now recognized as someone who was keeping an internal rein on emotions. He raised his band-aid covered arm and pointed to the various dents in the frame. "You made these when you didn't stick up for me when everyone called me stupid in that principal's office." He pointed up to the cut rope. "You did this when you didn't stop Pops from kickin' me out."

Stanley's hand clenched around the broken swing seat. "…You did this when you sent for me, then told me to leave again." He scowled at Ford. "Over ten years, and ya didn't even say I could stay th' night. Just take th' stupid journal an' leave. After I dropped everythin' an' used th' last of my money to drive to Gravity Falls, because I thought you were in trouble."

Ford's eyes were clenched shut, his hands clenching the ropes of the swing tightly.

"Some brother you turned out to be."

Ford's eyes snapped open, seeing that the child was gone and standing in his place was his sixty-two-year-old brother, who looked just as washed-out as the rest of the Mindscape, except for the eyes, a clear, whiskey-brown without the greying of cataracts.

Stanley crossed his arms, looking at Ford like he had dragged mud into the house after it had been cleaned. "And after all that, you're going to kick me out." He let out a soft scoff of bitter mirth. "I meant what I said in that memory," he said suddenly. "My debt to you is paid off. I'm tired of paying for one mistake I made over forty years ago, Stanford. I'm DONE."

Ford felt tears run down his face, his shoulders shaking to contain the sobs that threatened to come up. "…I'm….I'm sorry, Stanley…" he murmured. "I'm so sorry…"

Stanley just stared at him. "You will be." At Ford's confused look, he said, "I'm the master of my own mind, Stanford. You really think it would make a difference talking here whether I was asleep or awake? We'll see how sorry you'll be when you cant remember any of this happening." With that, Stanley drew his fist back and punched Ford in the face.

Ford jerked upright, back in his lab in the waking world, his heart hammering in his chest, face soaked in tears. He looked at his hands and saw that the gold chain was gone.

"You know," said a voice in the corner, making him jump and turn to see Stanley standing there, holding the chain in his hand. "I was supposed to make my last transaction tonight. 'Every piece of gold I own', that was the deal." He jangled the chain slightly. "Almost cost Dipper his body there, Sixer."

Ford's hands shook, feeling a deep sense of dread. "…Stanley…" he said. "I'm sorry…"

"Not interested," Stan said, walking up. "Because you wont be remembering anything." He lifted his hand, the memory gun already revved to go. Ford's eyes widened, backing up on the floor until his back hit a panel.

"Stanley, please!" he cried, shaking. "It wont—it wont work on me…! Please, it'll just hurt me—"

"You've really got to keep up with the times, Sixer," Stan said. "You'd be surprised how many government officials have metal plates in their heads. Had to tweak it a little to keep the feds off my back. So let's not make a fuss about this, not like I'm pointing an ACTUAL gun to your head."

"STANLEY, PLEASE! I'M SORRY—"

A flash of light, and then blackness.

Dipper and Mabel ran downstairs, having smelled breakfast being made. It was rare that their Grunkle Stan went the extra distance for breakfast, and they wanted to enjoy it.

Stan was frying up some bacon, smiling when the kids came in and dividing up Mabel's request for crunchy bacon and Dipper's for chewy, putting the bacon and scrambled eggs on plates, setting them down along with the toast that was already on the table.

"So what's the special occasion?" Mabel asked, putting jam and sugar on her toast before crunching down. Stan shrugged, sticking with butter for his own toast.

"Eh, the pain in my spine was only mildly unbearable instead of obscenely agonizing, so I was in a good mood," he replied. "And what did we say about looking gift horses in the mouth?"

"Um…don't?"

Stan ruffled her hair. "That a'girl." He picked up his newspaper and sipped his coffee, not reacting when the vending machine door creaked open and Ford walked up, looking about as hungover as one could without having actually been drinking, making a beeline for the coffeepot.

"Morning, Grunkle Ford!" Mabel said. "You wanna stay up here for breakfast?"

Dipper glanced in Stan's direction, faintly noticing Stan's grip on the paper tightened slightly. Ford sipped his coffee, giving Mabel a half-hearted smile.

"No thank you, Mabel," he said. "I've got a bit of a headache today, so I'm going to try to sleep it off downstairs. I was just hoping some caffeine would help."

"Aw. Okay." Mabel turned back to her breakfast. "Hey, Grunkle Stan, let's go see a movie!"

"Too expensive."

"What, we cant sneak in?"

Stanley put the paper down, smirking. "Let me finish breakfast first." He ignored the disgusted scoff Ford let out and started on his bacon.

Ford was about to ask if Dipper was interested when Stanley asked the boy what he wanted to go see, and instead headed back to the basement door. Sneaking into movie theaters with children…honestly. That man would never change.