[Stan didn't exactly go looking for trouble here. You tell him something's dangerous and he (usually) listens and stays the hell away from it! Sure there's exceptions here and there, but he's usually pretty firmly on the side of "don't go messing around with weird magical things."
It's pretty hard to avoid when it's literally everywhere though. He's on his way back from getting firewood from wood that isn't actually cursed when it happens. When he recounts it later he won't be sure if he stepped on something or brushed too close to one of them membranes, but the moment he's caught he drops the firewood and yells as the brand spreads through his body, under his skin and along every nerve. His whole body shakes with the effort to free himself but something is holding him back, pulling him under. He'd rip it out by hand if he could, but it's harder and harder to stay present. There are voices, but they're hard to hear with the sound of flickering flames in his ears. And he's...sad? No, heavy. Heavy, like an anchor, pulling him down into something he doesn't want to be a part of.
Inevitably though, he sinks.]
A. A SMALL SPACE (Memory 1 CW: WILL HAVE TEETH STUFF EVENTUALLY)
[It's dark. At first it's just dark, but more details creep in, slowly.
The space is small. The ground rumbles in almost a rhythm, but occasionally there's a thump as Stan (a younger one, in his l͖̙̮̗ͣ̇̿ͧ́̀a̡͚ͬ̏͐͠t̶̥͈̰̠͉̺̞̦̾ͮ̀ͤ̽ͦ͆̌̆̕͞ĕ͖̲̼͕̬̲͐̓ͮ̉͐͆̋ ̤͈̼ͪ͒̔ͬ͝ț̯͚̭̜͔͖̻̄ͭ̂͆͆̒͡w̿ͣ͏̗͇̜͙͍̟͡ḙ̴͙̩̱̱ͫͥ̂͆̓͐ͅn̵̠̗̹͚͓͚͊͂͌ͯt̴͇̰̭̘̣ͮ̑͌͠i̴̺̦̙̱̠̅͂̐͛ͦ̿ͯ̽͝e̢͓͈̼͉̦̳̗̤̙ͩ́͟s̝͖̑͒̔̀̚ or so) hits his head on the...roof? It's hard to tell. As soon as it happens though, there's banging from somewhere, and a loud angry voice that can't be made out. Somewhere, there's a crackling of fire.]
Stan tries desperately to move, to ignore the pounding in his head and the wound in his side, but his ankles and wrists are bound and there's no room to try and get out of his restraints. The darkness curls around him deep in his lungs and it curls around any witnesses to this moment as well. There's only so much air in this trunk and he's going to die, he's gonna die, ḟ̞̺̝̻̲̤̘͊̈́̑ͨ̉ͪͅǘ̷͙͊̆̐ͬͩ̋̿̈͝c̛͈̮͍̊ͥ̆̕k̓҉̬̗̪͕̣̦͉̪͠ ͖͔͐̋̓̂̌ͅh̢͈̞̪͖̘͈̻̿ͯ̊̈͑̆͆e̛̞̓̾̑ͩ̐͗'̓̐̽ͧ͂͡͏̪s̮̪̯͐͘͢͡ ͓̤̻͚̮̲̖ͦͣ̎̀͗̂͢g̃̋̏ͮͮ҉̬̹ͅơ̢̱̯ͫ͋̃̉ͩ̉̈n̢͇̺̍̀ͮ̊n̷̝͉̱̓̽͗̒̀̕͜a̶͔̜̹ͨ̍̀̄̍͆͢ ̧̯͉̱̭ͬ͆̏̎͘D̳͈͙̝̰͙̗̠̅͂̅ͣ̉́̊̓͟͠I̮̞̟̱̹̓͆͌͛̂̋̀̑ͅE̷̹̹͖̤ͣ̓ͩ ̬̙̤͇ͥͪ̓̇̾̏̄ͯ̚I̹̬̠͚ͭN̢͉͈͍͇̫̣͍̤̫͋͆͌̑̔͆͝ ̳̤̩̼̩̻̎͋̚Ḩ̲͖̭͔̈̓̌́͜E̛͈̺̗̯̦͓̬̅̓ͅͅṘ̡̡͔̗̟̬̳̰̦ͧE̳̟̯̜̯̜ͪ͌̽ͩ̃ͤ͑ͫͥ h̶̯̯̱̖͛̿ͧͨͧ͒ͬę̥̖̑̽̆ͦ͌̉͟ ̺̜̜̥̟̎ͥC̝̥̰̬̻̗̄͛͢͝Ä͎͇̞̣̰́̕N̡̜͆ͬ͋͢'̳̩̟͉͉̹̌͐͒ͫ̊ͨͩ͒͘͡T̓̄͜͏̠̘̥̬̼̘͈ ͭ͑̎̒̂҉̟̙͙̳̺͉B̶ͩͮ̽̄̌̂҉͕͚Ŗ̸̥͇̥̻͉̦̿ͥ̆̽E̶̫̤̼ͫ͗ͫ̄ͫ̀͡͡A̧̨͔̟̻̻̮̥͉ͧͮͤ̂ͥ̎ͨT̓ͨͫ͌̄ͮ̚͡҉͇̮̬̥Ĥ̢̳ͨ̌̆̀ͅÉ̴̴͉͙̘͎̠̪̭̂͑̐ͬͦ
It isn't clear exactly how onlookers are able to see through the trunk and observe a moment of terror taking place presumably in motion, especially as the world around them is j̷̡͖̇͗̅ͦ̔͂̈́̿ͥu̮̹͕̙͊̌̒ͬ́͋͠͝ͅs͚̼̜͓̭̱̈ͧ̇ͫͮ͆̇͂͞͞ͅt̬͉̼̫͙͍͖͙̒ͣ́̓̍́ͅ ̤͔͍̭̓ͥ̇ͩ̂ͮ̚a͛̅̾҉̱̘̼̥͈̺̳ ̺̜̬̥̟ͭ̔̎ͩ͆͢d͙̘̬̟̘͉ͣͮͩ̆͡å̖̤̌̎͛͌͜r̴̳͇̬͉͙̝̱͉ͫ̂̈́͐͗ͯ͂ͨk̨̞̺͈͖̫̄̑ͯͦ͋̕ͅ ̴̛̜͖̼̞̝̉̎ͦͩ̓ͯ͂̕v̵̹̟̤͍̮͊̌o̫̥̳̘̻̊ͬ̿̇̆͋̚i̶̮̱̹̩̪̬̊̅͒̏ͅḑ͈̔́. But they will see the moment the panic in Stan's eyes becomes an animalistic desperation.
He has to get the fuck out of this trunk.]
B. ROCK BOTTOM (Memory 2) [It's a motel room, presumably. Stan, now in his ê̴͖̒̎ͯͯ̏ͪḁ̠͇̠͉͖̳̊̿̋͒̒̀ͅr͇͍͇͉͉̩͕͇ͩ̏ͤ͟͜ͅl̲̱͙ͯͭ͋́ÿ̠̼̲̟̣̱̗̪̄̓̽̏́͝ ͪ̿͌ͩ̏ͮͤ҉͍̙̯̩̺̮̗͚͞͝tͭ̎̂͂ͭ͒҉̣̯͚͕̞͙̭̳̰h̨̯͓̽͐́ͧ͟i̥̺̓̍͑ͭ̃̐̐͠r̫̬͔̾ͪ͢ͅt̵̠̓̇̄̍i͐͐̋̊͒ͮ͂͠҉͖͜e̳̙͖̜̝͕ͭ̏͜sͧ͛̽ͮ̾҉̨̱͉̺͔̜̮̘, doesn't seem to notice that a large portion of the room is quite literally on fire, blue flames lapping at the edges. All of his worldly possessions are crammed into the small space, like c̵̨̣̤̍ͯ̎͆̉ͥh̸̰̞̝̦̪͇̘̘̍̎͋̊̈́e̮̬̘̪̹̯͇̪̝̓̀͒̈ͯ͋̊ͩ͘͡a̜̪͖̻̗̰̗̼ͨͫ̄ͧ̄͆ͮp̧̼̗̗̗̻̫͒̿̾̔ ̧̣̹̌ͮͩͪͬ̂̓͜͢ͅo̡̲ͤ͂́̄͛͝ľ̶̴͕̣̠̩̖̲̤̽̌̍d̗͙̣̪̰̪̗̾́ ̝̗̦̬̥̈́͊̇ͤ̍ͩ͞͞p̷̵̱͔̳̤͕͕͎ͤͩ͂͐ͅr̢̩͐̋ͅọ̩̳͍͙̹̤̜ͤͩ̈́̀ͥ͞d̤̠͕͎͈̥̿̉ͯ̔̐ͨͣ̃ȕ̸̠̤̗̩͈ͦ͑̈͝c̀̈́͛̈͆͏̱͎̠̞̮̼͕t̹̤̬̱̑s̴̛̻̜͍̟̭̙̩ͤ͛̔́̉̄̓̚̕ ̡͎͔̥͓̪̺̈͐ͪͪ̑́ͫ̒̀w̨̛̮̱̻̤͈͆͒ͩ̌͒̾͆̍̃͝ͅi̛̤̫̣̓̐̒̚t̲̼͉̙̟̑ͪ́h̤̹̓ͦ̋́ͥ̂ ̵͍̹̤̦͈̞̣̙ͦ͂̈̆h̴̼͚̩̭̠͔͚̳̖̍ͦi̅̅҉͓s̩͉̻̘̍͗ ̵͇͕̲̯̠̤̱̫̅̊s̴̥̲̥͕̺͕͎̽̕͡m̬ͬ͌ͩ̉ͣ͒̅͢i͇̠͕̐̋ͦͥ̃ͣͥͩ͠l̓̿ͭ҉̺͔̪͎͙̹̲́i̶͔̙̩̪͖̭ͤͮ̐̋ͨ̌ͣ͑ṋ͙͊ͩͫ͑̌͞͝ḡ͓̜̲̽̈͆͠͠ ̨̠̩̖̬̤̬̗̟̽́̃͝fͬ̄ͫ͆̄̋͛̈͏̦̬̘̜͇͎̗å̧̮̰̬͌ͥ͑̃̋̊c̝̊̿ͬͣ͂͂͞ë̬̥̜̪́̀ͯ̅̂͒͛ͩͫ̕͟ ̴͕̺̻͌̈́͗ͣͮ̌͜ö̶̥̥͉́̎̓͝n̴͓͖̯̻͔̫͋͋ͣ͂ͫ͌̌̓͟͝ͅ ̬̼̇͊ẗ͓̙́͘h̩̖͕̝̓͒̄̉̆ͬ́̀̚͜ͅė̻̪ͧ͢m̤̻̟̖̲͈̉͌͆̿̾͡.
He isn't smiling anymore though. T͚̣͇̣ͨͪͩ͟͡ͅḩ̰̥ͥ̄̓e̴̶̫̯ͥ͊̉̽͐ͧ͞ ̴̀̓̈ͩͣ̓̀̌͏̤̟͔ͅw̡̜͍͍̹ͣͧ̌͡a͎̭̰̗̲̙̼͍ͦͪ̏̂̈͑̓ͅl̹̄̎̆ͤ̚ͅͅl̮̮̝͂̾̒̿̌ͮͩ̏̕ͅp̀̈́̍ͧͪͧ͘͏̗̠̲̘̯a̴̡̡̞͔̝̫̤̻̰ͧͧͪp̹̼̱̬ͪ̍͂͢e̷̖͚̥͓̼͔̼͙̩͌ͮͣ̇̈́ͣ̅̃r̲͇̜̼͓͇ͬ͋ͨ͘͝͞'̷̲͇̜̍̌̄ͬ̅͗͝s̮̜͕͚̮̬̏̌ͥ͒ͪ͝ ̨̢͕͎̜͔̰̖̣̒̇̍̓̍p̷̫̮͕̥̤̪ͬ̓̌ͪ͢e͚̖͎̞̻̭̽̽͆̒̽ͭ́͟e̸̠̜̾͛̚͡͞l͓̲̣͗̕i̴̹͖̹͋̏̒̈͋n̹̳̼͔̲̰͆͋͛̓̚g̴͈̲̞̀͆͆ͧ̑͞,͖̪̗͈̤̪̼͔̈́̓͒̄̒ͩ͒͢ ̢̬̱͕͉̓ͧ̈́͆̅͝a̗̮̒͠͝ȓ͖͙̒̐̒̎t̸̶̜͔̯̥̖͙ͣ͋ͦ͑ ̽̅̾ͮ͗ͯ̑ͨ̑͏͚͔̠̗̜̖oͥ̈ͯ͗͏͍̲̼̟̪n̵̵̬̲̄̔̑͒ͭ͛ͥ̚ ̷͔̮ͫͯ̋ͪ͂̈́̚͟t̤̘̟͉͋̅̐͋̂͋́h̯̼ͧ̋͊̏̍̐ͣ̀̚͞e̿̆̐҉̹̰ ̶̻̙̩̼̤ͥ͗̑̔͢͝w̛̰̩̠̆͗ͯͦ̎ä͎͎̱́̃̿͗̆ͭ͢ļ̜̗̩̳̰̺͕̃́̂͗l̨̗̥̜͕̪͓̰̟ͣ̔͗̍̎̃͢͢ ̵͙̅̆ͨȉ̱̯̊͞ͅṣ̛͇̫̤̹͚̻̜͑̌̆ ̥̘͕̜̺͛͊̋̉̌̋͒̀b̃̌ͤ̾҉̝͉͈̲̥r̵̴͇̰͋̈̅͌ͫ̅ö̘̬̙͔͔́̿ͥ͑̕͞͠ͅk̯̭͕̖͉̍̃̆͊̄̅͘̕ḙ̢̦̻͋̉̍̀ͬ̋̾̕n̶̥̜͇͚͖ͮ͆ͣ̏͞͠,̧ͦ̽͛͐͏̭̺͖̰̭̖̙̰͢ ̷͍̬͕̥̣̘̰̰̳̾̋́ḁ̪̓ͯ͐͗͊n̨͎̺̠̬̳̟̠̩̽̾̓̓̉̆d̔͑҉̴̨̲̲͈̺ ̡͓̺̫͉̮̼̐͌̇̂̉̌͛e̛͇͈̪̘͙͍͍̱̓̏̔ͅv̨̳̲̪͖̼̦̯̓̊͢e̡̱͕̗ͭ̿ͅn̄̍ͤ̉ͬͮ͏̻̹̦͈̘̪̮͕ͅ ̼͙̯̤̠͆̈̽ͦ̇̉ͯt͓̗̺̘̯̘̙͑ͧ͟h̠̰̼̩͇̻̾̂̇ͧͪ̓̌́ͅe̲̼̦̫̝̝̳͊̏̓ͦ́̈ ͙̲͍̗̱ͫ̑ͬ̕c̸̢͉̪̉͗͒͗e̾͛ͨ̎͌͏̫̩̲͝ï̂ͭ̔̚͏̷͕̞̭̣͕̙ḽ̺͙̇̈̎͂ͬ͌i͖͔̪͊̿n͍͇͍͇̿̊̓͐̒͡ḡ̲̹̭͚̲͕̻̬͔ͫ̐̆̈ͮ̏ ̻͕̱̰̻͓̦͋̅̈̿̓̽̌́͠fͥ̇̎̊ͪ͒̀ͪ͜͏͉͈̺͔̹̝̲̣̫͞ą̫̯̳̼̳͚̪̳̓͋̒̇͡n̷̷̗͍͕͔͂ͩ̽̂̿͌́̚ ̷̨͈͙͖̳̘̬̘̐̓ͤ̿̋ͦ͒ͤ͘h͐͏̠̣̫̦̲̣̫á̷̖̻̒͐͡ņ̗͈͕͖̞͇̳͔͆́͐̈ͯ̈́̍͆g̱̜̹͓̟̜̙̩͆́̀ͬͫ͜s̨̙̝̼͇̬̫ͥ͊͋̆ͤ̈̚̚ ̶̢͕̫̲͓̳̙͓̙͑ͤͪ̔̓̿͡ą̵̴͍̭̌̊̾ͫt̢͈̱̥̦̪͎ͨͧͭ̓͞͡ͅ ̷̡̛̟̝͎̝͖͚̖ͭ̍̌ͯ͋̈́͗a̴̢͙̝͈ͭ̔ͪn̖̺͓̞̘̖͉̰͑ͦ̅̐͊ͨ̈́̍ ̪̼͔͎ͫͦ̈̃o̥̦̟ͤ̌ͨͮ͂̚d̺̰͓̥̖̩̩̠͌͋̐͋̇͑ͫ̕͘͠d̆̅̓͊͏̩̰ ̩̱̺͉͉ͩ̇̉̃̄̋ͨa̵̱̯̫̗̤͒ͤ̅̋͋nͦ̇̔ͪ͌̃̓͐̌͘҉̱͖̮̮͉̳͘g̼̘͕͈̘ͪ͋̆̏̉̔̔͢ḷ͔ͫ͆̾͜͟e̛͔̠̦̝ͨ̃ͯ̏ͣ̎ͦͭ́͞.̸͕́͠ As the fire burns all around him, Stan looks terrified. He's sitting on the bed in his underwear, and one might think he's staring into space, but he's just still. Listening for something, as his world burns around him.
And as soon as he hears it - and only he hears it - he whips out a baseball bat he s̙̬̙̖̪̯ͦ͛̍͒̔̀t̵̥̹̭̰̣̣͌̐̾̌ͦ͟ą̬̣̼̖̦͈͉̖͆̒s̵̸̙͇͎̹̫̠͇̻̃̂ͥ͆͒̒͢ȟ̲͕̮͉̫͔̈́̓͌̏̊̀̀͢͢e͓̜͖̻͍̳̱ͪ̇ͧͥ͢d̅ͤ͆̿̆ͩ̄͏̺ ̄̓̐ͯ̓ͯͭ̆҉̺̣̘̹̼̮̳̫b͖̬̭̾̍̽͒̐͢͟ͅę̶̧̤͎̖̏ͣͦ̚t͐ͪ̈̓̑͂҉̬̥w̯͈̞̳̘̾ͪͩͩͬě̱̦ͩ̎͌́̕͢ȩ̬͕̠̖ͫ͊͂̚n̗̥̩̏͛͐̅͛ͤ̇ ̨̥̩̺̺̪̟͂̿͘t̨̟̠̱ͧ̄̒̋h̢̳̆̆͐ͬ͊ͯ̕ë̹̬͙͖̖́̍ͨ̏̃͗ͧ̍͟ ̷̅̈̑͋̽̒͏̠͍b͎̳̘͐e̟̫ͮ͐̿ͫͥ͜͡d̷͇̘̩̖̤̫̘̲ͬ̋͌̓ͯ́̈̐ ̛̝̻̒̌͆̑͂̔̂͞aͮͯ̌ͮ͛̓̒͘҉͓͙n̶̝͉̦͒̆̒̏̿̈ͯͣd͉̫̲̞͓̈́͜ ̥̺͙̖̼̮̝̍̐̇ͧ̕t͗̃ͦ́͏̦̱̲̪͕̲̬h̃ͦͥͧ̚҉͔͎͖̥͎e̷̮͚͚̦̞͚̤̦ͭ̓ ̜̹̳͇͇̝̟̇ͫ̑̐ͮ͜ņ̯͈̜̗͚̹̥̤̿̒͋ͧ́̌i̡̙̦̙̪̺̭͓̪͈ͬ̿ͭ͟g̎̒̊́̾̽͛̀͏̻̩̫̗͚͎̺͍̺͠ḩ̠̮̪̭̜̥̜̻̎́̍̇̈ͭ̀͜ͅt̤̱ͩ͆ͮ̒̑̚͜s̡͚̣͋̇͢t̖̹͆͛̑͗͜͝a̟͗͗̿̈̓̆̾n̵̗͉̘̗̺̮͔̝͑̅̕dͫ̽̒͗ͫ̔ͪ̈̊͏҉̲̥ and brandishes it.]
C. BY THE SEA (Memory 3 - Past Life) [In a very different setting, all is a lot calmer. No electric blue flames lap at the edges of this moment. The air's salty, and Stan's very young - couldn't be much older than Dipper currently is. He's dressed in a red striped shirt and heavy coveralls, and he's holding three nails in his teeth while nailing a fourth one to hold a new shelf in place inside the family store. The place is full of all sorts of old knickknacks from far off lands, or at least ones that his old man tells people are from far off lands. Some of them are even things Stan cobbled together himself! Weird little creature carvings being passed off as real artifacts from ancient times.
From the next room over, a stern voice calls out to him - one that's not easily impressed.]
You almost done in there? I've got stock to stock and you're taking almost as long as your good for nothing brother would've!
[Stan finishes the nail he's hammering, and then spits out the other three nails into his palm.]
Quit talking about Ford like that! And I'm almost done, unless you wanna do it yourself!
[There's some grumbling that turns into yelling, but Stan isn't really listening to his father anymore. He tunes him out entirely, moving the other end of the shelf up and down and eyeballing it until it's as level as it's going to get.]
D. WILDCARD (Whatever, Whenever!) [Got something else in mind? Let me know!]
[He leaped into the damn brand because he was so sure it had grabbed Stan. Through the horror that was whatever the fuck it did to their bodies, he grimly forces his way through. No stupid sentient hiveminded flesh wall is going to take away one of his uncles, goddammit.]
[Almost like his will did something to help him along, he ends up in ...a burning room. Blue flames set his nerves on edge, but they settle down once he recognizes the person in the room. He's seen this version of Stan before, and he lived briefly in their house in Trench.]
[But because of that, he knows this is a Stan years apart from the one he knows. He does not approach immediately, not until he knows what's on the other side of that door.]
[Stan yells something, but when he does the flames suddenly roar all around them, making it difficult to hear. Something about...R̮͓̜͙̖̭̰̓̌͜i̶̹̦̥̠̥͇̙͓̾͛̈͂c̯͕̪͓͍ͣ̆͜o̸̢̲̖͊̊̇̕?͐̀̀҉̻͈̲ ̹̙̫̬̜̇ͣͅP̵̖̺̄̔̽̃̋̒ͣą̸̥̺͉͔̜͓̤͊ͅỳ̴̧̮̥̝͈̭̝̱̖̿ͭ̃͆ͥ͗i̶̤͙̬̟̝͖̼̥̝ͧ̓n̻̤͔̟̺̲̒ͩ͆ͥ̽̔ͬ͢g̸̵̬͎̠ͯ̔̓͊ͧ̂ ̢̱̣̞̺̤̦̭̝̿ͥͦ̀͊̿̆́b̸̶̙̳̦͎͚̉ͦ̓͗͌͂aͧ̀͋͒͏͏͕̤̥c̵̢̝͎̿k̞̖̪͇̟̭̣ͨ̋̅ͮ̀͞ ̲ͥh̤̳͍̲̤͔̺̫ͯ͛ͮ͒ͧ̑͊̉iͦͮ͂ͫ̔̐̓ͬ͞͏͉̪̠̹̞̟̼s̗͕ͤ͟ͅ ̩̣̠͓̩͖͚͚̩̉͂̔ͮ͐̑̔̚̕g͕͚͕̘͉͇̭͉̤͋ͥͦ̀͡o̴̥̹̬̺̳͍̯͉̻ͦͤ̆͊̓͋ͮo̢̭͇̪͊̃̌̋͋̑͢ņ̝͎͓̮̬̫͑̓͌̈̕͡s̶̲͍̬̖̏́ͦͧͮͯͪ̆͟?̷̘̯̜ͮ͂͒ͤ̾͝ But whoever he was calling to doesn't seem to be there. Instead, a postcard is pushed through the gap under the door, and Stan gets up to peek. He waits a second for whoever it is to leave, listens close for anyone else lurking nearby, and then finally crouches down to pick up the post card.
Despite not being close enough to read it, Dipper will know exactly what that postcard is and what it says. It's the clearest thing in the entire room, and any time it comes near flames they move away - it can't be burnt anymore.]
...Ford?
[Stan stares at the postcard for a long moment. Lots of emotions can be felt in the vicinity - pain and grief, fear, worry, and even the tiniest sliver of hope that somehow hasn't been beaten out of him by now.
Suddenly though, Stan stills. All of those feelings immediately fold into an overwhelming sense of fight or flight that muffles everything else. The post card flutters to the ground, pushing away any flames near it, but Stan's already reaching for the baseball bat again.]
[Yeah, he knows what that post card is, and he holds his breath, letting the emotion fill the room, while doing his best to not let it overwhelm him. He's waiting for a chance to speak up and reveal himself, but he wants to wait to see if some of his emotions settle down first.]
[He waits too long, and Stan picks up on him much faster than he thought. He shouldn't be surprised, considering the jittery nature of this version of Stan. The fight or flight rises up and Dipper is quick to do two things. He carefully raises his hands to show he isn't armed, and he backs himself into the corner of the room. He is putting himself in the most vulnerable position he can, to hopefully show Stan he isn't a threat of some kind.]
[Unfortunately, this doesn't help as much as Dipper would like it to. This Stan's been running around with a different name in every circle - he hasn't heard his real name in ages, or at least he's so deep in this burning memory that he thinks that's the case.
That means this kid knows who he is, and right now that makes him a threat.]
What the fuck's a Grunkle?!
[He doesn't actually want an answer though. He doesn't advance towards Dipper, but the baseball bat is in his hand now and raised, ready to swing if anyone comes anywhere near him.]
How did you get in here? Every window and door in this dump is as locked as I can get them, and I would've seen someone break in here! And why the hell do you know my name anyway?!
[He's big and loud and threatening with that baseball bat, but Dipper's powers will show him the truth - he's terrified that someone just turned up here in his motel room without his knowledge when a dozen different people want his head on a platter. He's scared, all stress and anxiety, the way anyone living this way would be.]
[He's mentally working overtime to keep his empathy in check and it's hard, it hurts in a way he isn't familiar with, but he has to try, he has to talk Stan through this somehow with this place burning down.]
[He hates that his powers barely work in this place, he got so used to being able to just meddle and alter things, and now he's stuck doing this the hard way.]
Because I'm family. I came to find you.
[He doesn't know if trying to brute force this memory will work, but he has to try. He considered lying, maybe pretending to be Grandpa Shermie, but he doesn't think that timeline quite works so...instead he just tries to keep his voice as even as possible, and he doesn't move, even when Stan brandishes the bat.]
[Somehow that's even less believable than anything Stan was thinking of. He laughs, but there's no humor in it at all, just the kind of darkness that comes from being at one of the lowest lows of of his life.]
Family? Pfft! Nice try, but my family doesn't want anything to do with--
[He can't look Dipper in the face when he says it, but he catches a glimpse of the postcard on the floor, in an empty circle among the flames. It's landed message side up:
Please come!
Some of the immediate panic starts to subside - he's still wary, of course. Anyone would be. But...at least one family member might want something to with him. And this kid's kinda young, isn't he? Too young to be o͉͚͎̙̖ͮ̊̌ͪͮ̓͛̍͟ņ̴̟̲̝̖̣̣̫ͦͧͬͧ̑̊ͣ̕ͅe̠͉̞̱̘̲̟̹͛ͯ̔ͥ ̰͔̩͚͓̞͕ͥ̊̔̊͡ȍ͇̲̗̤͌̍̎͝ͅf̧̮̞̤̩͑̉̍̃͠ ̢̺͖̞̯̱͔̭ͭ͆͒̉Ŗ̶͖͎̪͇̪̼̫͚͖͛ͮͩ̀i̢͚͍͉̥̗͆̔͗cͭͦ͏̻̳͇̠̝̩̟̭oͦ́͢͏̮̥̘̘ͅ'̢̢̤̪͉̤̦͖̈͑s̪̰͔̻̣͎̳̑̓̿ͥ̂̾ ̶̞̠̭̩͙̻̻̃̅͋̋̚g̨̭̭̝̦̬̳̯ͥ͂̓̉̿ͯͮǒ̟̮͓̦̏͌̊̎̽̊ͩ̊ơ͈̲͈ͥͮ̑̇n̨̞͙͕̥͓̲̻͎ͧ̄̎ͫ͒s̸͚̲̙̭̦̃ͮ̆̐ͥͯ̎ͪ͡ probably.
He bites at his lip and finally looks back to Dipper.]
...Why'd you come to find me?
[The kid must want something, right? What does he want? Even Ford didn't come in person.]
[ Odile knows this isn't real. She was just outside the inn a second ago, the brand nowhere in sight. Perhaps it was foolish of her to look too long at the shadow of Stanley, or perhaps the scene- or lack of a scene- in front of her is harmless. She won't know until it's too late, now.
She can't help. She can't see the outside of the trunk, and even if she could she doesn't know if she could affect this dream-like space. So instead she watches, waiting to see how he acts. ]
[Stan doesn't seem to be able to see her either. All he can focus on is his immediate situation and the bouncing as he's jostled inside the trunk. He's breathing heavy - hyperventilating, something that could actually kill him in the situation he's in.
He can't kick out the tail light with his ankles tied. He can't push himself up to try and force it open. His hands are bound behind his back, but he's facing the latch and the cables that connect to the trunk pop in the front seat. None of that will mean much to Odile, but he seems to be forming a plan. A desperate, stupid plan but if he doesn't get out of here he's going to die. Either he'll die here in the trunk or h̊̚͘͏̨̲̥e͖͍̬͑͋̀́̕'ͣ̆͌̋͒̊̿́҉̺̲̹̫̙l̹̪̦̼̣̬̏ͮͫl͎̲͚̗͎̭̿̾̕͞ ̴̧͚̬̗̥̀̅͐ͭ̀̓͝d̠͕ͥ̽̌ͨ͂͗͞i̸̓ͭ̎҉̫̩͓̼̮̘̜e̼̩̩̻̤̲̬̳͖̓͑ͨ͊̑̑ ͔̖͕͗̑̋̽̓̄͑w̸̹̪͕͙̪͉̻͕ͪͭ̀̍͡ḩ̷̡̺̝̬̦̬͉̼̤͛̊̐̈̓̆͒ͬ̀ė̵̸̳̗̹̠̠͍̔͆̄ͤ͂͟ňͥ͒ͯ̚͏͎̟̲̞̪ ̲͖̼̱̩̮́ͩt̢̳̩̂̒̔̆͡h̴̛̖̭̘̲̲͓̞̗̱͑̈́ͪẻ̗̜̰͎͈̟̎͑̋̏̐s̴̵̞̦̲̺͈ͨ̈́̀è͓̯͓͚̣͛̀͑͌̐ͪ̔ ̯̬̼͙̦̰͚̫̰̒̄ͧ́ͥ̉͗̽ġ̸̴͚͆̊ͤͬ̍̀̚o̷̩̮̠̯̱̞͆̊ͨ̔ö́ͩ̿̃̚͏̴̮͇n̸̠͍ͦ̂̉̃̆ͪͧ́̚s͎̯̳̘̜͍̈̓ͯͫͯͤ̾͐̑ ̞̫̙͆̌̃̆́͘ģ̝͓̬̫̗̰̱̎̾ͮu̵͔͇̳ͮͭͨ͆̍ͨ̾t̴͌ͤ͊̿̀҉̺ ̪̥̫̞̩̈ͣ̏͊͝͝͡h̛̲͔̘̯̖͉͉̝͔́̿ͯ͢͞i̟͈̪̺̻͉ͫ̔̽͐̃̀̉̿ͅm̧̥̭̺ͬ͢ ̭̥̬͎̎̂̌̆̀̿͗͊̓͟fͦͦ͂̈̔͐҉̶͔̳͇̠͍̝ö̴̧̙͉͇̺̮̬̥͐̾ͅr̢̢͖͔̥̳̳͉̂ͯ̔ ̪̮͎̟͙̪͑p̸̡̘̲̬̬͉̖̈́̿̈́̔̏ͧͬȧ͍͉̝̦͍͍̥̙͟r̯̟̍̚ͅt̤̩͖͇̪̹͚̫̿͘s̱͔̺͆̏͆ͨ̿̉͆̀̚͠͡.
Trying to go unnoticed, Stan tries to turn himself as much as possible, tries to push himself closer and closer to the latch with his mouth open like he's bobbing for apples. It takes more than a few attempts, but eventually his mouth connects and he desperately chews on whatever he's bitten, trying to break it or bend it out of shape - anything!
An interesting thing happens in this moment - one small detail that wasn't present in the original memory. Now that he's so panicked and desperate, when his eyes are open, they're electric blue, the same color as his fire outside the memories, even though this is long before he would have gained such powers.
He winces as something cracks, but he has to push through. He has to ignore it. It doesn't matter that there's blood starting to pool in his mouth and leak out of the corners - nothing matters except getting out.
He has to get out he has to get out h̑̒͊͒̈́͑͏̨̼̜̺̲̲e̬̲̺ͩ̓̑̇ ̝̥̺̰̠̙ͯ͘ḥ̨̹̘̬̹͓̣̏̂͑͐ą̜͎̝͉͆̔͆ͫͬ͒ͤs͋͒͆̽͏̮̱̠͇̦ ̧̺̾̔ṭ̴̛̦ͥ͊͌͋́͗͛͑͠o̶̓̔̿̌̅҉͉̗̬ ͑̒̐̆͏͙̻̮̪͉̭̪̺͔̀́g̞̟̳̦͇͔̹̻ͫ̈̏͗͠ĕ̷̢̹̱͖͚̊ẗ̨̲̬̠̘́̾̍̉͂̚̚̕ ̏ͦ̎ͦ̅ͨͯ̔҉҉̣̯o̴̧̮͇̘͋̐̌u͐ͦ̓̀̈͋ͩ͐҉̝̭̭̫ͅţ̠̪̫̝̩̘͔̹ͪ ͍̙̫̜̝̩̻̜̯̿̆͗͋ͥ͛̋̇́H̸̢̬̹ͥ͋͑̉͟Ḛ̡͎͚̞̙̟̥͈ͭ ̟̜͖̬̱̤̱ͥ͌ͨ̔̔͑̈́̂̕͠Ḩ̲̱̭͉ͪ̌̋͗́ͫ̌͗A̛͇̤̙̳̣̘ͤ̊ͧ̓ͤ͛ͭ̕͞ͅS̶̖͕͉̫͚̼ͥ̈́̔̓͒͋̕͜ ̨̅̌̄͊͒͋͟҉͇̪͔̝̳̬Ṯ͈̬̿̓̂̑ͪ̉ͤ́͞Õ͐͑̂҉̬̮͕̠̖͡ ̒͆̎ͯͧͣ҉͈̕G̢̹̠̥ͣ͗͌̑́͋̃͡E͎̻͉͈͓͓̊ͤ̎̓͞T̵̻̹̗̳ͪͬ͛̏ͭ̔ͭ͐͘ ̛͈̥͉̩̩̮̎̆̍̀ͥ͒O͎̎̀̌͊͛͑̕Ụͭ͆̑Tͥ̅̂̍ͮ͊̄̍́͞҉̱̤͈̗.]
[ Odile knows blind panic when she sees it, and it's hard to watch. For one thing, the mood is a little infectious. Her own heart is racing as she watches him try to escape this odd, cramped space. She wishes she could reach out and simply shake him awake.
When she sees blood start to spill from the corners of his mouth she finds herself already moving. ]
Stanley.
[ She tries to take him by the shoulders and hold him still. He's only hurting himself, flailing around like this. ]
[At first, it seems like she might be able to do it. Her hand gets very close, but what she touches isn't his shoulders, but something flat and hard just inches above him - the roof of his prison.
Hearing his own name makes a different memory bleed in, disembodied voices yelling in the dark, the sound of fire still crackling in places--]
"Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through!"
"No, no. You don't understand w̢̹͓̲̖̎ͣͪ͠h͇̙̘̾ͤ͑͆͝a̴̭̜̥͇̮ͧ̒͆͡t̴̜̖̖͚̟͓̺̞̙̑ͤ̍̅͑̆̏͒́͐͜͞ I͇̬̳̟̹͚͎͇͊ͩ̑̋ͫ̔͊ͦ̚̕'̷̘̞ͯ͒v̢͙̼̠̼̫̻̲̦͒̾̉͌ͫͬ͂̀ẹ̛͚̰̮̥̲̞͋̏̒͑͐ͯ̚ ͙͓͍̾ͯ̊̔̿̔b̩̬͚͖̘͈̻̲ͯ̋̈͗e̦̯ͥ̄̈͢͠e͊ͧͭͪ̔̓ͭ̅҉ͅn̟̣̟͇̟͉̭ͣ̀̎ͭ̊̈́̉͐̚͢͜ ̣͖̥͓̭̮͋ͮ̓͛͐̾͌̚͟t͓͕̊ͥͭ͌͛̌͆͐ḥ̳̠͙̺̞̙͙̿ͪ͑̌̚͡͞rͤ̄͛͗̓҉̟͈̹͉̜̮͡o͐͛̀ͧͬͫͧͩ͏͈̮̬͖͕̭͔̱͠͞u̵̵̪̪̟̜͔̻̘̖̺ͧ̒̅̏ͪ̌ͨ͜g̠̣͔̲̼̀͆h̹̗̬̫͒ͅ!̡̡̱͍̻͇̩̱͚͊͂͐͊ͯ̓͝ͅ I've been to prison i̙̲̺͑̀̔n̷̹̰̤̼͈͙͖̔̔ͮ̍͗̈ͪ͝ ̟̥̲̲̪̬̣̹ͬͩ̒̕tͣ̃̔҉̬̙̬̯̹̫̞͓̝̀͘h̹͍̲͎̜͔̒ͪ͑ͩ̿ṙ̑҉̟̦̠͍͚e̸̴̛̟̜͚͔ͭ̄̽e̼̼̱͖̗̳̙̅ͯ̑̕ ͉͖͖͕̼̗̠̫̆͊̓d̛̻͙̹̠̊͊͐ͧͩͤ͛͝i̝͙̠͔̫͔̥ͧ͒͌͗͌̒f͎ͮ̉́ͪͫ̀̏̉f̶̬̆̈ͯ̃͋ͣ͢e̶͉͎͍̻̮͍̖̩͂̊͛͊́̀r̝̻͈͚̫̐͗ͨ́e̢͎͙̘̤̻͎̯͈ͧͪ̋̋̀͑́ņ̶̋̄ͮ̐ͯ́҉̠̫̟͖t̴̹̳̘͛ͫ̎͑ͭͧ̇͒ ̯̗̐̾̉ͨ͌́c̰̟ͪ͛ͯ́͝o̩̤̺̥ͯ̑͂ͯͮͭͬ̏͜ŭ̸͓̹̫̜̻ͨ̂ͩͩ͑̌̏̅ṋ̛̹͂ͦ͆̒̋̔̕t̡̗̹͍ͦͩ̓ͤ͛̔̄̀̚r̝̰͇̙̘̟ͫ̈́̄ͯ͜͡͝į̦̰̗͐͒̏͊̑̔͂e̾̓ͯͯ̀͜҉̥͔̳̗̼̬s̞̩̤̱͙͕ͮͭ͐͛͝!ͨ̂ͫ͏̼̳̠̀ I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car--!"
[Stan is still wriggling and trying to gnaw at the latch - something that in reality took a reasonably long time to actually accomplish. However, Odile knows where the outline is now. Perhaps she can find a way to open his tomb from the outside.]
[ She doesn't know what it means, but she does know that there's a surface she can't see under her hands. She bangs on it a couple of times, testing. It feels like metal, but from what she can see, it isn't very thick.
She takes a step back, takes a moment to focus, then aims the most powerful Scissors Craft she can manage at it. She has to be careful, aim so that it misses Stanley, but she has the skill and determination she needs. ]
[Even if Stan wasn't so focused on trying to chew his way to safety, he never would have seen this coming. He yelps as metal slices above him, curling in on himself as though he's expecting to be cut or stabbed along with it.
But...nothing like that happens. He wiggles again, testing to see just how much he can move. The second it becomes apparent that the trunk is open, Stan twists and pops up, taking a huge gasp of air as if he'd been drowning. He breathes and breathes and breathes, and before anyone can stop him he flails his way out of trunk, landing face first and then inching until his feet fall down to the ground as well.
He's trying to untie himself now, something he seems a little too experienced in. There's a mat of dried blood on the back of his head and stuck to his mullet, and another in his side that hurts like a son of a bitch, but can't be that bad because it's not bleeding anymore. Frankly he probably shouldn't be moving as much as he is, if Odile would like to help.
The scenery outside of the trunk starts to fade into view....sort of. At first it's just the car - an old white Cadillac with the trunk cut open like a can. Then a faint outline of a building in the middle of a desert, with tanks for cars to pull up to. That never fully materializes though, just a vague thought of where he might have been. Every blank gap in the setting starts to fill in with electric blue flames, blue flickering for miles and miles and casting them both in cold light. None of it hurts though; there's no heat to any of the fire.]
[The fire seems like it should be a bigger concern... but their brain is also full of holes, so maybe they shouldn't judge? This is fine, probably, hopefully. They stare into it for awhile, resisting the temptation to stick a hand in the flames.
The sudden movement startles them from their intrusive thoughts—but whatever it is he's hearing, the crackling fire drowns it out. They can only whip around, hands poised in a scissors sign, searching for anything that seems out of place.]
[Maybe it should be, but Stan doesn't seem to be reacting to it at all. He yells out as he reaches for a bat, but the words are d̡͙͓̹̤̹̪̿̒̐ͨ̌́̚͠ȑ͖̤͈͇̐ǫ̠̺̮̫̈̽̚wͪ͆̿ͦͭ̏̚͏̤͔͙n͇̜̾ę̴̶͇̣͙̣̺̓͋ͪd̸͕̝̫̯̮ͨ̎͊̓́ͅ ̸͔̻̰̫̩͙̞ͮ̈́o̴̠͖̼̦͔̲̟̿̇̊́ͦ̿͞͞ṵ̱͔͔̖͚̱̌͑͋͑̏̕ͅt̰̟̘̰̹̖̻̯͗̓ by the sound of fire. Nothing especially terrible happens though - a postcard slides under the door, and Stan peeks out the door's peephole just to make sure it's not anyone out to kill, maim, or rob him.
The fire is concerning but also sort of pretty, a bright ë͚̟́͟͜l̸̛̼͈̘̲ͬ̄ͪͣ̏̀eͪͭ̃ͤ͂͒҉̗̦̙c̴ͤͨ̀ͨͥ͛̈͏ͅt̷͎̳͌ͧ̍̑͢r̻͓ͭ̀i̢̢̥̻͙̪̊̂͂c͈͉͎̈͒ͨ̉ͫ ̙̰̯̲̱͇ͥͮͨ͠b̑͒̽ͦͤ̋̃̂҉̫̦̤͍̼l͎̝̠͇̰͚̒̌͗͗̚ṷ̠̼̤͙̈́ͫͥe̬̝̺̪͚̦̯̤ͩ̐͘. It isn't getting any better or worse as the memory goes on, just forever burning some of the details. If Loop caves to their temptations, they'll find that it doesn't even hurt to touch! It doesn't feel like anything, and it doesn't catch onto Loop either. They might as well have stuck their hand in lukewarm water.
Stan picks the postcard up off the floor and holds it carefully as he reads it. The flames closest to him and the postcard actually bend away from it, trying to keep away from this message. It can't be burnt anymore.]
[They stick close to Stan, and when nothing dangerous pops out to kill him... they ease off, at least as much as he does. A false alarm?
But they're still stuck here, so. They peer over his shoulder to see, paying little mind to personal space. They're invisible for this flashback, so it's fine!!!!
Alas, the message alone doesn't give them much context. They do take a moment to wave their hand into the flames, though, after seeing how they curve away from the postcard... neat trick!]
Stan looks over the postcard a little longer, and then sighs heavily and drops it carelessly on the bed where any nosy star could look at it.]
Guess I'm really doing this...
[He starts rummaging through the fire, sticking his arms directly in to the flames all the way up to his elbows. A duffle bag gets tossed on one empty spot of floor and he starts cramming c̴̴͖̙͕͗̊̊̆͡l̰̯̼̄̈͒͡o̡͖̰̭̞̼̩̬ͮ͋͢͠t͖̦̔͂ͮ̈̓͞h̢͇̳̱͔ͪ̎ͨ͋ͪ̅̌͢ë̪̥̥͈́ͩͬ̄̅̈̋͡s̿͋͆̇ͯ̚͏̼̙̼̟͜ ͉̟̦̥͚̣̘̗ͫ͛̈́͛͂͌ͅâ̬̐́n̮͉͔ͨ͐d̽̌̈̔ͪ̄͊͞͞҉̩̲̬ͅ ̶̨̣̬̞̊̈́s̽̽̈̽ͭͥ̓̽҉҉̳̬̥͎̭̲͇̰̤͞u̪̥͎̞̤̅͡p̢͍̮͚̗̳͕̆ͥ̂ͦͥ̓ͪ̑ͅp̢̯͍͇̠͔̩̺͓ͩ̓͛ͫ͑̔l͖̲͈͖͉͛͒̍̃͢͝i̷̘ͣ͑ͬȩ̭̱̫͑́ͣͪ̔͂͒s͙̟̒̉ͥͤ̚͢into it, as though they aren't fully on fire. He should probably put on real clothes too, so he grabs his least fucked up jeans, a T-shirt, and an old stained red jacket. Socks, socks again, and then boots. Oregon's cold, right? That's how you survive cold, you make your extremities warmer...]
This is good though, right? It's good! He actually reached out after all this time, so...so that's good!
[It seems Stan here is used to talking out loud to himself.]
[And their earlier fire-poking means they don't have to freak out when he starts sticking his arms in there. Neat!!
While Stan is busy packing and talking to himself, they do take this opportunity to investigate the postcard further. They pick it up from the bed, pleased to see that they're not intangible as they turn it over in their hands. Very to-the-point! No hidden messages they can find, but puzzle-solving isn't really a strength of theirs. Ford is the brother's name... and Stan looks younger, says it's been awhile since he reached out, so this must be before the portal thing...?
They sit down on the edge of the bed, fanning themselves with Stan's precious memory. Hmm.]
Gravity Falls? I sure hope it does! [writing that one down later they're a genius, NO ONE has thought of this before]
[Who know what doesn't usually happen when Stan talks to himself? He doesn't usually hear anyone talk back to him.
It hits him all at once and he startles even more than he heard a knock at the door. What the fuck?!]
Who's in here?!
[He looks around, squinting to try and see through the flames. He probably looks directly at Loop, but the flames are all kind of a blur. He probably shouldn't have broken his last pair of prescription glasses...but he doesn't see anything really - not anything that's registering as a person anyway.
His hand is on the baseball bat again but he makes himself stuff it into the duffle bag and forces up an uncomfortable laugh.]
Ha! Great, you're losing your mind, Stan! Just in time to go see your estranged brother!
[ Oh, this. Ford knows this. This thing where he ends up in the memory of someone he already knows and gets to learn something deeply upsetting about them in the process.
But what's interesting is that this setting is new. This is one he hasn't seen before, and one he can't even place as something he's heard of in passing. That's actually pretty interesting, even if the memory is visibly damaged.
But he has to worry about that later. Right now Stan is about to hit him with a bat, and Ford lifts his hands and takes a step back. ]
[Yep. "Traumatic Memory Trials" as Dipper and Stan have called them. Something decides that you know what would be fun? Putting your baggage on display for other people to see!
Stan whips his attention from the door to the intruder in his motel room, and that's all he can process him as at first. Someone's outside and must have made a noise to distract him from what was breaking in. All of this happens in a split second and raises the bat even higher.]
HOW THE FUCK DID YOU--
[But he stops. He stops and he stares, dumbfounded. He even lowers the bat and lets go with one hand, so he can count with a pointed finger.
One, two, three, four, five...six?]
...Ford?!
[This takes long enough that Stan misses his cue in the memory. Evidently the noise outside was a mailman, and a postcard slides under the door, landing right between their feet and clearing away a small circle of fire from the floor. Ford will recognize it twice over - once as a tool when they were recovering Stan's memories, and once when he wrote it himself in a panic.
[ It's convenient that Ford has an excuse to go still while Stan counts his fingers. It gives him a chance to look around the room, which gives him a chance to recognize the post card slipped under the door, and...
Oh. Oh, this is this memory. Ford already guessed that this was before he and Stan had reunited, of course, but he hadn't realized it was this close to the incident itself. He almost gets lost in thought, which means it takes him a beat too long to answer. ]
That's right.
[ He lowers his hands, bending down to pick up the postcard. He's not concerned about the possibility of Stan attacking him. And maybe he should be; Ford is confident he can take Stan in a fair fight, but an unarmed old man vs. a 30-something wielding a bat isn't exactly fair, is it? But he's even more certain Stan isn't going to lash out unexpectedly. ]
There was an... incident, I suppose you could call it.
[Stan squints at the postcard and then at Ford, and it's only about 50% because he doesn't have a good pair of glasses right now. He doesn't lift up the bat again, at least not yet. There's a beat of quiet as he mulls over a thought, hesitant to actually say it out loud in case he's missed something obvious here. But...]
...
...Why'd you send a postcard and come?
[That's weird, right? To make it all the way down here he would have had to jump in a car probably as soon as he sent the thing. So why bother doing both?]
[ It's not a very good lie, but it's also not entirely a lie. Still, he's certain that Stan will see through it, which is kind of an issue. He already knows from experience that this conversation won't really count. That he can't change the past. Still, he wants this to be as good of a conversation as he can manage. ]
[The time travel part sounds like bullshit, but the rest actually snaps him right back into the moment. The lucidity is pulled out from under his feet and he sighs and rolls his eyes. On the upside, he believes Ford enough that he's not grabbing the bat again, and he isn't seeing the inconsistencies anymore.
...On the downside, he isn't seeing the inconsistencies anymore.]
Right. Should've figured you'd never come here on purpose.
[It's not fair exactly - a day ago Stan never would have guessed Ford even knew where he lived.]
Was the postcard not on purpose either or did you actually need me for something?
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sticksandbones2025-02-06 07:42 pm
Stanley Pines | Gravity Falls CRAU
[Stan didn't exactly go looking for trouble here. You tell him something's dangerous and he (usually) listens and stays the hell away from it! Sure there's exceptions here and there, but he's usually pretty firmly on the side of "don't go messing around with weird magical things."
It's pretty hard to avoid when it's literally everywhere though. He's on his way back from getting firewood from wood that isn't actually cursed when it happens. When he recounts it later he won't be sure if he stepped on something or brushed too close to one of them membranes, but the moment he's caught he drops the firewood and yells as the brand spreads through his body, under his skin and along every nerve. His whole body shakes with the effort to free himself but something is holding him back, pulling him under. He'd rip it out by hand if he could, but it's harder and harder to stay present. There are voices, but they're hard to hear with the sound of flickering flames in his ears. And he's...sad? No, heavy. Heavy, like an anchor, pulling him down into something he doesn't want to be a part of.
Inevitably though, he sinks.]
A. A SMALL SPACE (Memory 1 CW: WILL HAVE TEETH STUFF EVENTUALLY)
[It's dark. At first it's just dark, but more details creep in, slowly.
The space is small. The ground rumbles in almost a rhythm, but occasionally there's a thump as Stan (a younger one, in his l͖̙̮̗ͣ̇̿ͧ́̀a̡͚ͬ̏͐͠t̶̥͈̰̠͉̺̞̦̾ͮ̀ͤ̽ͦ͆̌̆̕͞ĕ͖̲̼͕̬̲͐̓ͮ̉͐͆̋ ̤͈̼ͪ͒̔ͬ͝ț̯͚̭̜͔͖̻̄ͭ̂͆͆̒͡w̿ͣ͏̗͇̜͙͍̟͡ḙ̴͙̩̱̱ͫͥ̂͆̓͐ͅn̵̠̗̹͚͓͚͊͂͌ͯt̴͇̰̭̘̣ͮ̑͌͠i̴̺̦̙̱̠̅͂̐͛ͦ̿ͯ̽͝e̢͓͈̼͉̦̳̗̤̙ͩ́͟s̝͖̑͒̔̀̚ or so) hits his head on the...roof? It's hard to tell. As soon as it happens though, there's banging from somewhere, and a loud angry voice that can't be made out. Somewhere, there's a crackling of fire.]
¡̢̛͉̮͇̹̟̠̅̃ͣ̌C̳͉͚̹̘̻̐ͥ̃̓á̛͙̩ͮͨ̑͆́ͤ̔̀ḻ͈̲̯̻̭͓͇̔ͪ̀̕l̴̵̹ͥ͛̅̐͒̎͑ę̼̠͓̱͍͇̗̑̀͢s͉̹͔̻̣̳̘̘̒̌̓̎ͯe̷̫̮͚͉̪̰͔̹ͭͣͦ̀ͤ̽͊ ̳̪͈̦͇ͮ̿ͧ́͡l͕͚͓̪̖̾̃̎ͬ̍̂̂͒͘͟a̴̰̅͛͘ͅ ̡̎̒̚҉͉̳͠h͖̗̲̫̤̅̄͋̽̇̍ͤͣ̾ͅi̶̸̪̦̙͔̐ͬ́͡j̴̯͈̗̘̻̝̖̟͖̋͊ͥ̎u̮̬͉͍̟̗̘͙̽̈́̓̿̿ͦ̔ͭ́͘p̨͙ͭͬų̗͙̲͉͔̓̄ͩ̔̃ͬ̄̈́̕͞e͔̬̥͚ͯ̀̂ͣ͒͐ͩ̓t̷̺͊͘å̹̭̊̒̿̚ ̡̣̤̭̭ͭͫ̄̅͆j͖̙̥̻̭͔̺̋͊ͫ͆̄̉ͧͬ́ē̥̖̫͓̩̤̬͎͇͛͂ͧ͗̽̽͊̾͜t̟̻̼͖̤̗͎ͧ͆̽͂ͮ̇̀a̡͉̠̣͗̂͌̌̉̂͘!̴̙̲͈ͬ͌̎͡ ͒̔̇̾̐̂̍̐҉͇̱̣̝̣̩̮̞̟¡̠̫̠̹̰̖̥͔̏̆ͦ̑ͥ̽͟͜T̩̰ͦ̓͌̓̈́͟u̬̲͍̮̭̣̓͐͠ͅs̩̜̗̹̦̺̦͋͌̉̇̈́͒͝ͅͅ ̪͉̈ͥ̊ó̘̤͓̦͙̋ͮ̏͒͂̕͘r̼̺̩̻̓ͭͪ͐ͦ̊g̙̼̟̦̣̰̭̳͑ͬ͠a͚ͥ͋n̷̗͇̼̯͖̯̮̳͂͆̒͡ͅǫ̗͍͉̮ͫͫ̓͌̄̏́ͭs̷̲̏̈́͢ ͇̬ͩͩ̐͐̿ͯv̳̈̉͌̋̂́ă̶͖͔̞̺̭l̨̛̗̥̙͙̳̰̂ͬ̓̑ͅe̯̘̜̭̮͐̇ͭͯ́͝n̴̳̩̰̲̓̋́ ̹͓͚͓͙̯̩͖ͧ͂͞ͅm̞̟͖̳̼͇̮ͭ̿ͦ̇͂͢͠á̈́͊ͩ͂͟͏̣̮̜̙̬̩͈͈̳s̵̡̛̞͈̮͚͉͙̳̼͔̅͋ͭ̈́̈́͌ ̴͚̺̦̼̿ͬ̏̌͐q̶͚̖̫͙̓̾͋ư̂̊̂͗̌̓̍͏͍̲͖ē̆̀ͨͦ̋͗͏͕͕̝ ͈̮͈̳ͭ̾̓͆́ͫͦt̃̌͒̈͒̋̒͜͜͏̫̹̘̥͕͍̦̮̼ứ̱͖̙̬̞͍̹̜̄͌̏́!ͧ̉͋͛͌̿̐̉ͪ̀҉̖̫̳͓̤͈̹̀
Stan tries desperately to move, to ignore the pounding in his head and the wound in his side, but his ankles and wrists are bound and there's no room to try and get out of his restraints. The darkness curls around him deep in his lungs and it curls around any witnesses to this moment as well. There's only so much air in this trunk and he's going to die, he's gonna die, ḟ̞̺̝̻̲̤̘͊̈́̑ͨ̉ͪͅǘ̷͙͊̆̐ͬͩ̋̿̈͝c̛͈̮͍̊ͥ̆̕k̓҉̬̗̪͕̣̦͉̪͠ ͖͔͐̋̓̂̌ͅh̢͈̞̪͖̘͈̻̿ͯ̊̈͑̆͆e̛̞̓̾̑ͩ̐͗'̓̐̽ͧ͂͡͏̪s̮̪̯͐͘͢͡ ͓̤̻͚̮̲̖ͦͣ̎̀͗̂͢g̃̋̏ͮͮ҉̬̹ͅơ̢̱̯ͫ͋̃̉ͩ̉̈n̢͇̺̍̀ͮ̊n̷̝͉̱̓̽͗̒̀̕͜a̶͔̜̹ͨ̍̀̄̍͆͢ ̧̯͉̱̭ͬ͆̏̎͘D̳͈͙̝̰͙̗̠̅͂̅ͣ̉́̊̓͟͠I̮̞̟̱̹̓͆͌͛̂̋̀̑ͅE̷̹̹͖̤ͣ̓ͩ ̬̙̤͇ͥͪ̓̇̾̏̄ͯ̚I̹̬̠͚ͭN̢͉͈͍͇̫̣͍̤̫͋͆͌̑̔͆͝ ̳̤̩̼̩̻̎͋̚Ḩ̲͖̭͔̈̓̌́͜E̛͈̺̗̯̦͓̬̅̓ͅͅṘ̡̡͔̗̟̬̳̰̦ͧE̳̟̯̜̯̜ͪ͌̽ͩ̃ͤ͑ͫͥ h̶̯̯̱̖͛̿ͧͨͧ͒ͬę̥̖̑̽̆ͦ͌̉͟ ̺̜̜̥̟̎ͥC̝̥̰̬̻̗̄͛͢͝Ä͎͇̞̣̰́̕N̡̜͆ͬ͋͢'̳̩̟͉͉̹̌͐͒ͫ̊ͨͩ͒͘͡T̓̄͜͏̠̘̥̬̼̘͈ ͭ͑̎̒̂҉̟̙͙̳̺͉B̶ͩͮ̽̄̌̂҉͕͚Ŗ̸̥͇̥̻͉̦̿ͥ̆̽E̶̫̤̼ͫ͗ͫ̄ͫ̀͡͡A̧̨͔̟̻̻̮̥͉ͧͮͤ̂ͥ̎ͨT̓ͨͫ͌̄ͮ̚͡҉͇̮̬̥Ĥ̢̳ͨ̌̆̀ͅÉ̴̴͉͙̘͎̠̪̭̂͑̐ͬͦ
It isn't clear exactly how onlookers are able to see through the trunk and observe a moment of terror taking place presumably in motion, especially as the world around them is j̷̡͖̇͗̅ͦ̔͂̈́̿ͥu̮̹͕̙͊̌̒ͬ́͋͠͝ͅs͚̼̜͓̭̱̈ͧ̇ͫͮ͆̇͂͞͞ͅt̬͉̼̫͙͍͖͙̒ͣ́̓̍́ͅ ̤͔͍̭̓ͥ̇ͩ̂ͮ̚a͛̅̾҉̱̘̼̥͈̺̳ ̺̜̬̥̟ͭ̔̎ͩ͆͢d͙̘̬̟̘͉ͣͮͩ̆͡å̖̤̌̎͛͌͜r̴̳͇̬͉͙̝̱͉ͫ̂̈́͐͗ͯ͂ͨk̨̞̺͈͖̫̄̑ͯͦ͋̕ͅ ̴̛̜͖̼̞̝̉̎ͦͩ̓ͯ͂̕v̵̹̟̤͍̮͊̌o̫̥̳̘̻̊ͬ̿̇̆͋̚i̶̮̱̹̩̪̬̊̅͒̏ͅḑ͈̔́. But they will see the moment the panic in Stan's eyes becomes an animalistic desperation.
He has to get the fuck out of this trunk.]
B. ROCK BOTTOM (Memory 2)
[It's a motel room, presumably. Stan, now in his ê̴͖̒̎ͯͯ̏ͪḁ̠͇̠͉͖̳̊̿̋͒̒̀ͅr͇͍͇͉͉̩͕͇ͩ̏ͤ͟͜ͅl̲̱͙ͯͭ͋́ÿ̠̼̲̟̣̱̗̪̄̓̽̏́͝ ͪ̿͌ͩ̏ͮͤ҉͍̙̯̩̺̮̗͚͞͝tͭ̎̂͂ͭ͒҉̣̯͚͕̞͙̭̳̰h̨̯͓̽͐́ͧ͟i̥̺̓̍͑ͭ̃̐̐͠r̫̬͔̾ͪ͢ͅt̵̠̓̇̄̍i͐͐̋̊͒ͮ͂͠҉͖͜e̳̙͖̜̝͕ͭ̏͜sͧ͛̽ͮ̾҉̨̱͉̺͔̜̮̘, doesn't seem to notice that a large portion of the room is quite literally on fire, blue flames lapping at the edges. All of his worldly possessions are crammed into the small space, like c̵̨̣̤̍ͯ̎͆̉ͥh̸̰̞̝̦̪͇̘̘̍̎͋̊̈́e̮̬̘̪̹̯͇̪̝̓̀͒̈ͯ͋̊ͩ͘͡a̜̪͖̻̗̰̗̼ͨͫ̄ͧ̄͆ͮp̧̼̗̗̗̻̫͒̿̾̔ ̧̣̹̌ͮͩͪͬ̂̓͜͢ͅo̡̲ͤ͂́̄͛͝ľ̶̴͕̣̠̩̖̲̤̽̌̍d̗͙̣̪̰̪̗̾́ ̝̗̦̬̥̈́͊̇ͤ̍ͩ͞͞p̷̵̱͔̳̤͕͕͎ͤͩ͂͐ͅr̢̩͐̋ͅọ̩̳͍͙̹̤̜ͤͩ̈́̀ͥ͞d̤̠͕͎͈̥̿̉ͯ̔̐ͨͣ̃ȕ̸̠̤̗̩͈ͦ͑̈͝c̀̈́͛̈͆͏̱͎̠̞̮̼͕t̹̤̬̱̑s̴̛̻̜͍̟̭̙̩ͤ͛̔́̉̄̓̚̕ ̡͎͔̥͓̪̺̈͐ͪͪ̑́ͫ̒̀w̨̛̮̱̻̤͈͆͒ͩ̌͒̾͆̍̃͝ͅi̛̤̫̣̓̐̒̚t̲̼͉̙̟̑ͪ́h̤̹̓ͦ̋́ͥ̂ ̵͍̹̤̦͈̞̣̙ͦ͂̈̆h̴̼͚̩̭̠͔͚̳̖̍ͦi̅̅҉͓s̩͉̻̘̍͗ ̵͇͕̲̯̠̤̱̫̅̊s̴̥̲̥͕̺͕͎̽̕͡m̬ͬ͌ͩ̉ͣ͒̅͢i͇̠͕̐̋ͦͥ̃ͣͥͩ͠l̓̿ͭ҉̺͔̪͎͙̹̲́i̶͔̙̩̪͖̭ͤͮ̐̋ͨ̌ͣ͑ṋ͙͊ͩͫ͑̌͞͝ḡ͓̜̲̽̈͆͠͠ ̨̠̩̖̬̤̬̗̟̽́̃͝fͬ̄ͫ͆̄̋͛̈͏̦̬̘̜͇͎̗å̧̮̰̬͌ͥ͑̃̋̊c̝̊̿ͬͣ͂͂͞ë̬̥̜̪́̀ͯ̅̂͒͛ͩͫ̕͟ ̴͕̺̻͌̈́͗ͣͮ̌͜ö̶̥̥͉́̎̓͝n̴͓͖̯̻͔̫͋͋ͣ͂ͫ͌̌̓͟͝ͅ ̬̼̇͊ẗ͓̙́͘h̩̖͕̝̓͒̄̉̆ͬ́̀̚͜ͅė̻̪ͧ͢m̤̻̟̖̲͈̉͌͆̿̾͡.
He isn't smiling anymore though. T͚̣͇̣ͨͪͩ͟͡ͅḩ̰̥ͥ̄̓e̴̶̫̯ͥ͊̉̽͐ͧ͞ ̴̀̓̈ͩͣ̓̀̌͏̤̟͔ͅw̡̜͍͍̹ͣͧ̌͡a͎̭̰̗̲̙̼͍ͦͪ̏̂̈͑̓ͅl̹̄̎̆ͤ̚ͅͅl̮̮̝͂̾̒̿̌ͮͩ̏̕ͅp̀̈́̍ͧͪͧ͘͏̗̠̲̘̯a̴̡̡̞͔̝̫̤̻̰ͧͧͪp̹̼̱̬ͪ̍͂͢e̷̖͚̥͓̼͔̼͙̩͌ͮͣ̇̈́ͣ̅̃r̲͇̜̼͓͇ͬ͋ͨ͘͝͞'̷̲͇̜̍̌̄ͬ̅͗͝s̮̜͕͚̮̬̏̌ͥ͒ͪ͝ ̨̢͕͎̜͔̰̖̣̒̇̍̓̍p̷̫̮͕̥̤̪ͬ̓̌ͪ͢e͚̖͎̞̻̭̽̽͆̒̽ͭ́͟e̸̠̜̾͛̚͡͞l͓̲̣͗̕i̴̹͖̹͋̏̒̈͋n̹̳̼͔̲̰͆͋͛̓̚g̴͈̲̞̀͆͆ͧ̑͞,͖̪̗͈̤̪̼͔̈́̓͒̄̒ͩ͒͢ ̢̬̱͕͉̓ͧ̈́͆̅͝a̗̮̒͠͝ȓ͖͙̒̐̒̎t̸̶̜͔̯̥̖͙ͣ͋ͦ͑ ̽̅̾ͮ͗ͯ̑ͨ̑͏͚͔̠̗̜̖oͥ̈ͯ͗͏͍̲̼̟̪n̵̵̬̲̄̔̑͒ͭ͛ͥ̚ ̷͔̮ͫͯ̋ͪ͂̈́̚͟t̤̘̟͉͋̅̐͋̂͋́h̯̼ͧ̋͊̏̍̐ͣ̀̚͞e̿̆̐҉̹̰ ̶̻̙̩̼̤ͥ͗̑̔͢͝w̛̰̩̠̆͗ͯͦ̎ä͎͎̱́̃̿͗̆ͭ͢ļ̜̗̩̳̰̺͕̃́̂͗l̨̗̥̜͕̪͓̰̟ͣ̔͗̍̎̃͢͢ ̵͙̅̆ͨȉ̱̯̊͞ͅṣ̛͇̫̤̹͚̻̜͑̌̆ ̥̘͕̜̺͛͊̋̉̌̋͒̀b̃̌ͤ̾҉̝͉͈̲̥r̵̴͇̰͋̈̅͌ͫ̅ö̘̬̙͔͔́̿ͥ͑̕͞͠ͅk̯̭͕̖͉̍̃̆͊̄̅͘̕ḙ̢̦̻͋̉̍̀ͬ̋̾̕n̶̥̜͇͚͖ͮ͆ͣ̏͞͠,̧ͦ̽͛͐͏̭̺͖̰̭̖̙̰͢ ̷͍̬͕̥̣̘̰̰̳̾̋́ḁ̪̓ͯ͐͗͊n̨͎̺̠̬̳̟̠̩̽̾̓̓̉̆d̔͑҉̴̨̲̲͈̺ ̡͓̺̫͉̮̼̐͌̇̂̉̌͛e̛͇͈̪̘͙͍͍̱̓̏̔ͅv̨̳̲̪͖̼̦̯̓̊͢e̡̱͕̗ͭ̿ͅn̄̍ͤ̉ͬͮ͏̻̹̦͈̘̪̮͕ͅ ̼͙̯̤̠͆̈̽ͦ̇̉ͯt͓̗̺̘̯̘̙͑ͧ͟h̠̰̼̩͇̻̾̂̇ͧͪ̓̌́ͅe̲̼̦̫̝̝̳͊̏̓ͦ́̈ ͙̲͍̗̱ͫ̑ͬ̕c̸̢͉̪̉͗͒͗e̾͛ͨ̎͌͏̫̩̲͝ï̂ͭ̔̚͏̷͕̞̭̣͕̙ḽ̺͙̇̈̎͂ͬ͌i͖͔̪͊̿n͍͇͍͇̿̊̓͐̒͡ḡ̲̹̭͚̲͕̻̬͔ͫ̐̆̈ͮ̏ ̻͕̱̰̻͓̦͋̅̈̿̓̽̌́͠fͥ̇̎̊ͪ͒̀ͪ͜͏͉͈̺͔̹̝̲̣̫͞ą̫̯̳̼̳͚̪̳̓͋̒̇͡n̷̷̗͍͕͔͂ͩ̽̂̿͌́̚ ̷̨͈͙͖̳̘̬̘̐̓ͤ̿̋ͦ͒ͤ͘h͐͏̠̣̫̦̲̣̫á̷̖̻̒͐͡ņ̗͈͕͖̞͇̳͔͆́͐̈ͯ̈́̍͆g̱̜̹͓̟̜̙̩͆́̀ͬͫ͜s̨̙̝̼͇̬̫ͥ͊͋̆ͤ̈̚̚ ̶̢͕̫̲͓̳̙͓̙͑ͤͪ̔̓̿͡ą̵̴͍̭̌̊̾ͫt̢͈̱̥̦̪͎ͨͧͭ̓͞͡ͅ ̷̡̛̟̝͎̝͖͚̖ͭ̍̌ͯ͋̈́͗a̴̢͙̝͈ͭ̔ͪn̖̺͓̞̘̖͉̰͑ͦ̅̐͊ͨ̈́̍ ̪̼͔͎ͫͦ̈̃o̥̦̟ͤ̌ͨͮ͂̚d̺̰͓̥̖̩̩̠͌͋̐͋̇͑ͫ̕͘͠d̆̅̓͊͏̩̰ ̩̱̺͉͉ͩ̇̉̃̄̋ͨa̵̱̯̫̗̤͒ͤ̅̋͋nͦ̇̔ͪ͌̃̓͐̌͘҉̱͖̮̮͉̳͘g̼̘͕͈̘ͪ͋̆̏̉̔̔͢ḷ͔ͫ͆̾͜͟e̛͔̠̦̝ͨ̃ͯ̏ͣ̎ͦͭ́͞.̸͕́͠ As the fire burns all around him, Stan looks terrified. He's sitting on the bed in his underwear, and one might think he's staring into space, but he's just still. Listening for something, as his world burns around him.
And as soon as he hears it - and only he hears it - he whips out a baseball bat he s̙̬̙̖̪̯ͦ͛̍͒̔̀t̵̥̹̭̰̣̣͌̐̾̌ͦ͟ą̬̣̼̖̦͈͉̖͆̒s̵̸̙͇͎̹̫̠͇̻̃̂ͥ͆͒̒͢ȟ̲͕̮͉̫͔̈́̓͌̏̊̀̀͢͢e͓̜͖̻͍̳̱ͪ̇ͧͥ͢d̅ͤ͆̿̆ͩ̄͏̺ ̄̓̐ͯ̓ͯͭ̆҉̺̣̘̹̼̮̳̫b͖̬̭̾̍̽͒̐͢͟ͅę̶̧̤͎̖̏ͣͦ̚t͐ͪ̈̓̑͂҉̬̥w̯͈̞̳̘̾ͪͩͩͬě̱̦ͩ̎͌́̕͢ȩ̬͕̠̖ͫ͊͂̚n̗̥̩̏͛͐̅͛ͤ̇ ̨̥̩̺̺̪̟͂̿͘t̨̟̠̱ͧ̄̒̋h̢̳̆̆͐ͬ͊ͯ̕ë̹̬͙͖̖́̍ͨ̏̃͗ͧ̍͟ ̷̅̈̑͋̽̒͏̠͍b͎̳̘͐e̟̫ͮ͐̿ͫͥ͜͡d̷͇̘̩̖̤̫̘̲ͬ̋͌̓ͯ́̈̐ ̛̝̻̒̌͆̑͂̔̂͞aͮͯ̌ͮ͛̓̒͘҉͓͙n̶̝͉̦͒̆̒̏̿̈ͯͣd͉̫̲̞͓̈́͜ ̥̺͙̖̼̮̝̍̐̇ͧ̕t͗̃ͦ́͏̦̱̲̪͕̲̬h̃ͦͥͧ̚҉͔͎͖̥͎e̷̮͚͚̦̞͚̤̦ͭ̓ ̜̹̳͇͇̝̟̇ͫ̑̐ͮ͜ņ̯͈̜̗͚̹̥̤̿̒͋ͧ́̌i̡̙̦̙̪̺̭͓̪͈ͬ̿ͭ͟g̎̒̊́̾̽͛̀͏̻̩̫̗͚͎̺͍̺͠ḩ̠̮̪̭̜̥̜̻̎́̍̇̈ͭ̀͜ͅt̤̱ͩ͆ͮ̒̑̚͜s̡͚̣͋̇͢t̖̹͆͛̑͗͜͝a̟͗͗̿̈̓̆̾n̵̗͉̘̗̺̮͔̝͑̅̕dͫ̽̒͗ͫ̔ͪ̈̊͏҉̲̥ and brandishes it.]
C. BY THE SEA (Memory 3 - Past Life)
[In a very different setting, all is a lot calmer. No electric blue flames lap at the edges of this moment. The air's salty, and Stan's very young - couldn't be much older than Dipper currently is. He's dressed in a red striped shirt and heavy coveralls, and he's holding three nails in his teeth while nailing a fourth one to hold a new shelf in place inside the family store. The place is full of all sorts of old knickknacks from far off lands, or at least ones that his old man tells people are from far off lands. Some of them are even things Stan cobbled together himself! Weird little creature carvings being passed off as real artifacts from ancient times.
From the next room over, a stern voice calls out to him - one that's not easily impressed.]
You almost done in there? I've got stock to stock and you're taking almost as long as your good for nothing brother would've!
[Stan finishes the nail he's hammering, and then spits out the other three nails into his palm.]
Quit talking about Ford like that! And I'm almost done, unless you wanna do it yourself!
[There's some grumbling that turns into yelling, but Stan isn't really listening to his father anymore. He tunes him out entirely, moving the other end of the shelf up and down and eyeballing it until it's as level as it's going to get.]
D. WILDCARD (Whatever, Whenever!)
[Got something else in mind? Let me know!]
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[Almost like his will did something to help him along, he ends up in ...a burning room. Blue flames set his nerves on edge, but they settle down once he recognizes the person in the room. He's seen this version of Stan before, and he lived briefly in their house in Trench.]
[But because of that, he knows this is a Stan years apart from the one he knows. He does not approach immediately, not until he knows what's on the other side of that door.]
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Despite not being close enough to read it, Dipper will know exactly what that postcard is and what it says. It's the clearest thing in the entire room, and any time it comes near flames they move away - it can't be burnt anymore.]
...Ford?
[Stan stares at the postcard for a long moment. Lots of emotions can be felt in the vicinity - pain and grief, fear, worry, and even the tiniest sliver of hope that somehow hasn't been beaten out of him by now.
Suddenly though, Stan stills. All of those feelings immediately fold into an overwhelming sense of fight or flight that muffles everything else. The post card flutters to the ground, pushing away any flames near it, but Stan's already reaching for the baseball bat again.]
Who's in here?!
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[He waits too long, and Stan picks up on him much faster than he thought. He shouldn't be surprised, considering the jittery nature of this version of Stan. The fight or flight rises up and Dipper is quick to do two things. He carefully raises his hands to show he isn't armed, and he backs himself into the corner of the room. He is putting himself in the most vulnerable position he can, to hopefully show Stan he isn't a threat of some kind.]
It's me. It's just me, Grunkle Stan.
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That means this kid knows who he is, and right now that makes him a threat.]
What the fuck's a Grunkle?!
[He doesn't actually want an answer though. He doesn't advance towards Dipper, but the baseball bat is in his hand now and raised, ready to swing if anyone comes anywhere near him.]
How did you get in here? Every window and door in this dump is as locked as I can get them, and I would've seen someone break in here! And why the hell do you know my name anyway?!
[He's big and loud and threatening with that baseball bat, but Dipper's powers will show him the truth - he's terrified that someone just turned up here in his motel room without his knowledge when a dozen different people want his head on a platter. He's scared, all stress and anxiety, the way anyone living this way would be.]
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[He hates that his powers barely work in this place, he got so used to being able to just meddle and alter things, and now he's stuck doing this the hard way.]
Because I'm family. I came to find you.
[He doesn't know if trying to brute force this memory will work, but he has to try. He considered lying, maybe pretending to be Grandpa Shermie, but he doesn't think that timeline quite works so...instead he just tries to keep his voice as even as possible, and he doesn't move, even when Stan brandishes the bat.]
It's Dipper. Remember?
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Family? Pfft! Nice try, but my family doesn't want anything to do with--
[He can't look Dipper in the face when he says it, but he catches a glimpse of the postcard on the floor, in an empty circle among the flames. It's landed message side up:
Please come!
Some of the immediate panic starts to subside - he's still wary, of course. Anyone would be. But...at least one family member might want something to with him. And this kid's kinda young, isn't he? Too young to be o͉͚͎̙̖ͮ̊̌ͪͮ̓͛̍͟ņ̴̟̲̝̖̣̣̫ͦͧͬͧ̑̊ͣ̕ͅe̠͉̞̱̘̲̟̹͛ͯ̔ͥ ̰͔̩͚͓̞͕ͥ̊̔̊͡ȍ͇̲̗̤͌̍̎͝ͅf̧̮̞̤̩͑̉̍̃͠ ̢̺͖̞̯̱͔̭ͭ͆͒̉Ŗ̶͖͎̪͇̪̼̫͚͖͛ͮͩ̀i̢͚͍͉̥̗͆̔͗cͭͦ͏̻̳͇̠̝̩̟̭oͦ́͢͏̮̥̘̘ͅ'̢̢̤̪͉̤̦͖̈͑s̪̰͔̻̣͎̳̑̓̿ͥ̂̾ ̶̞̠̭̩͙̻̻̃̅͋̋̚g̨̭̭̝̦̬̳̯ͥ͂̓̉̿ͯͮǒ̟̮͓̦̏͌̊̎̽̊ͩ̊ơ͈̲͈ͥͮ̑̇n̨̞͙͕̥͓̲̻͎ͧ̄̎ͫ͒s̸͚̲̙̭̦̃ͮ̆̐ͥͯ̎ͪ͡ probably.
He bites at his lip and finally looks back to Dipper.]
...Why'd you come to find me?
[The kid must want something, right? What does he want? Even Ford didn't come in person.]
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would you believe i had this half typed and forgot to fucking finish it
oh my god you would never (cw: minor emeto mention)
A!
She can't help. She can't see the outside of the trunk, and even if she could she doesn't know if she could affect this dream-like space. So instead she watches, waiting to see how he acts. ]
cw: teeth trauma, panic attack
He can't kick out the tail light with his ankles tied. He can't push himself up to try and force it open. His hands are bound behind his back, but he's facing the latch and the cables that connect to the trunk pop in the front seat. None of that will mean much to Odile, but he seems to be forming a plan. A desperate, stupid plan but if he doesn't get out of here he's going to die. Either he'll die here in the trunk or h̊̚͘͏̨̲̥e͖͍̬͑͋̀́̕'ͣ̆͌̋͒̊̿́҉̺̲̹̫̙l̹̪̦̼̣̬̏ͮͫl͎̲͚̗͎̭̿̾̕͞ ̴̧͚̬̗̥̀̅͐ͭ̀̓͝d̠͕ͥ̽̌ͨ͂͗͞i̸̓ͭ̎҉̫̩͓̼̮̘̜e̼̩̩̻̤̲̬̳͖̓͑ͨ͊̑̑ ͔̖͕͗̑̋̽̓̄͑w̸̹̪͕͙̪͉̻͕ͪͭ̀̍͡ḩ̷̡̺̝̬̦̬͉̼̤͛̊̐̈̓̆͒ͬ̀ė̵̸̳̗̹̠̠͍̔͆̄ͤ͂͟ňͥ͒ͯ̚͏͎̟̲̞̪ ̲͖̼̱̩̮́ͩt̢̳̩̂̒̔̆͡h̴̛̖̭̘̲̲͓̞̗̱͑̈́ͪẻ̗̜̰͎͈̟̎͑̋̏̐s̴̵̞̦̲̺͈ͨ̈́̀è͓̯͓͚̣͛̀͑͌̐ͪ̔ ̯̬̼͙̦̰͚̫̰̒̄ͧ́ͥ̉͗̽ġ̸̴͚͆̊ͤͬ̍̀̚o̷̩̮̠̯̱̞͆̊ͨ̔ö́ͩ̿̃̚͏̴̮͇n̸̠͍ͦ̂̉̃̆ͪͧ́̚s͎̯̳̘̜͍̈̓ͯͫͯͤ̾͐̑ ̞̫̙͆̌̃̆́͘ģ̝͓̬̫̗̰̱̎̾ͮu̵͔͇̳ͮͭͨ͆̍ͨ̾t̴͌ͤ͊̿̀҉̺ ̪̥̫̞̩̈ͣ̏͊͝͝͡h̛̲͔̘̯̖͉͉̝͔́̿ͯ͢͞i̟͈̪̺̻͉ͫ̔̽͐̃̀̉̿ͅm̧̥̭̺ͬ͢ ̭̥̬͎̎̂̌̆̀̿͗͊̓͟fͦͦ͂̈̔͐҉̶͔̳͇̠͍̝ö̴̧̙͉͇̺̮̬̥͐̾ͅr̢̢͖͔̥̳̳͉̂ͯ̔ ̪̮͎̟͙̪͑p̸̡̘̲̬̬͉̖̈́̿̈́̔̏ͧͬȧ͍͉̝̦͍͍̥̙͟r̯̟̍̚ͅt̤̩͖͇̪̹͚̫̿͘s̱͔̺͆̏͆ͨ̿̉͆̀̚͠͡.
Trying to go unnoticed, Stan tries to turn himself as much as possible, tries to push himself closer and closer to the latch with his mouth open like he's bobbing for apples. It takes more than a few attempts, but eventually his mouth connects and he desperately chews on whatever he's bitten, trying to break it or bend it out of shape - anything!
An interesting thing happens in this moment - one small detail that wasn't present in the original memory. Now that he's so panicked and desperate, when his eyes are open, they're electric blue, the same color as his fire outside the memories, even though this is long before he would have gained such powers.
He winces as something cracks, but he has to push through. He has to ignore it. It doesn't matter that there's blood starting to pool in his mouth and leak out of the corners - nothing matters except getting out.
He has to get out he has to get out h̑̒͊͒̈́͑͏̨̼̜̺̲̲e̬̲̺ͩ̓̑̇ ̝̥̺̰̠̙ͯ͘ḥ̨̹̘̬̹͓̣̏̂͑͐ą̜͎̝͉͆̔͆ͫͬ͒ͤs͋͒͆̽͏̮̱̠͇̦ ̧̺̾̔ṭ̴̛̦ͥ͊͌͋́͗͛͑͠o̶̓̔̿̌̅҉͉̗̬ ͑̒̐̆͏͙̻̮̪͉̭̪̺͔̀́g̞̟̳̦͇͔̹̻ͫ̈̏͗͠ĕ̷̢̹̱͖͚̊ẗ̨̲̬̠̘́̾̍̉͂̚̚̕ ̏ͦ̎ͦ̅ͨͯ̔҉҉̣̯o̴̧̮͇̘͋̐̌u͐ͦ̓̀̈͋ͩ͐҉̝̭̭̫ͅţ̠̪̫̝̩̘͔̹ͪ ͍̙̫̜̝̩̻̜̯̿̆͗͋ͥ͛̋̇́H̸̢̬̹ͥ͋͑̉͟Ḛ̡͎͚̞̙̟̥͈ͭ ̟̜͖̬̱̤̱ͥ͌ͨ̔̔͑̈́̂̕͠Ḩ̲̱̭͉ͪ̌̋͗́ͫ̌͗A̛͇̤̙̳̣̘ͤ̊ͧ̓ͤ͛ͭ̕͞ͅS̶̖͕͉̫͚̼ͥ̈́̔̓͒͋̕͜ ̨̅̌̄͊͒͋͟҉͇̪͔̝̳̬Ṯ͈̬̿̓̂̑ͪ̉ͤ́͞Õ͐͑̂҉̬̮͕̠̖͡ ̒͆̎ͯͧͣ҉͈̕G̢̹̠̥ͣ͗͌̑́͋̃͡E͎̻͉͈͓͓̊ͤ̎̓͞T̵̻̹̗̳ͪͬ͛̏ͭ̔ͭ͐͘ ̛͈̥͉̩̩̮̎̆̍̀ͥ͒O͎̎̀̌͊͛͑̕Ụͭ͆̑Tͥ̅̂̍ͮ͊̄̍́͞҉̱̤͈̗.]
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When she sees blood start to spill from the corners of his mouth she finds herself already moving. ]
Stanley.
[ She tries to take him by the shoulders and hold him still. He's only hurting himself, flailing around like this. ]
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Hearing his own name makes a different memory bleed in, disembodied voices yelling in the dark, the sound of fire still crackling in places--]
"Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through!"
"No, no. You don't understand w̢̹͓̲̖̎ͣͪ͠h͇̙̘̾ͤ͑͆͝a̴̭̜̥͇̮ͧ̒͆͡t̴̜̖̖͚̟͓̺̞̙̑ͤ̍̅͑̆̏͒́͐͜͞ I͇̬̳̟̹͚͎͇͊ͩ̑̋ͫ̔͊ͦ̚̕'̷̘̞ͯ͒v̢͙̼̠̼̫̻̲̦͒̾̉͌ͫͬ͂̀ẹ̛͚̰̮̥̲̞͋̏̒͑͐ͯ̚ ͙͓͍̾ͯ̊̔̿̔b̩̬͚͖̘͈̻̲ͯ̋̈͗e̦̯ͥ̄̈͢͠e͊ͧͭͪ̔̓ͭ̅҉ͅn̟̣̟͇̟͉̭ͣ̀̎ͭ̊̈́̉͐̚͢͜ ̣͖̥͓̭̮͋ͮ̓͛͐̾͌̚͟t͓͕̊ͥͭ͌͛̌͆͐ḥ̳̠͙̺̞̙͙̿ͪ͑̌̚͡͞rͤ̄͛͗̓҉̟͈̹͉̜̮͡o͐͛̀ͧͬͫͧͩ͏͈̮̬͖͕̭͔̱͠͞u̵̵̪̪̟̜͔̻̘̖̺ͧ̒̅̏ͪ̌ͨ͜g̠̣͔̲̼̀͆h̹̗̬̫͒ͅ!̡̡̱͍̻͇̩̱͚͊͂͐͊ͯ̓͝ͅ I've been to prison i̙̲̺͑̀̔n̷̹̰̤̼͈͙͖̔̔ͮ̍͗̈ͪ͝ ̟̥̲̲̪̬̣̹ͬͩ̒̕tͣ̃̔҉̬̙̬̯̹̫̞͓̝̀͘h̹͍̲͎̜͔̒ͪ͑ͩ̿ṙ̑҉̟̦̠͍͚e̸̴̛̟̜͚͔ͭ̄̽e̼̼̱͖̗̳̙̅ͯ̑̕ ͉͖͖͕̼̗̠̫̆͊̓d̛̻͙̹̠̊͊͐ͧͩͤ͛͝i̝͙̠͔̫͔̥ͧ͒͌͗͌̒f͎ͮ̉́ͪͫ̀̏̉f̶̬̆̈ͯ̃͋ͣ͢e̶͉͎͍̻̮͍̖̩͂̊͛͊́̀r̝̻͈͚̫̐͗ͨ́e̢͎͙̘̤̻͎̯͈ͧͪ̋̋̀͑́ņ̶̋̄ͮ̐ͯ́҉̠̫̟͖t̴̹̳̘͛ͫ̎͑ͭͧ̇͒ ̯̗̐̾̉ͨ͌́c̰̟ͪ͛ͯ́͝o̩̤̺̥ͯ̑͂ͯͮͭͬ̏͜ŭ̸͓̹̫̜̻ͨ̂ͩͩ͑̌̏̅ṋ̛̹͂ͦ͆̒̋̔̕t̡̗̹͍ͦͩ̓ͤ͛̔̄̀̚r̝̰͇̙̘̟ͫ̈́̄ͯ͜͡͝į̦̰̗͐͒̏͊̑̔͂e̾̓ͯͯ̀͜҉̥͔̳̗̼̬s̞̩̤̱͙͕ͮͭ͐͛͝!ͨ̂ͫ͏̼̳̠̀ I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car--!"
[Stan is still wriggling and trying to gnaw at the latch - something that in reality took a reasonably long time to actually accomplish. However, Odile knows where the outline is now. Perhaps she can find a way to open his tomb from the outside.]
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She takes a step back, takes a moment to focus, then aims the most powerful Scissors Craft she can manage at it. She has to be careful, aim so that it misses Stanley, but she has the skill and determination she needs. ]
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But...nothing like that happens. He wiggles again, testing to see just how much he can move. The second it becomes apparent that the trunk is open, Stan twists and pops up, taking a huge gasp of air as if he'd been drowning. He breathes and breathes and breathes, and before anyone can stop him he flails his way out of trunk, landing face first and then inching until his feet fall down to the ground as well.
He's trying to untie himself now, something he seems a little too experienced in. There's a mat of dried blood on the back of his head and stuck to his mullet, and another in his side that hurts like a son of a bitch, but can't be that bad because it's not bleeding anymore. Frankly he probably shouldn't be moving as much as he is, if Odile would like to help.
The scenery outside of the trunk starts to fade into view....sort of. At first it's just the car - an old white Cadillac with the trunk cut open like a can. Then a faint outline of a building in the middle of a desert, with tanks for cars to pull up to. That never fully materializes though, just a vague thought of where he might have been. Every blank gap in the setting starts to fill in with electric blue flames, blue flickering for miles and miles and casting them both in cold light. None of it hurts though; there's no heat to any of the fire.]
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The sudden movement startles them from their intrusive thoughts—but whatever it is he's hearing, the crackling fire drowns it out. They can only whip around, hands poised in a scissors sign, searching for anything that seems out of place.]
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The fire is concerning but also sort of pretty, a bright ë͚̟́͟͜l̸̛̼͈̘̲ͬ̄ͪͣ̏̀eͪͭ̃ͤ͂͒҉̗̦̙c̴ͤͨ̀ͨͥ͛̈͏ͅt̷͎̳͌ͧ̍̑͢r̻͓ͭ̀i̢̢̥̻͙̪̊̂͂c͈͉͎̈͒ͨ̉ͫ ̙̰̯̲̱͇ͥͮͨ͠b̑͒̽ͦͤ̋̃̂҉̫̦̤͍̼l͎̝̠͇̰͚̒̌͗͗̚ṷ̠̼̤͙̈́ͫͥe̬̝̺̪͚̦̯̤ͩ̐͘. It isn't getting any better or worse as the memory goes on, just forever burning some of the details. If Loop caves to their temptations, they'll find that it doesn't even hurt to touch! It doesn't feel like anything, and it doesn't catch onto Loop either. They might as well have stuck their hand in lukewarm water.
Stan picks the postcard up off the floor and holds it carefully as he reads it. The flames closest to him and the postcard actually bend away from it, trying to keep away from this message. It can't be burnt anymore.]
...Ford?
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But they're still stuck here, so. They peer over his shoulder to see, paying little mind to personal space. They're invisible for this flashback, so it's fine!!!!
Alas, the message alone doesn't give them much context. They do take a moment to wave their hand into the flames, though, after seeing how they curve away from the postcard... neat trick!]
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Stan looks over the postcard a little longer, and then sighs heavily and drops it carelessly on the bed where any nosy star could look at it.]
Guess I'm really doing this...
[He starts rummaging through the fire, sticking his arms directly in to the flames all the way up to his elbows. A duffle bag gets tossed on one empty spot of floor and he starts cramming c̴̴͖̙͕͗̊̊̆͡l̰̯̼̄̈͒͡o̡͖̰̭̞̼̩̬ͮ͋͢͠t͖̦̔͂ͮ̈̓͞h̢͇̳̱͔ͪ̎ͨ͋ͪ̅̌͢ë̪̥̥͈́ͩͬ̄̅̈̋͡s̿͋͆̇ͯ̚͏̼̙̼̟͜ ͉̟̦̥͚̣̘̗ͫ͛̈́͛͂͌ͅâ̬̐́n̮͉͔ͨ͐d̽̌̈̔ͪ̄͊͞͞҉̩̲̬ͅ ̶̨̣̬̞̊̈́s̽̽̈̽ͭͥ̓̽҉҉̳̬̥͎̭̲͇̰̤͞u̪̥͎̞̤̅͡p̢͍̮͚̗̳͕̆ͥ̂ͦͥ̓ͪ̑ͅp̢̯͍͇̠͔̩̺͓ͩ̓͛ͫ͑̔l͖̲͈͖͉͛͒̍̃͢͝i̷̘ͣ͑ͬȩ̭̱̫͑́ͣͪ̔͂͒s͙̟̒̉ͥͤ̚͢into it, as though they aren't fully on fire. He should probably put on real clothes too, so he grabs his least fucked up jeans, a T-shirt, and an old stained red jacket. Socks, socks again, and then boots. Oregon's cold, right? That's how you survive cold, you make your extremities warmer...]
This is good though, right? It's good! He actually reached out after all this time, so...so that's good!
[It seems Stan here is used to talking out loud to himself.]
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While Stan is busy packing and talking to himself, they do take this opportunity to investigate the postcard further. They pick it up from the bed, pleased to see that they're not intangible as they turn it over in their hands. Very to-the-point! No hidden messages they can find, but puzzle-solving isn't really a strength of theirs. Ford is the brother's name... and Stan looks younger, says it's been awhile since he reached out, so this must be before the portal thing...?
They sit down on the edge of the bed, fanning themselves with Stan's precious memory. Hmm.]
Gravity Falls? I sure hope it does! [writing that one down later they're a genius, NO ONE has thought of this before]
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[Who know what doesn't usually happen when Stan talks to himself? He doesn't usually hear anyone talk back to him.
It hits him all at once and he startles even more than he heard a knock at the door. What the fuck?!]
Who's in here?!
[He looks around, squinting to try and see through the flames. He probably looks directly at Loop, but the flames are all kind of a blur. He probably shouldn't have broken his last pair of prescription glasses...but he doesn't see anything really - not anything that's registering as a person anyway.
His hand is on the baseball bat again but he makes himself stuff it into the duffle bag and forces up an uncomfortable laugh.]
Ha! Great, you're losing your mind, Stan! Just in time to go see your estranged brother!
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But what's interesting is that this setting is new. This is one he hasn't seen before, and one he can't even place as something he's heard of in passing. That's actually pretty interesting, even if the memory is visibly damaged.
But he has to worry about that later. Right now Stan is about to hit him with a bat, and Ford lifts his hands and takes a step back. ]
Wait, I'm not here to fight!
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Stan whips his attention from the door to the intruder in his motel room, and that's all he can process him as at first. Someone's outside and must have made a noise to distract him from what was breaking in. All of this happens in a split second and raises the bat even higher.]
HOW THE FUCK DID YOU--
[But he stops. He stops and he stares, dumbfounded. He even lowers the bat and lets go with one hand, so he can count with a pointed finger.
One, two, three, four, five...six?]
...Ford?!
[This takes long enough that Stan misses his cue in the memory. Evidently the noise outside was a mailman, and a postcard slides under the door, landing right between their feet and clearing away a small circle of fire from the floor. Ford will recognize it twice over - once as a tool when they were recovering Stan's memories, and once when he wrote it himself in a panic.
It lands message side up: PLEASE COME! -FORD]
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Oh. Oh, this is this memory. Ford already guessed that this was before he and Stan had reunited, of course, but he hadn't realized it was this close to the incident itself. He almost gets lost in thought, which means it takes him a beat too long to answer. ]
That's right.
[ He lowers his hands, bending down to pick up the postcard. He's not concerned about the possibility of Stan attacking him. And maybe he should be; Ford is confident he can take Stan in a fair fight, but an unarmed old man vs. a 30-something wielding a bat isn't exactly fair, is it? But he's even more certain Stan isn't going to lash out unexpectedly. ]
There was an... incident, I suppose you could call it.
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[Stan squints at the postcard and then at Ford, and it's only about 50% because he doesn't have a good pair of glasses right now. He doesn't lift up the bat again, at least not yet. There's a beat of quiet as he mulls over a thought, hesitant to actually say it out loud in case he's missed something obvious here. But...]
...
...Why'd you send a postcard and come?
[That's weird, right? To make it all the way down here he would have had to jump in a car probably as soon as he sent the thing. So why bother doing both?]
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[ It's not a very good lie, but it's also not entirely a lie. Still, he's certain that Stan will see through it, which is kind of an issue. He already knows from experience that this conversation won't really count. That he can't change the past. Still, he wants this to be as good of a conversation as he can manage. ]
I didn't exactly show up here intentionally.
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...On the downside, he isn't seeing the inconsistencies anymore.]
Right. Should've figured you'd never come here on purpose.
[It's not fair exactly - a day ago Stan never would have guessed Ford even knew where he lived.]
Was the postcard not on purpose either or did you actually need me for something?
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