Chapter Text
1. Ford
They were somewhere in the arctic circle, in a tiny village Stan wouldn’t even be able to guess at the name of. Even the country he wasn’t so sure about; probably Greenland if he had to pick somewhere. He didn’t really care though--it had a building that served as a bar, and that building was warm and stocked with alcohol.
He was happily nursing a beer, watching with idle interest out of the corner of his eye as Ford sketched in his notebook. It was an impressively good rendition of the ghostly figures they’d seen in the aurora borealis the other night. Stan took a satisfying swing of his beer. Mabel was going to love that story. Dipper as well, but for all the wrong-nerdy reasons.
“Stanford Pines?”
Stan started at the query, his satisfied, half sleepy contemplation vanishing and turned his head to see a man standing at the edge of the bar. He looked to be about his and Ford’s age, grey hair and spectacles. He was dressed in a warm coat, a small, neat goatee clinging to his chin. Stan did not recognise him.
“Yes?” Ford asked, wariness in his voice. Stan blinked, thrown for a second before remembering that he wasn’t Stanford Pines anymore. He’d never really used the name, unless he really had to, but it had still been what people called him for thirty years. It was a strange feeling, the name he had claimed for three decades no longer belonging to him.
“It is you,” the other man said, excitement colouring his voice. Now that he wasn’t trying to frantically remember an old acquaintance and what the threat level was, Stan studied the man with a suspicious eye. “I’m not sure if you remember me, Tim Smartsly--we were at Backupsmore together.”
“Oh!” Ford said, recognition flitting across his face. Stan couldn’t see his expression fully, wasn’t sure exactly how the old acquaintance was received.
Smartsly pulled out the bar stool next to Ford and sat. He leaned his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Ford closed his notebook.
“Where have you been , you disappeared. Nevada right? No one ever really heard from you.” He scratched his head. “Honestly, I would have thought you were dead.”
“Oregon, actually,” Ford said. “I was…caught up in my research for a while.”
Stan snorted into his beer.
“What kind of research?” Smartsly asked. He was altogether too eager, Stan thought. But maybe he was just glad to see an old friend.
Only problem was Stan was pretty confident Ford wasn’t exactly Mr Popular at college.
Ford answered with a vague answer, and then the two of them sprung into some ongoing nerd conversation Stan couldn’t be bothered following. He finished his beer and slid Ford’s notebook across the table towards himself. Ford glanced back at him as he did, giving him a tiny nod before turning back to the conversation.
So Sixer didn’t fully trust this man either. That didn’t really mean anything though--Ford’s whole thing was trust no one. He was getting better at that.
Stan slid the notebook into his jacket pocket and ordered another beer.
He was following the flow of the conversation with half an ear, so he noticed when things started going wrong. Ford made some offhanded comment about a science paper he’d read somewhere, and that put Smartsly instantly on the defensive. Stan wasn’t sure if Ford had even noticed, but the whole feel of the conversation changed .
Stan frowned, pulling his glass down and glancing sideways at the conversation. Ford had pointed out an obvious flaw the author of the paper had included in his research, and was smiling about how foolish that had been.
Smartsly’s eyes were narrowed, ever so slightly. The conversation moved on, but now Stan was noticing a different dynamic to it--Smartsly was no longer enjoying catching up with an old classmate. He was trying to outdo Ford.
Again, Stan wasn’t even sure Ford had noticed. His brother had never been one to read people well.
“...just about to publish a paper on it, actually. Once we get back to Oregon for the summer I’ll be working on finishing that.”
“I’d be interested in reading some of your papers,” Smartsly said. “How many have you published?”
“Oh, none yet. I’ve only just gotten back into proper research,” Ford said. Smartsly smiled, a smile that suggested he’d won a victory.
“I’ve published five myself,” he said offhandedly. Smugly.
“I shall have to read them,” Ford said, the supposed win not even registering to him. “Once I publish the one I’m working on I’ll be turning my attention back to my lifetime interest--the grand unified theory of weirdness .”
Something ugly passed over Smartsly’s face. Stan lifted himself from the casual half slump he’d been, alert for danger. It didn’t come in any physical action, but in a verbal one.
“Ah, sounds just like something you’d be interested in.”
Ford’s back went stiff, finally recognising the malice underlying his old classmate’s comments. Seemingly without realising he was doing it, he pulled his sleeves up, over his hands. Stan scowled.
“What do you mean by that?” Ford asked, his voice even, steady, controlled. Smartsly waved a hand casually, leaning back a little on his chair.
“Oh, you always had your head in the clouds. Always far too interested in the weird and freakish.”
Ford’s shoulders were up and his hands were now completely hidden in his sleeves. Stan felt an ancient bubbling anger in his gut, a flavour of which he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.
“Hey,” he snarled, slamming his beer down on the bar and glaring over Ford’s tense shoulders at the other man. He’d have hoped that sixty-year-old men would be less petty than twelve year old boys on the boardwalk in New Jersey. But maybe some things never changed.
Smartsly started, seeming to notice Stan for the first time.
“Who are you?” he demanded. At the same time, Ford muttered “Stanley-” a warning note Stan was going to completely ignore in his voice.
“I’m his brother,” he said. He stood up, pushed the bar stool back with a scrape. “I don’t know where you get off on all this, but you don’t get to talk to him like that.”
“I was simply sharing a scientifi-”
“No,” Stan snapped. He was angry, fists clenched, holding himself back from making too much of a scene. “Get outta here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said get outta here. If you’re gonna talk to my brother like that, leave.”
“I--how dare you speak-”
“Ah, can it,” Stan snapped. “I told you. Either you apologize to him an’ have a sensible adult conversation, or get outta here.”
Smartsly’s eyes flashed, but Stan was a lot larger than him and he scowled.
“You’re both as weird as each other,” he snapped finally, primly standing and stalking away.
“Yeah we are,” Stan shot after him. He smirked, feeling oddly satisfied with himself, and dropped back onto his stood, wrapping a hand around his beer.
Ford sighed, running a hand over his face and pushing his glasses up to pinch his nose.
“That was unnecessary, Stanley,” he said, sounding tired. Stan figured it was probably time to get back to the ship.
“No it wasn’t,” Stan said, finishing his beer. “Little twerp was tryin’ to show you up an’ when he couldn’t do that he just turned mean. I wasn’t gonna let that fly.”
Ford just sighed, lowering his hand and wrapping it around his own, mostly untouched, beer. He flexed his fingers around the glass.
“It shouldn’t still bother me,” he said finally.
“But it does,” Stan said. Ford sighed again, shoulders slumping. “An’ I’ll always be there to beat up anyone who makes stupid comments.” He bumped his shoulder into his brother and held up a hand. “High-six?”
That pulled a smile from Ford. He lifted his own hand and gently slapped it to Stan’s.
“High-six.”